He shakes his head. “No, it was just the one john, but honestly, the entire experience of being an underage teenage prostitute? I don’t recommend it.”
I take a deep, unsteady breath.
Compared to the moments when I just wanted to come out and tell him who I am, in this moment, I can’t help but wish I already had. So he understands that he’s not just saying this to some guy he barely knows, but to hisson.
“I didn’t know that about you,” I say, my hands listless at my sides. “The only thing the articles ever say about you is that you had a rough childhood. I didn’t… I didn’t realize how rough.”
“Whaddya gonna do?” He shrugs. “Besides, I’m super claustrophobic, so juvie was wayyy more traumatizing.”
“You spent time in juvie?” I ask, my heart breaking for Hopper all over again.
He was harmed by the system that was supposed to protect him, a common occurrence, one I hope to atone for in my position as detective.
“Oh, yeah. I was in a mental hospital for a little while, but I think my benefits ran out? Anyway, I ended up in a halfway house, so…”
“And that’s where your brother found you, right?”
That part, at least, had made it to the internet.
He nods effusively, bouncing on his heels. “My father had just died, the bastard, and my brother was going through his desk. Found these papers that didn’t make any sense, sent his buddy to figure out what it all meant, and from that day on, I was never alone again.”
Tears spring to my eyes before I have a chance to control them.
“Oh no, did I do it again?” Worry settles into his brows. “Did I upset you? I never know where the line is. Please don’t be mad at me.”
I shake my head and wipe my tears. “No, you didn’t cross the line, I just… It’s very sad that you were alone. Nobody deserves that.”
“That’s true.”
“Can I give you a hug?” I ask, then immediately feel self-conscious. “Or would that be weird?”
“Who cares if it’s weird?” he says, throwing out his arms. “I love hugs.”
I step into his hold.Fuck. We are the exact same size. I give him the biggest hug I can without it being actually weird, then step back to wipe away a few more tears.
“I’m sorry if I made you sad,” he says, tilting his head, his expression of concern so sweet.
“Youdidn’t make me sad,” I say, shaking my head. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am.”
“Oh really? How are you lucky?” he asks.
“My mom went to New York on thisbig adventureand came back pregnant with me. She said the guy came from a really dangerous family, and when she showed up back in her old hometown, her old high school boyfriend wouldn’t leave her side. And that’s who my real dad is. He didn’t leave my side either.”
“So you didn’t grow up with your dad, but you did grow up withadad,” he says.
I nod. “I don’t look like either of my parents, but I’ve never been alone. Not even once.”
“Sounds like your mom and dad are really special.”
I sniff. “They are.” I look back at my painting. “I’ve always wanted a relationship with my birth father though.”
“Even though he was dangerous?”
“I don’t think he was dangerous. I think he had some dangerous family members. Mom said he was real sweet, and I— I think she might be right.”
“Wait.” His eyes widen. “Do you know who he is?”
His question, so simple, raises the hair on my arms.
