“Do you prefer to be called Cashmere or Colson?”
His brow flickers with tension as he considers the question. “No one calls me Colson anymore. No one really knows it.”
“Okay then. You tell me if and when you ever want me to use your name.”
His eyes turn glassy and his bottom lip trembles as he nods. “Do you want the whole sordid backstory?”
“Yes. I want to know every single thing about you, from your favorite ice cream to every trauma you’ve had to endure.”
He nods, folding his hands in his lap, but I notice how he plays with the rings on his finger. “I’ve never told anyone. Not one person. Ever.”
“Then I’m honored.”
He scoffs. “Don’t be. It’s not pretty, but it is true and probably relevant.”
“Have you never told anyone because it hurts, or because you’re afraid of their reaction?”
His brow creases again as he studies me. “Yes.”
I nod, brushing my fingers over his bare ankle. “There’s nothing you could tell me that would change my perception of you. Nothing. As far as the pain goes, I know I can’t snap my fingers and make it go away, but I can damn sure try.”
He shakes his head, a slight smile on his lips. “You’ve got mad game, I’ll give you that.”
“None of what I’m saying is a game or a manipulation tactic. I mean every word.”
He bites his bottom lip for a second before nodding. “Long story short, I had amazing parents, the best in the world, and my childhood was perfect. Then when I was thirteen, they were hit by a drunk driver and died.”
Fuck. “Cashmere. God. I’m so sorry.”
“I was passed around to numerous relatives,” he continues, staring at his hands. “But it was clear I wasn’t really wanted. I never fit in, never felt part of the family, and in one case, the environment was hostile. Not just to me, but all the kids. They took me in for the money.”
“Who were they to you?”
“My mom’s cousin and her husband. That’s how I ended up out here. I grew up on the West Coast until they died.”
“What happened with the cousin?”
“It was a toxic situation, but school helped until the summer break when I was turning sixteen. I was doing chores while they were out, and I went into the study where I definitely wasn’t supposed to be. I knew my folks had left me some money and that I’d get it when I turned eighteen. I wanted to know how much it was and how to get it out so I could start planning my escape. That’s when I learned there was no more money. My relatives had drained my account and told the trustee it was for my schooling.”
“Shit.”
“So I had nothing. Nothing but pain and misery and overwhelming rage. Well, and these rings.” He holds up his right hand. “Their wedding bands.” He blows out a breath. “I had a boyfriend at the time and he was two years older than me. We made a plan to run away together and start a new life somewhere.”
“Okay.”
“But two nights later, my cousin and her husband were drinking, and things were always bad when they drank. We got into it and I ended up confronting them about the missing money. It turned physical, and I got my ass beat.”
My jaw clenches, just thinking about him being hurt like that.
“I thought he might kill me so I…I…”
“You what?”
“I stabbed him. It was superficial, but I guess the panic he felt when I did it was too much for his heart and he had a heart attack.”
“Did he die?”
“No, but he should have. He wasn’t the same and never fully recovered. He had to go on disability so he lost his job. I left that same night, and even though I didn’t press charges for the theft or the assault, my mom’s cousin and her kids would find me around town and give me a hard time.” He drags his hand through his still messy hair. “One in particular. The oldest son, Bradley. He hated my guts from day one and would tell me all the time how my being there messed things up. I thought, maybe, he might be the one behind this.”
