“Yeah.” He laughs again. “Bet you just love that. Your boyfriend is such a loser that he has to go rummaging through bags of people's unwanted things. I had money, you know.” He shakes his head. “I had money. I worked fucking hard for it. I was doing good. Then she called,” he says through gritted teeth. He looks seconds away from losing it, and all I want to do is hold him, but something tells me that would make it worse.
“Who called you?”
“My mom.” He growls. “She only wants something to do with me when she needs money. Always fucking money. If it wasn’t for me, we would have been homeless. My dad is a piece of shit who gambles, smokes, and drinks his money away. A fucking bum. My mom works hard, but it was never enough. So they used me, my money, my paychecks as a kid. I worked my ass off, all while going to school, playing ball, and never had anything to show for it. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t get a job when I came to college. Can’t ask me for money if I don’t have any. I thought I was safe. Mom hasn’t called me in months. But then one of dad’s friends told them I was working at the bar, and guess who needed money, after my dad lost his job and pissed his last few paychecks away?”
“Fucking hell.” I sigh heavily, my heart shattering for my man. He doesn’t deserve this. Not then, and not now. I hate his parents. I knew they were bad, but I was just a kid, I never knew just how fucked up they were. How messed up he had it.
“I don’t know how to say no. She always fucking pulls me back in. I gave her everything. All the money I made the past few months? All gone. And all I fucking wanted to do was go to the mall and buy something nice to wear for our date,” he chokes out angrily, tears spilling down his cheeks. “And I couldn’t even do that. I wanted to look nice for you.” He closes his eyes, tilting his head back.
Fucking hell. Fuck!
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I forced back my own tears, because Easton needs me. “Well, I like this.” I take one of the T-shirts from his arms. It’s a deep maroon-red. “It would look good with these dark jeans.” I take the pair from the pile and hold them up. “Oh!” I say with a smile. “You can wear my black combat boots. Fuck me! Add all that together, and my cock is going to be hard all night.”
Easton looks at me, blinking like he can’t believe what I’m saying.
He licks his lips and takes a shuddering breath. “You think?”
“Oh, baby, trust me. They would look good together.”
I’m not going to talk about anything he just said. Not right now. Not while he’s like this. The best thing to do is distract him and not make it a big deal.
I grab the navy blue shirt from his arms and look it over. “You care if I wear this tonight?”
His brows furrow. “You’d want to?”
“Why not? It’s a nice shirt. And I know how much you like the color navy.” I grin. “Let’s be honest, you know I’d look hot in this.”
He lets out a watery laugh. “You're not wrong.”
“I think I have a pair of jeans that would look good with this, too. How about we bring this home, throw them in the wash, and while they’re doing their thing, I make us some breakfast?”
“Yeah.” He wipes at his eyes, clearing his throat. “Pancakes?”
“You know it.”
The rest of the walk home, I keep us talking about anything and everything, not allowing any awkward silence.
I can’t begin to imagine the struggle he’s gone through. I’m so fucking pissed, so upset for him. He never should have had to deal with anything like that.
Parents are supposed to love you, take care of you, protect you. Not hurt you and use you.
I hate myself for ever thinking anything negative toward him. I know that I didn’t know the circumstances or what was actually going on, but it still doesn’t take away the fact I feel like a shitty person.
“Have you done this before?” I ask Easton as we shove the clothes into the washer.
“Getting clothes from the bin?” he mutters, and I nod.
“Yeah.” He looks away, adding detergent. “It’s been a while. But after the fire, I lost everything. I literally had nothing. That's why I used your shampoo.”
“Fuck.” And now I feel like an even bigger asshole. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Don’t be. The least I could have done was ask. You acted the way anyone would with me being an asshole.”
“Still. It was just shampoo.”
He shrugs. “But it was yours. Anyway, sometimes, as a kid, I’d go at night and pick through it. I was a growing boy, and my parents couldn’t keep up with me. Between needing new sizes, getting them stained, or having holes, it was either keep wearing the stuff I had or find something new. I mean, it’s perfectly good clothes that were going to get sold for jacked-up prices. Halfended up in landfills anyway. Plus, it wasn’t much different from when your mom would give me your old clothes.”
I was always one size bigger than Easton. Half the things I had, I didn’t even get a chance to wear before I outgrew them.
