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As she approaches, I sidestep toward the door, one hand out in front of me. Her brows knit together and hurt flashes in her eyes.
“Why are you this way toward me?” Her voice trembles and fat tears well in her pretty blue eyes. “What’s so wrong with me?”
Guilt infects my every cell. Knowing what I know about her thus far, not being adored and seen as perfect is really hard on her. Yet, here I am making her feel like shit.
“Tell me, Two. It’s not fair. How can I fix it if you don’t tell me?”
I scrub a palm over my face. “You can’t fix it, Golden. It just is.”
“What is? Explain.”
She slowly makes her way over to me and then gently steps into my space. Automatically, my hands encircle her waist. So much for showing some self-restraint.
“Two,” she begs. “I feel like we can be something. You just have to let it happen. It won’t with this big boulder between us. Please.”
Unable to help myself, I nuzzle the top of her head with my nose, inhaling her sweet scent. My palms find her ass, settling there, like they were made to hold her. She relaxes against my chest, hugging me tight.
This feels good.
Too good.
“You really want to know?” I ask, voice hoarse. “You’re not going to ridicule me or run off after?”
“I’ve put up with you thus far. I think I can handle whatever you dish out.”
I smile against her hair, but it quickly vanishes when I think about the picture I found all those years ago. Pain lances its way through my heart.
“I’m adopted,” I say softly. “My dads adopted me when I was two. It’s the only word I could say at the time, so the nickname kind of stuck.”
She squeezes me again to encourage me to keep talking.
“My guess is that people wanted a baby and would ask my age a lot. I was probably always picked over for adoption. Not like I can remember it anyway.”
“Oh, Two.”
“I’m not being dramatic either,” I say with a defensive grunt. “It’s just the way of life.” A heavy sigh escapes me. “All was good until I was nine. My dads were the best. I love them so fucking much.”
“I can tell,” she murmurs. “I think it’s sweet.”
“Dax told me there wasn’t a Santa. Said he could prove it. One day, I went searching through Dad’s things, looking for presents, and found a trunk. Inside it were the adoption papers and…”
I shudder at revealing the most hurtful thing that’s ever happened to me. To the perpetrator no less.
It’s not her fault, dumbass.
“I learned I was their second choice,” I choke out, voice strained with emotion. “They had a picture of a nursery set up for someone before me. A baby. A little girl.” I clear my throat and spit out, “Gemma.”
She freezes and then pulls back to look up at me. “What?”
“You. It was you.”
“It couldn’t be,” she whispers. “I was never going to be put up for adoption.”
The devastation in her expression has me stalling. I didn’t think this might hurt her. She wasn’t the victim. I was. But she’s learning that she was almost given away.
“Never mind.”
She shakes her head in vehemence. “No. Do not do that. Finish your story.”
