Page 20 of Forced Proximity

Yes and no. Always and never. ‘The only issue that ever comes up is medically related.’ I take a sip from the water bottle. ‘Sometimes I slip and give the doctors my parent’s medical background before I remember we’re not blood related.’

Soft smile lines form around his hazel eyes. ‘Did you ever search for your birth parents?’

I need to cut this conversation now before it gets any deeper. Maintaining boundaries is everything. Proper lines keep everyone safe, and feeds into my obsession with protecting my clients. But my family’s my soft spot, his interest seems genuine, and it’s been years since anyone besides Marcus has asked about them.

‘No. I didn’t. My family is my family, you know? We may not have had a lot growing up, but I couldn’t have felt any more love if I were with my birth parents.’ I picture working in the garden with my dad, my hands sticky and red from eating raspberries, pretending the juice dribbling down my chin was blood while my dad played along with me. ‘My dad’s amazing. When I was a kid, I remember asking him if he loved me the same as my brothers.’ Okay, so I just said that. I’ve surpassed friendly family chat and am officially trespassing into personal territory.

Justin’s eyes crinkle at the edge. ‘What did he say?’

‘He asked if my mom talked to me about how babies were made, and when I said yes, he said the only thing my mom and him did to have my brothers was have fun on a Saturday night, but for me they chose and fought for me.’ A hearty, hot blush sweeps across my cheeks and I quickly shift my gaze to the waterfall. I cannot believe I just told him that.

‘That’s incredible.’ A smile tugs at his lips. ‘You know what’s crazy? When I was younger, I wished I was adopted.’

He did? I analyze his eyes to see if he’s messing with me, or just saying this, but he looks sincere. Why would someone like him ever wish to be adopted?

‘Growing up, I had fantasies that my real parents would swoop in and take me away,’ he says. ‘When my sister and I felt … unsupported … we’d make up these elaborate stories that we were kidnapped or switched at birth.’

My heart pinches. Perhaps there’s more to him than I know. I scrape at the water bottle cap with my thumbnail for a moment, before I peek at him. ‘I’m really sorry that I just … assumed you had everything.’

‘It’s fine,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I know that’s what people think.’

A long moment passes, and it’s like I’ve taken some sort of elixir because the urge to purge everything in me flies out at a furious rate. ‘There’s something else.’ I peek at his raised eyebrows. I don’t want to do this, nor do I want to hear bullshit excuses, but until I call it out, it’s going to gnaw at me. ‘About five years ago there was a tornado that ransacked the Midwest …’

He tugs his lip into his mouth and nods. ‘I remember that. Was your family hit?’

‘No, thankfully.’ Stay cool no matter what he says. Facts only, tell him how this affected me, and move the hell on. ‘There was a fundraiser and you were supposed to headline, and … shit. Okay, I’m just going to say it. You left so many people hanging when you dropped out from hosting. The tornado broke these communities and those families needed that money. And when you dropped out, the entire thing just fell apart. It was one fucking day out of your schedule. One. But for these people, it was their life, you know?’

Well, there. I said it. Probably could’ve said it a little nicer, but I delivered it without the fire in my tone that I expected. Justin’s expression is hard to decode. He’s not mad. He’s more pensive than anything. A long moment stretches before he speaks. ‘How much have you been briefed about my father?’

His father? What the hell does that have to do with anything? ‘A little bit about potential business indiscretions.’

He drags a hand down his face and crosses his arms. ‘Honestly, I don’t want to get too much into the details. But, before the event, my team brought me some information. A mutual, we’ll say business associate of my dad had his hands in this charity, and there was enough evidence to convince me that the majority of the money wasn’t going to the families. Nothing we could prove, but enough to make me drop out,’ he says. ‘It was such a hard situation. I didn’t want to publicly claim that I suspected fraud. People are skittish enough about giving money and I couldn’t rattle the public when I couldn’t prove it. But I also know the type of person my dad was and the type of associates he had, and just because you can’t prove something doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. So, in good conscience, I couldn’t support it either.’

Oh my God … is this true? I’m reading his face, looking for something to show me that he’s making this up, but he’s telling the truth. For five years, I’ve held on to this grudge. Five. My stomach knots in an icky, uncomfortable ball, and even though we’re sitting outside, there’s not enough air to kick away the nausea.

‘I wouldn’t normally call this out, because … I don’t know, it feels like grandstanding or something. But if it makes you feel any better, I anonymously donated the amount we thought we’d bring in for that event to the local American Red Cross of each city that the tornado hit.’ He bolts up and the heavy chair screeches against the patio floor, looking almost sheepish. ‘Anyway, I’m gonna hop in the shower. The car will be here at two to take us for lunch.’

As Justin steps away, an unfamiliar feeling stirs. Regret for holding on to something like that when I didn’t know the whole story. Relief that he’s not the devil I made him out to be. But another, more concerning, feeling seeps through until it reaches my bones. It’s a longing to learn more about him. And this isn’t research or figuring out who’s the stalker. I’m intrigued about him.

This isn’t good.

Chapter 9

Justin

So much for my brilliant plan I developed to remain stoic, silent and completely ignore Doc when she’s at my home. Christ. It took less than a minute of her talking for me to break down like an amateur. I close my eyes and dip my head under the near-scalding shower water, but it’s not washing away the dull ache forming from talking about my parents. Any time I think of them, it brings on an avalanche of unwelcome emotions. I know how it looks to outsiders: my parents spent an exorbitant amount of energy and money to portray a life that didn’t exist. Their brand and reputation for the family business were always top priority.

They bought me and Mia ridiculously lavish gifts so they could brag to their friends and family. But Christ, they used those gifts to control us. I’m pretty sure I heard ‘look what I do for you!’ more than anything else during my entire childhood.

Eucalyptus-scented steam fills the space. I breathe in so hard my nostrils sting, but it’s not erasing the memory of my sixteenth birthday when my parents bought me a Mercedes. My mom spent nearly an hour posing me, becoming livid that I didn’t show enough excitement and threatening to return the gift until I got it right. By the time she snapped the ‘perfect’ photo, I was choking back tears, my dad screaming at me to ‘grow some balls’. I stormed up to my room without ever driving the car.

‘Stop it,’ I mutter and turn up the heat.

After starting therapy several years ago, my doctor told me flashbacks would pop up randomly for the rest of my life, and it’s best not to fight the memories. The doctor said it’s like when a song gets stuck in your head, and to get it out, you have to sing the entire verse.

I run shampoo through my hair, and dammit. Just get the memory over with. Ten years old, shy, small and according to my dad, too fucking sensitive. The resident fourth grade bully threatening to beat me up; crying to my mom as she stared at her reflection; her telling me that if I loved her, I’d stop crying because the bully’s parents were important clients. And if I ruined this deal for them, they wouldn’t take Mia to Disney World.

Mia loved Disney World.