Page 41 of Backlash

“The nice woman at CPS with the hot chocolate? Francie’s sister. I kept winding up back at her desk. Finally, she got Francie to take me, and I’ve been with her ever since.”

“She cleaned up your act.”

“It took a while. I caused as much trouble as I could,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because I had this ache inside me and nothing soothed it, but hitting something distracted me. Then, at a party, I discovered drinking,” I confess. “It was like escaping. I found rock bottom at the bottom of a bottle.”

“Francie didn’t give up on you, though?”

“Yeah, I have no idea why.” I still don’t. I never deserved her patience, and I’ve tested it too many times to count.

“Maybe she sees what I do,” Adair says softly.

“A worthless orphan?” I ask. “Or not an orphan, I guess. My piece of shit father is still alive, serving his sentence in upstate New York. I guess I’m a bastard?” I laugh feebly, but she doesn’t join in.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Talk shit about yourself,” she says. “I forbid it.”

“It’s one of the few things that I’m really good at,” I tell her. “I mean, I’m just like my dad.” I turn my face away, unable to look at her. She deserves love and magic and wonder and a life I can never give her. I’m a black hole, destroying every good thing I encounter, swallowing them up and leaving nothing behind.

“You’re not.” She grabs my chin and forces me to look her in the eyes. “You just have to let yourself believe it.”

“I’m sorry, Lucky. I guess I learned a long time ago to expect the worst in people, especially myself.”

I look into her eyes and find understanding. No, more than that: acceptance.

“We all have our faults,” she murmurs, “and our baggage.”

“Some of us more than others.”

“Tell you what,” she says. “How about when yours starts to feel heavy, you let me help you carry it for a while?”

I stare at her in wonder. She surprises me at every turn. I don’t look at Adair and see someone perfect. I see someone real. Maybe the first real person I’ve ever known. Her faults are glaringly obvious. Her temper? Well, it’s scary. She sticks her foot in her mouth every other sentence. And she quotes books and calls me on my shit and holds me during the dark moments. “Why would you do that?”

“I think that’s what you’re supposed to do,” she whispers, “when you might love someone.”

“Might?” I murmur, the pounding in head drown out by a rush of blood.

“Definitely, maybe.” She kisses me softly with her sweet lips.

“I don’t want you to go.” I want to trap her in my arms and keep her here with me—safe and flawed and beautiful—forever.

“I’ll be here as long as you want me,” she breathes.

“That’s going to be a very long time,” I warn her.

Adair smiles and warmth seeps into me like I’ve stepped into the sun. “Good.”

13

Adair

Present Day