Текст книги "A Little Too Much"

Автор книги: Lisa Desrochers

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

He tips his forehead into mine. “You are so far inside me, sometimes I’m not sure where I stop and you start.”

“Then let me help you. You can show me your pain. I promise it won’t break me.”

His gaze burns into mine. “I’ve always seen your strength, even when we were young. But I can’t burden you with mine on top of what you’re already dealing with. It wouldn’t be right.”

I pull away from him. “If you can’t trust me to help you through this, I don’t think we’re going to make it.” I tip his face up and kiss him gently on the lips. “And I want to make it, Alessandro. I want that more than anything.”

A tear spills over his long lashes, and then another. I wipe them away with my thumb and watch as what’s left of his composure crumbles. I manage to coax him back to my bed, where he wraps himself around me. I hold him as he falls apart, and hope it’s enough.

After the longest hour of my life, he finally lifts his head out of my chest and looks at me. “You’ll help me sort mine from his?”

“I will do anything for you that you’ll let me.” As I say it, a knot forms in my chest at the truth in those words. I’d do anything for him. “Is it too hard for you—being here in New York? I mean . . . if you were back in Corsica, would you be able to get past this?”

His eyes flare in the dark. “I thought I was clear. I’m not leaving you again.”

I swallow. “What if I came with you?” I want him to heal . . . to feel whole again . . . and if leaving New York will help him get his soul back, the way he helped me get mine, I’d do it for him in a heartbeat. I don’t want to give up the theater—especially now—but I realize just at this second that Alessandro means more to me than Broadway. He means more to me than anything, except maybe Henri. If he needs to go, I’ll go with him.

He shakes his head slowly. “And just when I thought I couldn’t possibly love you any more . . .”

“I’m serious. I want you to be free of this burden. It will crush you otherwise. If we have to leave for that to happen, I’ll go.”

“No, Hilary. We’re going to do this right here. You’re right that I need to sort Lorenzo’s from mine, and I trust you to help me.”

“I’m so sorry what I said about Lorenzo before you left. I hope you know I didn’t mean any of it.”

His eyes glimmer in the moonlight through the window as his finger traces the lines of my face. “There was some truth in it. I did worship Lorenzo. But you have to understand, he wasn’t always the person you knew. When we were little, Lorenzo was my hero.”

I listen intently as he tells me everything. It turns out Lorenzo wasn’t always hard. He was softer when they were young kids. But he changed after he got beat up one day on his way home from school.

“I could see him slipping away,” Alessandro says. “He started hanging out with older kids, who I guess he thought would protect him. They thought it was funny to use Lorenzo as their gofer. They’d send him into stores to shoplift cigarettes or candy, and he’d do it. They’d send him to buy their drugs, and he’d do it. I threatened to tell our father what he was doing, but he said his ‘gang’ would beat the crap out of me if I told. And then Dad died and Lorenzo just went off the deep end. He started using . . . skipping school . . . and our mom was too distraught to see what was happening.”

We talk for hours about Lorenzo as Alessandro tries to sort it all out in his head. There are more tears—both his and mine—as he recounts everything leading up to the group home.

“And then . . . what he did to you. I couldn’t bear it when he started bragging. I wanted to help you, but I didn’t know how. When you came to me . . . when you told me what you wanted, I felt sick. But you didn’t give up, and I’d always . . . I really liked you and I . . .” He swallows as more tears threaten. “God help me, I wanted you for myself, and I rationalized what I did by convincing myself I could help you if you let me close enough.”

“You did help me, Alessandro. You helped me more that I can even say.”

His lips purse. “Not in the way I’d meant to.”

“Please, Alessandro. I don’t know how to make you understand. You were what I needed, and if what we did was wrong, it was my fault. I can’t live with your guilt. If you can’t forgive yourself for you, do it for me. Please.”

He brushes his fingertips over my jawline. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you.”

I kiss him, then sink deeper into his body, resting my head on his chest. I remember how safe I felt in his sixteen-year-old arms. Some things never change.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

BRIGHT MORNING SUN is streaming in my window when I finally wake in Alessandro’s arms and find him gazing down at me. His lips brush mine. “Good morning.”

I roll so I’m facing him, his glorious naked body pressed against mine. “Morning.”

He kisses me deeply, liquefying my insides and making me hope he’s leading up to something more. So when he kisses the tip of my nose and says, “I want to know everything about Henri,” my heart skips.

I knew this was coming. We need to talk about it. But what if he wants to tell Henri?

The skin around Alessandro’s eyes tightens. “Hilary, you look like you’ve swallowed a porcupine. Say something.”

“It’s just . . .” There’s a tug at my heart that I can’t explain. I love Henri so much, and part of me has always wanted him to know the truth—to have him look at me the way he looks at Mallory. “I want him to know . . . but Mallory . . . she’d never . . .”

He threads his fingers into my hair and kisses my forehead. “Mallory has been an excellent mother to him. When and how Henri learns the truth has got to be her decision.”

My insides loosen. Everyone’s on the same page. This is good.

“Henri is amazing,” I start, and then I can’t stop, telling him everything about Henri, from how his first step turned into his first somersault, to how, instead of learning to speak one word at a time like most kids, he saved it all up and started spouting full sentences when he was fourteen months old. I tell him how Henri could do hundred-piece puzzles by the time he was a year and a half, and how he tested into the gifted program at school in the second grade. I tell him how, when Max was nine months old and Mallory still couldn’t get him to eat solid food, Henri was the one who finally got him to eat, even though he was little more than a baby himself, by finger painting scenes on Max’s plate in baby food that Max would slap his hand into, then lick off. I tell him how Henri held Max’s hand and walked him to class his first day of school, and how he’s always been fiercely protective of Mallory, and how he loves Jeff more than anything.

And then I realize what I’ve said and I cringe a little.

“He loves his father, Hilary, as he should. It means he’s had a happy upbringing. That’s all I could ever want for my son.”

At those words coming from Alessandro’s mouth, a shiver courses through me. Henri is his son, and now he knows. It’s surreal that we’re even having this conversation . . . forget the fact that we’re doing it naked in my bed.

His fingertips whisper over my neck, my shoulder and to the curve of my breast. “You are incredibly beautiful in the morning, Hilary McIntyre.” He drops kisses over my forehead and cheeks as his hands start their soft exploration of my body, and when he reaches into the box next to the bed and comes out with a condom, I know I’m going to get my wish.

JESS IS UP an hour later when Alessandro leaves, and her eyes flick between us as she grins from behind her coffee cup.

Alessandro kisses me at the door, his fingertips gliding along my rib cage over the thin silk of my bathrobe, tightening my nipples and making me want to drag him back into my bed. But Max’s birthday party is this afternoon, and I promised Mallory I’d be there to help herd seven-year-olds.

“Will you come to my hotel tonight?” he asks me, pulling me tight to his body.

My hands drift down his chest, over solid pecs, to the ridges of his abs. “You’re ready for more lessons?”

I feel his lips curve against my forehead. “Always your willing pupil.”

His hand slips behind the nape of my neck, and he pulls me into another kiss. “Text me when you’re on your way.”

When I close the door behind him, Jess squeals and jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “Oh my God! He came back for you! I swear to God, Hil, that is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the goofy smile that breaks across my face. “Speaking of, how’s Hailey?”

Her grin matches mine. “Good. Really good. We’re going to a party tonight with all her Broadway friends. She says she wants to show me off.”

“You’ve arrived, Jess. A Broadway secondary and a director girlfriend . . .”

“Casting director,” she corrects.

“Semantics.” I turn and pad up the hall toward the bathroom. “How’s our Advil supply? Max’s birthday party is this afternoon.”

BY THE TIME I get to Mallory’s, the place is full of fifteen of Max’s second-grade classmates.

Mallory puts me in charge of games while she handles food, and with Henri’s help, I get the kids organized for pin the tail on Scooby Doo and the piñata.

There’s cake and ice cream, and Max opens his presents. Little by little, moms come to collect their kids, and finally they’re all gone and I can hear myself think again.

Jeff, Henri, and Max are putting together a matchbox racetrack in the family room as Mallory and I clean up the mess in the kitchen. I’m washing and she’s drying when I get up the nerve to say it.

“I told Alessandro.”

Her head jerks up from the dish she was drying and her eyes widen. “I thought he was gone.”

“He came back.”

“And you told him! Why would you do that?”

“I just . . .” I shake my head, “He’s Henri’s father, Mallory. It’s not right to keep that from him.”

“Is he going to say anything?”

“To Henri?”

One of her eyelids starts to twitch as she stares me down. “To anybody.”

“No, Mallory. He won’t say anything, but . . .”

“But, what?” Her jaw is tight and I can feel fear and betrayal radiating off her in waves.

“Don’t you think maybe Henri should know the truth?”

She holds her breath for several long heartbeats, and I can’t read her expression, but then she breathes out and sags into the counter. “Does he want to be part of Henri’s life?”

“I think he wants to get to know him.”

“And that’s all? He’s not going to try for custody?”

I shake my head. “No, Mallory, We both know you are Henri’s parents in every way that matters. We would never try to take him from you. But . . .” I pause, putting down the bowl and sponge and setting my resolve. “I never knew my father and I don’t want to do that to Henri.”

Mallory flicks a glance toward the family room and lowers her voice. “But this is different, Hilary. Henri has a father. Jeff is his father.”

“I know. I do. Jeff is an amazing dad—”

“Please don’t mess with him,” she begs, tears glimmering in her eyes. “He’s too young. This would be too hard for him to understand. It would just confuse him.”

Is she right? Am I being selfish?

“When he’s ready, I promise we’ll tell him. You and me, we can tell him together. I just think it’s too soon.” Tears spill onto her cheeks and she wipes them away.

I bite my lips between my teeth. She really is trying to protect him. It’s me who’s out of line. “You’re a great mom, Mallory. I mean it.”

“I can’t imagine my life without him.”

“Me either.”

She pushes off the counter and hugs me. “I love you, Hilary. I really do.”

“I love you too,” I say thickly past the lump in my throat as tears leak over my lashes.

“You gave me the most amazing gift.” She sniffles. “Please don’t do anything to hurt him.”

I can’t remember ever letting Mallory see me cry, but I bury my face in her shoulder as the tears start for real.

ALESSANDRO AND I spend every day together, but Thursdays are still our day to explore, and today it’s my turn to choose. We have a command performance at Mallory’s for dinner because she says wants to talk to Alessandro about his family medical history, but I know it’s more. She wants to feel him out—to be sure he’s on board with keeping our secret.

But that’s tonight. We have all day.

I’m just drying off from the shower when my phone rings. It’s Terry’s ringtone.

My palms go instantly clammy as I lift my phone to my ear. “Hey.”

“Hilary? Good news, honey. Are you sitting down?”

I move to my bed on shaky legs and sit. “Yeah. Hit me.”

“So, you know how you auditioned for a secondary role in Don’t Look Back?”

“Yeah . . .”

“What would you think if they offered you a primary?”

There’s a zing through my chest, and for a second I’m sure I’m having a heart attack. “Don’t mess with me, Terry. I’m fragile.”

She barks out a laugh. “You’re about as tough as they come, honey, but I’m not messing with you.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! This is so exciting!”

“Which role?” I ask as my head clears a little.

“Rene. The sister that goes away to college.”

“Holy shit!” I say again.

Terry laughs. “I know!”

“Holy shit,” I whisper as I feel tears press against the backs of my eyes.

My door flies open and Jess and is standing there with an expectant look on her face. I nod and she launches herself into me.

Terry’s voice comes faintly from where I dropped the phone on the floor. “Hilary?”

Jess backs off and I sniffle as I scoop it up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re still negotiating contract points, but the money’s good and I think you should take this. Are we in agreement?”

I sniffle again. “Yes! Totally yes.”

“Good. Congratulations, Hilary. I’ll call you later with all the details.”

“Thank you so much, Terry.”

“I just sent you in the right direction, honey. You did all the heavy lifting.”

When I lower the phone, Jess jumps me again. “Which one?”

“I got Rene in Don’t Look Back.” I flop back on the bed and plaster my hands over my face. “I’m Rene.”

I scream through my tears, and Jess screams along with me.

“Tell me everything!” she says.

But all I can do is cry for a really long time.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

WE MEET AT Argo Tea and Alessandro beams when I tell him my news.

“I never doubted your talent,” he says, reaching across the table and weaving his fingers into mine.

“I just can’t believe it’s finally happening.” It still doesn’t feel real.

He scrapes my chair closer and lifts me into his lap, and I ignore the stares from the table next to ours as he kisses me. “Congratulation,” he says when he finally lets me go.

“Thanks.” I nip his lip. “You ready?”

“I am.”

We stand and he helps me into my jacket. I lead him down the first set of subway stairs we come to. He doesn’t ask where we’re going, and it’s a good thing, because I don’t know.

A train is just whooshing up to the platform when we get there and Alessandro moves to get on, but I grab his arm.

“Not yet,” I tell him because, from somewhere deep in the echoey station, I hear the faint chords of a guitar. I take Alessandro’s hand and follow the sound to the stairs between platforms, where I find a young blond guy on a folding stool, strumming out “Stairway to Heaven.”

I glide my arm around Alessandro’s waist and lean into him. When he finally figures out that we’re not actually trying to catch a train, I feel him relax into me. He pulls me closer, looping both arms around my shoulders, and, as Guitar Man segues into an Evanescence song that I don’t remember the name of, he starts to sway us to the rhythm.

After two more songs, I throw a couple dollars in the open guitar case and we move to the train. We ride the subway, changing lines randomly, and as we roll into each stop, I scan the platform. When the doors slide open, I listen through the rustle of the crowd for music. And wherever I find it, we get off and listen.

Some of the musicians are really good, like Guitar Man, and others truly suck, but either way, I leave two dollars in their hats or cases or whatever. Three hours later, after ten stops, I’m down to my last two dollars.

We roll into Union Square Station and, as I listen, I finally hear what I didn’t even realize I’ve been listening for. I grab Alessandro’s hand and pull him off the train. After it whooshes away, I zero in on the rich notes of the sax and follow my ears.

He’s outside the turnstiles, just like he was the first night I ever saw him, four months ago . . . the night Alessandro found me. I tow Alessandro through without hesitating and find the guy with long, stringy, gray hair in his face sitting cross-legged on the cement floor, his grungy sax case open in front of him. He still seems just as sad as he did that night, or maybe even sadder. He doesn’t look up at us as he plays, but his song wraps itself around me and speaks to my soul.

Alessandro steps up behind me and slips his arms around my waist, and I close my eyes and listen. Just like that first night, I picture all the notes fluttering in the air like butterfly wings, and instead of making me feel sad . . . trapped, I finally feel free.

I’m shedding my secrets and coming clean. I’m letting go of my fear and anger. I’m starting out of the dark tunnel I’ve been living in for so long, and the tighter Alessandro holds me, the freer I am.

MALLORY TAKES OUR jackets when we get to her house. “Make yourselves comfortable,” she says with a wave of her hand at the family room. On the coffee table is a spread of munchies, and I hear Jeff crashing around in the kitchen.

“Where are the boys?” I ask when it stays quiet.

“We sent them over to Wendy’s for the night.” The way Mallory says it, I know tonight’s going to be all business.

Jeff comes in from the kitchen. “Hi, Hilary.” His eyes shift to Alessandro and give him the once over. “I’m Hilary’s brother-in-law, Jeff,” he says holding out his hand. “We didn’t really have a chance to meet at the cemetery.”

Alessandro takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. “Alessandro. It’s a pleasure.”

“Well . . . make yourselves at home,” he says with a tip of his head at the couch. “What can I get you to drink? Beer? Wine? Soda?”

Alessandro and I take seats on the couch, and Mallory sits beside me. “Wine,” she says, a little too fast. Her nerves are already shot, I can tell.

“Wine sounds lovely, thank you,” Alessandro says.

Jeff looks at me and for a second I think about saying wine too, but decide it’s too early to pick a fight. “Diet.”

I pluck a bruschetta off the tray in front of me as Jeff turns for the kitchen.

“Who is the cook?” Alessandro asks, helping himself to a stuffed mushroom.

“Jeff, mostly,” Mallory says, then she shifts beside me and levels Alessandro in her gaze. “First, I want to apologize for my behavior at the cemetery.”

“You were grieving,” Alessandro says. “It was understandable.”

She nods, and her eyes flick to me, then back to Alessandro. “Hilary’s never shared details with me about your relationship in the group home.”

And I guess we’re diving right in.

Alessandro glances at me as if asking for permission. I shrug and he looks past me at Mallory. “My brother and I were there for only a few months, but Hilary and I grew very close during that time.”

Her eyes simultaneously widen and narrow in her patented disapproving skeptic’s squint. “Very close, obviously.”

He nods slowly. “I cared for her a great deal.”

Jeff comes back into the room. He sets our glasses in front of us on the coffee table, hands Mallory her wine, and settles into the armchair next to her.

She takes a long sip, then looks hard at Alessandro. “Were you the one who got her involved with drugs?”

“My brother and I both dealt drugs then,” he answers. “I wasn’t a good influence on Hilary.”

“It wasn’t you, Alessandro,” I say, unable to let him take the blame for my choices. I’ve shed some pretty major secrets lately. May as well shed them all. I look at Mallory and breathe deeply. “I wasn’t ‘involved with drugs,’ ” I say, making air quotes. “I was never an addict.”

Alessandro’s fingers weave into mine and squeeze as Mallory narrows her eyes at me. “Hilary, rewriting history isn’t going to help you.”

“I took those pills because I was done. I was scared and alone and pregnant and . . . I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Jeff’s mouth falls open and Mallory turns ash white. “You . . .” She drops her head into her hand. “Oh, God. This is my fault.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault, Mallory,” I say. “I made the choice.”

Jeff squeezes her hand harder. “I think our primary concern, Alessandro,” he says, bringing the conversation back to the here and now, “is what is going to happen from here. Considering your history together, we don’t believe that it’s healthy for Hilary to spend time with you.”

One of my fists balls into the couch cushion and the other nearly snaps the bones in Alessandro’s hand. “You two don’t get to decide that,” I spit, feeling totally betrayed that Jeff let Mallory manipulate him.

Mallory lifts her head from her hand and glares at me, but Alessandro takes my hand into both of his and kisses my knuckles, giving me an “it’s okay” look.

“I don’t know how much Hilary has told you about me, but for a good portion of the time I was away from New York, I was training for the Catholic priesthood. I attended seminary in Rome and was within a few days of being ordained before I realized the priesthood wasn’t my path. I was very troubled when I left New York, and it was the faith that our family priest in Corsica showed in me that pulled me out of my self-destructive spiral. Because of this, working with children is my passion. I am the director of Teen Services at the Catholic Big Sisters and Big Brothers Center on the Lower East Side. My goal is to give those children a sense of self-worth and encourage them to be good Christians and good people, just as Father Costa did for me. I’ve made mistakes I can never undo,” he says with a sideways glance at me, “but I have, and will continue to spend my life atoning for them as the Lord shows me opportunity.”

Mallory shoots a wary glance at Jeff. “That’s commendable, but it doesn’t change our concern. That was a difficult time for Hilary, and I’m not convinced that having you here . . . reminding her of it, is in her best interest.”

“Mallory,” I warn through a tight jaw. You’d swear from the conversation that I must be five years old.

Her gaze becomes sharp as it cuts to me. “I worry about you, okay? It’s a habit that doesn’t die easy.”

“I understand your concern, Mallory,” Alessandro says, his eyes slipping to mine again, “and I shared it at first. I was worried about what I would find when I went looking for Hilary, and when I found a beautiful, capable woman, I worried what seeing me again might do to her. I even left, trying to protect her, but the truth is, I loved your sister then, when we were both so broken, and despite myself and my best intentions, I’ve fallen in love with her all over again. As long as she’s willing, I intend to be a part of her life. I’d also like to be a part of Henri’s, if you’ll allow it.”

“He’s not ready to know the truth,” Mallory says, her voice suddenly sharp.

“I respect your decision as a parent as to what’s best for your children. All I ask is that I’m allowed to know both Henri and Max. I would like to be a friend to them, and to you.”

Mallory’s face pinches. “I’m just . . . it’s too easy to slip, to say something without realizing it. And, no offense intended, but I don’t know you from Adam. How can we be sure you won’t change your mind and tell him, or petition for custody?”

Alessandro leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “You were there for Hilary when I abandoned her. You’ve been a constant positive in her life when she’s so desperately needed one. And your son is the amazing child he is because of his parenting. I would never dream of doing anything to hurt him, or you.”

She and Jeff exchange a look and Mallory produces three stapled pages of white paper from the side table. “Would you sign this petition to waive your parental rights?”

Alessandro reaches across me and takes it from her shaking hand. He reads over the first page, then looks at me with a question in his eyes.

“I had to sign one when I gave Henri up for adoption,” I tell him.

He nods slowly then shifts his gaze to Mallory. “Do you have a pen?”

The tension in the room seems to palpably bleed out as Mallory hands him a pen and he signs.

Jeff squeezes Mallory’s hand and pushes up from his chair. “Thank you, Alessandro,” he says, extending his arm.

Alessandro stands and shakes his hand. “Thank you for being there for Hilary when she needed you.”

Jeff gives him a nod. “Dinner is just about ready,” he says, turning for the kitchen, “ . . . if we haven’t killed your appetite,” he adds with a teasing smile over his shoulder at me.

Dinner conversation is lighter. We tell Mallory and Jeff about our Thursdays and Jeff asks Alessandro for information on Pizza for the Masses. Mallory suggests the High Line in the spring if we haven’t seen it and Alessandro adds it to his list.

When we’re through and Mallory packs up a bag of leftovers for Alessandro, I can’t help but smile. He has her stamp of approval. As much as she wants to, even she can’t resist him.

As we’re standing on the subway platform after making the transfer from the PATH, Alessandro scoops me into his arms and kisses me. “I’ve been dying to do that all night,” he says when he pulls away.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “What took you so long?”

“I was trying to appear the gentleman for your sister, and I knew if I started, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

“You can’t keep your hands off me?” I say, running a hand seductively over my hip.

He smiles and leans in to kiss me again, his hands gliding over my curves, leaving me gasping for air.

He nips my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs gently. “Take me home with you,” he whispers against my lips.

I trace a finger down his abs to the button of his jeans. “You don’t think maybe we should slow down a little?”

His perfect mouth pulls into a sexy half smile and there’s a wicked spark in his eye. “Oh, I intend to go tortuously slow.”

The muscles in my belly contract as the tingle between my legs becomes a hot, pulsing ache. I grin with the rush and bump him with my hip. “Two can play at that game, mister.”

His hand slips to my ass as the train whooshes into the station, and if he’s not careful, everyone on the E train is going to get a show.

I WALK INTO the 115th-Street library determined not to be scared anymore. And when I look around, I see there’s no reason to be. The gang’s all here, except Mike.

Nathan smiles from across the circle and gives me a little wave.

“Irish! Long time no see!” Quinn shouts. “How’s our resident celebrity?”

“Way to steal her thunder, Quinn,” Nathan says.

I stop in my tracks. “How did you hear?”

He winks. “An old guy like me knows people.”

I step into the circle and Quinn wraps me in a bear hug. “I’m proud of you, Irish,” he says lower, just for me.

“Thanks, Quinn.”

“We’ve got a celebrity in the house!” he announces to the group, clapping me on the back. “Irish is getting ready to take Broadway by storm.”

“Off-Broadway,” I mutter, embarrassed.

“Tell everyone about your role.”

“The production is called Don’t Look Back, and it’s opening at Theatre Row in April. It’s a contemp about two sisters who have . . . issues. I’m Rene, the younger sister. Our mom is kind of psycho and I’m her favorite, which seriously screwed up my older sister. We basically hate each other at the beginning because we’re so different, but then our mom dies and we’re stuck together going through all her stuff, and we figure out that we’re really exactly the same.”

“And she’s comping us all tickets!” Kamara shouts.

“I will if I can,” I say, and it’s true. Being part of this group is what has kept me going for the last two years. They’ve kept me from giving up.

“Nah,” Vee says. “She’ll get all famous and won’t remember we exist.”

“I won’t. As long as you let me, I want to keep coming.”

Quinn smiles. “You’ll always be welcome here. And I think, in celebration, we need a reprisal of one of your most challenging roles.” He looks at Nathan. “You ready, Prince Phillip?”

Nathan smiles and stands as I grumble, “Oh, no.”

Quinn pulls me up by the arm. “Show us what you got, hot shot.”

I meet Nathan in the middle of the circle. “Where’s Mike?” I ask so only he hears.

He leans close to my ear. “I told the asshole to take a hike.”

“Thanks.” I take a breath. “So, you ready?”

He nods and flashes me a wily smile. “You own this prissy little bitch.”

I laugh and launch into Aurora. And I let all my soft spots show.

I always thought being strong meant pushing everyone else out and never showing weakness. What being with Alessandro has taught me is that strength is really putting yourself out there and not hiding who you are. We’ve talked a lot about our time together at the group home. He’s reminded me of the endless conversations we had. I’d forgotten how much I told him, but I’m glad I did. After everything that happened I wanted to forget myself. Talking to him has reminded me of who I really am.

I want to be that person again . . . the person who dares to believe that things might just work out. The person who dares to let people really see her, the good and the bad. The person who dares to live her life without being afraid. Without hiding that fear behind sharp edges that will cut anyone who gets too close.

I think Quinn knew that, when I filed down all the sharp edges and I let the real me show, I wouldn’t be scared anymore. He was right.