Chapter 28 #2
Four nights turned into a week, which turned into two, none of us wanting to leave the weirdly cohesive little bubble that we’ve formed.
And it’s been bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.
A huge part of me wants to hide out here forever, but the city calls, and so does our visit to Queens to try and figure out this security guard.
And then there is the little matter of my trial. Three weeks feels scarily close.
I cast an eye out to where Terrence and Sunny scuff stones into the foamy shoreline, checking they are otherwise occupied.
The two of them seem to have developed an oddly companionable bond.
That stupid cat of his won’t stop following Sunny around, and Mr. Clay has decided that if Lord Bartholomew approves, then so does he.
Cold, oily liquid squirts onto my stomach, making me gasp and bringing me swiftly back into the moment. A wide hand swipes across it, causing my muscles to tense.
“No more,” I groan, lolling my head back against his chest as he begins to massage my warm skin. “I’m so sore.”
This man's appetite is voracious. We’ve just about christened every part of the sweeping beach home, and even the car on one night when Sunny and Terrence stayed up into the early hours playing drafts.
I cannot get enough. Hell, maybe I’ll never get enough, and that thought sends a little zap of cool air across my skin.
He lets out a low chuckle that rumbles against me, dragging his nose down my neck and placing a soft kiss at the juncture of my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I’m giving you some rest.” He swipes a sunscreen-greased hand up to my chest and covers me there too, slowly, just slowly enough to have my heart lurching. “Your skin is so smooth and beautiful.”
I drop my head down a touch, watching him move to my arms and shoulders, inviting prickling awareness everywhere his fingers rub. “I can tell you where it came from, actually.”
His hands slow and I feel rather than see his focus switch to my face, that assessing gaze scraping over my skin like a sharp point at the sudden change of tone.
“What do you know?”
I shrug my shoulder, reaching up for the sunglasses that are perched on top of my head and sliding them down for some protection. “I did one of those DNA tests a couple years back. Turns out I’m mostly Indigenous American and European.”
“It must be hard, not having all the answers,” he says simply, holding space for my feelings in that way he always does.
I swallow, knowing what he’s asking. “All I know is that I was left on the doorstep of a fire house in a cardboard box.”
I bare the most tender parts of my soul in the midday sun, pulling the baseball cap he leant me when my nose started to peel an inch further down my face.
His hands halt. In fact, all of him does. I’m not sure he’s even breathing. I start to fidget, every second that stretches by increasing the crawling sensation beneath my skin. Why the fuck did I tell him that?
“That’s…” He trails off, his throat sounding clogged. “No child should be left like that.”
I nod, my eyes fixed firmly on the chipped pink varnish on my toes.
“I imagine sometimes that my biological mother might have been barely an adult herself, or perhaps even a terrified teenager who got herself into a situation she wasn’t equipped to handle.
” Breeze scatters fresh sand across my thighs and I swipe it away. “It’s easier to forgive that way.”
I’ve gone over it a thousand times, imagining her with pin-straight black hair and the same angle to her eyes that I see in the mirror each day. It helps me to think of her like this, and perhaps I’m wrong, but I’d rather live in a soft fantasy than have my heart crushed by harsh truth.
“You’re an incredible woman, do you know that?” he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss behind my ear. “And when did you find Sunny?”
I smile, picturing the splintered wooden deck and the little kid sniffling next to a social worker. “We were placed into the same foster home together.”
“And you took her with you.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I wonder briefly how much he already knows about me.
No doubt in the beginning he had his people digging up everything about me from my shoe size to the exact shade of coffee I prefer in the mornings.
I suppose I don’t get to be mad at that, considering I quite literally hacked into his bank account.
“As soon as I could.” I look out at where she skips along the water’s edge, splashing Mr. Clay, her hair bleached almost entirely blonde by the sun and the chlorine.
We sit in silence for long seconds, and I’m stunned at how comfortable it is, nothing but the gulls flying overhead and the crash of waves.
“When did she transition?” Chase asks quietly from behind me.
I stiffen, my stomach twisting as my instant defensiveness roars to life. He must feel it, but he doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently instead.
I ruminate as I watch the girl in question plonk her wet butt down into the sand, warmth tangling within my unease for the increasingly rare moments where her inner child peeks through. I’d like to capture this part of her life—no job, no bills, no one expecting anything from her but to simply be.
“Last summer,” I answer eventually, unable to meet the focus that I can still feel boring into my face. The moment feels charged, like some great consequence hangs in the balance. And truly, I don’t want to admit how much I care what he thinks. It feels unbearably vulnerable.
“And she chose the name Sunny?”
I nod slowly, reaching over to pick up my spritz and taking a measured sip. The silence multiplies into long seconds, where I become increasingly on edge.
“It suits her,” he says finally, a sense of finality embedded in the words.
I feel tears of relief begin to pool in my eyes and press my sunglasses higher up my nose to hide them.
Why do I care what he thinks? He’s everything I hate in a man…
except he’s not. The belief system I’ve lived inside begins to crash around me with every day that passes.
Every day where I see all the parts of him that are good and kind and honorable.
“Will you let her start treatment?”
My eyes bounce to his, and from behind the sanctity of my UV veil, I see a light frown gracing his carved features.
“What, you have some opinion on that?” I bite harder than I mean to, the mama bear in me tossing up in challenge.
“No,” he responds in a measured tone, the brackets beside his mouth deepening.
I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from snapping further, and as I do so, he turns himself to me, golden sun glistening off every unfairly precise feature.
He takes hold of my chin, stealing away my ability to turn away from him.
“Pepper, in case it isn’t clear, I think you have done an extraordinary thing in becoming Sunny’s guardian.” He looks sincere, a dark lock sliding over his tanned forehead. “It was brave and downright fucking admirable, and there is nothing that I would judge you for.”
The tips of my ears turn hot and suddenly it feels like you could cook a sausage on my back. I’ve never been good at taking compliments. I mean, tell me more, but like…perhaps don’t make eye contact whilst you do?
“You had nothing and no one, and yet you still found it in your heart to give what little you had to her. Do you know how unusual that is?” His molten eyes bore into mine as I feel one tear slip over.
“I wasn’t judging you, I was thinking how tough it must be to feel like you were born into the wrong body, and I was thinking how damn lucky she is to have a sister like you at her side while she goes through that.”
Okay, I’m going to bawl like a baby if he doesn’t shut up. I start waffling, looking to divert the serious set to his pitch.
“I spoke to just about every specialist on the east coast to find out what the best approach would be, and even still I…” I train off and give my head a sharp shake as the oh-so-familiar imposter syndrome begins to creep in.
“When she’s legally an adult she can make the choice to transition physically if that is what she wants. But not before then.”
My teeth clamp down on my lower lip. It qualifies as one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make.
Where do you draw the line between wanting to accept and love her how she is, but also wanting her to wait to have surgeries that are incredibly invasive and pretty dang hard to reverse?
There doesn’t seem to be one right answer, so I drew a line in the sand with the advice I was given from professionals.
We talked about it, and she accepted that decision.
I then learned everything I could about supporting her, and we created her new identity together—brainstorming names, choosing hairstyles, buying a whole new wardrobe.
“That makes sense.” He drops a casual kiss to the round of my shoulder.
“Sometimes the family you choose is more important than the family who didn’t choose you,” I whisper huskily.
His eyes trace my face intently, cataloging every line. “To the family you choose,” he repeats softly, sweeping a flyaway hair back around my ear.
I can feel reality waiting in the wings to reclaim me from this fever dream, where somehow I’m the girl a man like Chase Walker looks at this way, but I push it away, choosing to hide here for just a little bit longer.