6. Blended Into the Background #2
“Welcome home, big bro.” He was wearing his signature smirk.
We always teased each other because I was older by three minutes—the typical brotherly joke, putting me a bit more at ease.
As he leaned down to pick up the folder, though, I noticed he grew more serious.
“Well, I brought your folder with the dirt , but I’m going to be honest with you…
this girl? She’s been through a lot of shit.
So maybe just keep that in mind with whatever your plans are, Rowan. ”
I stopped in front of him to grab the folder. Sitting down in the armchair next to him, I looked over towards my twin. A sudden surge of anxiety rocketed through my chest. “What do you mean?”
He waved his hand at the folder. “It’s all in there. Even found some photos with the police reports for you. But it’s a lot, like I said. Her life definitely isn’t sunshine and rainbows. I’ve also never known you to care about…well, anyone outside of the family. So just be gentle with her.”
“Police reports?” I didn’t see that coming. What type of police reports? She didn’t exactly strike me as the law-breaking type of woman. She was nervous just climbing on the back of my bike for fuck’s sake.
I looked down at the folder in my hands before setting it on the table in front of me and opening it.
The first photo was of a little girl, her long, dark hair in two braids.
I instinctively knew it was Aspen. She looked to be around ten years old, standing with a few other kids.
Her clothes were way too big, and she looked terrified.
Flipping to the next page, I see it’s foster home information for a home in Nevada.
I realized this wasn’t information I should know.
It’s information that should come from her when she’s ready to share, but I continued reading anyway, unable to help myself or put the information back.
“She was in foster care?” I asked.
“From what I’ve gathered, her mom bailed, she’s up in the PNW now.
Married with two more kids, seems to be doing well.
Then her dad was an alcoholic. He wasn’t abusive as far as the case files said, but he didn’t take care of her.
The school called it in a few times, telling the case workers at Child Protective Services that she was in dirty clothes or clearly not eating enough.
They sent her to a few foster homes over the years when things would get really bad.
But she always ended up back with her father.
He died of a heart attack right after she turned eighteen and graduated from high school.
” Wyatt’s voice was tinged with sadness, and I knew he was thinking about our parents.
Even when Dad died and Mom was devastatingly heartbroken, she never checked out on us.
She was always there—sadder on some days than others—but she never left us.
But we also had Oliver to help out when her days were really bad…
Aspen didn’t seem to grow up with any other siblings. She was completely alone.
I shook my head and focused on the next few pages.
She graduated from high school on time despite it all and had a pretty good GPA, definitely higher than mine was.
There was nothing in here about her art, which was sort of odd because I knew she’d been pursuing it for years.
I absentmindedly flipped to the next page, and I wasn’t even close to prepared for what came next in my little angel’s file of horrors.
After the foster homes, the neglect, the high school transcripts. It felt like I knew Aspen already. She’s the smart but shy girl who felt like she was easily forgotten. She thought she blended into the background. How wrong that was.
But what I wasn’t prepared for were the hospital photos included with the police reports.
Based on the DMV information and the hospital dates, she would’ve been around nineteen in the first set of photos.
Her face was swollen and bruised, and her lip split open.
The next set of photos was from another date, months later, in which her ribs were bruised.
The next one was a broken wrist, then broken ribs, then more split lips and black eyes.
I could feel my temper rising as I tried to control my anger.
The next set of photos were another few years after the first set, only she was unconscious in them.
Lying in a hospital bed, her leg was broken, three broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and a concussion.
All the police reports in the beginning claimed falls, trips, accidents—but this last one apparently had security footage included.
Samuel Wallace, the boyfriend, pushed her down two flights of stairs in their apartment building.
One note said that a duffel bag had been found at the scene, and it was speculated that she was trying to leave, but she never corroborated that story.
After that, there are no more hospital trips or police reports. Good, she must’ve left him.
I checked the dates again; they all occurred over the span of two years.
Two years. She was twenty-three now, and the last hospital record and photos show she was twenty-one.
Where was Samuel now? Did she leave two years ago?
Did she stay and just not go to the hospital anymore?
Was he just not caught again on camera? Did she come here to run?—
“Rowan,” Wyatt said gently, pulling me from my internal spiral. I looked down, realizing I was gripping the last photo of her in the hospital bed so hard my knuckles were white, and the photo was crumpled where my hand clutched it.
I took a deep breath and carefully put it all back in the folder. “Is there anything else that wasn’t in the folder?” I asked, my voice sounding thick and raspier than I imagined it would be aloud.
“The police report didn’t say it, but I have friends in some more…
risky places who I asked. They think the last time she was trying to leave, the doctor didn’t note it, but he thought she showed signs of sexual assault.
Obviously, it’s hard to tell. Some people just like it rougher.
” He shrugged. “Phone and employment records don’t have her leaving that address or Vegas in general until six months ago.
She went from there to here, as far as I can tell.
” Wyatt’s voice was quiet, as if relaying this information actually brought him a sense of pain.
I took another deep breath and dropped my face into my hands.
My little angel had been nothing but caged, and I wasn’t going to let it happen anymore.
Her father. Her ex. The system. Now she was caging herself.
I could see it in her eyes anytime I complimented her or tried to ask anything deeper than the basics.
She didn’t want to be known. She didn’t want to put herself out there. Maybe she was scared it would end the same way it did with Sam. Maybe she was just trying to build up her strength in the only way she knew how.
I truly didn’t know why I was so drawn to this woman, but something about her made my heart feel lighter.
Almost a caveman’s urge to protect and defend her.
Which was insane since I didn’t even know her…
right? That was insane. We’d spent one night together.
She could be terrible—it could’ve all been an act.
Self-centered and egotistical. I didn’t even participate in attempts at love.
I promised myself years ago I wouldn’t bother. Couldn’t be bothered.
I glanced back down at the photo from her first foster home and took a deep breath. There was clearly only one way to find out if my gut was pointing me in the right direction. Fear aside, I’d see it through.
I pulled out my phone and brought up her text from earlier, finally replying. It was Saturday, so I knew she was going to be working this evening. Damn, maybe I was a stalker.
“What are you doing?” Wyatt asked.
“I’m going to help her fly,” I said with a confident smile. No matter how much I had to work at it, I wasn’t going to let my little angel fall anymore.