Chapter 8 Lexi #2
But, perhaps, I had overcorrected.
I squint against the blazing sun and take a breath.
‘It wasn’t cool how I spoke to you last time I was here.
I was unprofessional and honestly not very kind.
The issues I have – they’re my issues. And even though it probably doesn’t seem like it, this really doesn’t have anything to do with you. ’ Gross. That almost physically hurt.
Justin lowers his script and studies me. ‘I know on the outside it looks like I had everything growing up. I can see how you got that impression. But I didn’t. Trust me.’
I breathe through my coiled stomach. ‘It’s just so different than how I grew up. But again, my issue is with society in general, and it’s unfair to project that on to you.’
He sets his script on the table and motions for me to sit. ‘Tell me about how you grew up.’
‘How much time do we have?’ I say with a tentative grin.
Honestly, I have zero desire to talk about my clothes being from Goodwill or the only reason we opened store-bought Christmas presents was because my parents choked down their pride and allowed a family from the church to ‘adopt’ us for the holiday season.
‘I sense a slight accent,’ he says, sliding his face under the umbrella shade. ‘Midwest?’
My gaze flickers as I take a seat. ‘Wow, you have a good ear. Minnesota, actually.’
‘I only heard it when you said “shoes” last week – the O’s were long,’ he says and grins at my skeptical look. ‘I work with dialect coaches for different accents depending on what role I’m playing.’
‘Ah, got it.’ I scoot the lounge chair further under the umbrella. ‘So, yeah, I was raised in Black Bear, Minnesota. Population roughly five hundred.’
‘Five hundred … thousand?’
‘Nope, five hundred.’ I grin. ‘And on a farm. Well, more like a hobby family farm. We sold eggs from our chickens, but basically, the rest of the food was for us.’ I rub my ring finger with my thumb. ‘My parents, uh, we didn’t have a lot of money growing up.’
A long moment passes. I really, really hope he doesn’t ask what it was like to grow up food and heat insecure. It’s the most awkward question of all time, and often the other person wants some feel-good story about how it taught resiliency.
‘Chickens?’ he finally says. ‘I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to have chickens running around. But I probably wouldn’t want the work.’
I release my breath and grin. ‘Definitely a lot of work.’
‘Any siblings?’
‘Four brothers, no sisters.’ Growing up, I was the only girl I knew who was glad I didn’t have any sisters. Wrestling was a solid Morgan family pastime, and I have a sneaking suspicion my dad would’ve laid into me for being too rough on a sister.
Justin taps the underneath of his chair. ‘Four brothers, huh? Did you guys get along?’
Memories flash of stuffing fresh snow into cups and drizzling it with sugar and food coloring for snow cones or playing intense games of ‘alley-alley-over’ by throwing a tennis ball over our roof. ‘Yeah, we got along for the most part.’
My brothers are kind, but we’re not particularly close. And even though they’ll deny it, a level of resentment existed toward me because we had a three-bedroom home, and since I was the only girl, my father insisted I get my own room.
‘We skated when the lakes froze over, had family game nights, things like that,’ I say as my shoulders warm in the sunlight. ‘But there was a pretty big age difference. My oldest brother is fourteen years older than me, and I’m seven years younger than the youngest.’
‘Damn. That’s definitely an age difference. Were you a surprise?’ He props his elbows on the table. ‘Or did your parents want another one after a break?’
‘I was adopted.’
‘Really? Wow.’ He leans back on his chair and tilts his head. ‘Does that affect you?’
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.