three weeks old when my birth mom caught my dad cheating on her and shot him and the girl he was with in their bedroom. I always assumed she didn’t really love me or else she wouldn’t have taken her own life the next day.
Neighbors heard my wails and found me in my mother’s limp, lifeless arms. She had taken a bottle of pills and held me while she waited for her life to come to an end.
That information was supposed to be secure, but somehow all the prospective parents knew about me, while I was clueless. When my adoptive parents finally adopted me at the ripe age of seven, they were loving, but always had that look of pity in their eyes. Being lawyers, they were always working and had help to raise me. I had assumed the help didn’t know about my past because my parents were the only ones to look at me that way. I always kept to myself since I was scared they would leave me one day. It kind of made sense that they were taken from me when I was thirteen—everyone else had been.
My adoptive parents said they felt the need to let me know in case some stranger ever brought it up. They didn’t want someone else to break the news to me and leave me alone to process what they had revealed.
It wasn’t hard to do the research to find the news articles and I soon knew all too much about the baby found in the hands of her dead, murderous mother. I couldn’t believe the details that they had written in the papers. My last name had been changed to that of my adoptive parents but we still lived in the same city. As I got older, people had seemingly forgotten about who I was and I was able to get by with telling people I didn’t know anything about my birth parents since I honestly didn’t, except for what the articles said.
Before my adoptive parents passed away, Chloe and I were best friends without a care in the world. We rode our bikes around the neighborhood, went swimming at the beach, went to movies, and had fun without having to think of how cruel the world around us was. After the car accident, I had come to the conclusion that I would lose Chloe one day. She was the only one left in my corner and fate had a shitty way of reminding me of that. I changed that day. I freaked out if she didn’t answer her door when I went over to her house, assuming the worst had happened. When we would go swimming, I only let us get waist deep for fear that something would happen to her.
It drove her crazy. She tried to convince me that she was going to be just fine and made a point to show how safe she was. Slowly, I became more accepting that she was there to stay but I always kept a close eye on her.
It was illogical, but I feared that something would happen to Ryder if he got close to me. I felt cursed. I knew I was damaged goods and no amount of rain could ever clean me of my past. I didn’t deserve to be with someone as normal and genuine as Ryder.
I wasn’t going to allow myself to fall for Ryder anymore than I already had. It was scary to think I wanted him to know everything about me and that I wanted to let him know the real me. He would run, anyway. Either way, I lost, so getting myself more invested would only hurt more.
By the time I arrived on the strip, I was exhausted. I usually couldn’t wait to hit the poker tables or a bar, but that night, I was so emotionally drained and I just wanted to be alone in my room. I took a nice, steaming hot bath and read the newest book in a motorcycle club series. I was finally starting to feel better when I heard my cell phone in the room alerting me of a new text message. I hated that I hoped it was Ryder.
I spent another fifteen minutes reading and soaking until I realized the water was lukewarm and I had been in there almost an hour. I may just have to run another one of these later tonight , I thought. It seemed to calm me and reading got my mind off of the sexy man stuck in my head. I grabbed a