She frowned, hating that she was anything like them, and absently turned the fake engagement ring round and round on her finger. “I told my sister we work together. We can say you work in the couples therapy department and are in school to…wait, what are you in school for? What’s your end goal?”
“What?”
“What’s your goal for school? Do you just want to add the degree to get a raise or something?” She’d never thought to ask him. He didn’t need a degree for what he did, just training and a certification.
He looked back to the road, his jaw flexing. “Right now my goal is not to fail out, but when I started, my hope was to get a master’s degree in counseling or clinical social work. It’s probably a pipe dream, but I’d like to do what Donovan and Marin do.”
She stared at him, the revelation surprising her. “You don’t want to stay a surrogate? I thought you liked your job.”
He sent her a wary look. “I do. But I also would like a job one day that doesn’t involve sleeping with strangers. I believe in the work I do, but I don’t want to be doing it when I’m fifty. The therapists get to dig into so much more with the clients. I only get to help with one aspect.”
She considered him, the new information giving her a fuller picture of the man she kept trying to box up neatly in one category. “Why does it have to be a pipe dream? You get the hang of those accommodations at school and you can go for whatever you want.”
He grunted in an utterly male, we’re-not-talking-about-this way.
She sighed. “Well, either way, that’s what we’ll say. You’re going to school for your master’s degree. Henry will probably ask why you waited so long and what you did before school.”
He shrugged. “I’ll tell him I lost my parents when I was sixteen and needed to get a job to make ends meet and save up for school.”
Her breath caught. “Is that true?”
His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. “For all intents and purposes. That’s when I failed my junior year of high school. I refused to repeat the year, and my dad didn’t bother to ask me why I was having such a hard time in school. He just kicked me out of the house because I was a ‘lazy and ungrateful punk’ who needed to see what the real world was like. My mom would’ve never done anything to stand up to my dad, so she didn’t intervene. I think they expected me to come crawling back when I ran out of money. I didn’t.”
Her lungs compressed, the matter-of-fact way he’d said it hitting her more than anything. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Old news. A teenager doesn’t start taking money for sex because his home life is awesome. My story isn’t as bad as most of the guys I worked with. Once I got enough money to be comfortable, I got my GED and started looking into ways I could get a legitimate career. One of my former clients was actually the one who made the suggestion that I look into surrogacy. I’d helped her after her husband had passed, and she said I had an empathetic ear and a calming nature. I figured it was worth a shot. Turned out to be the best decision I’ve ever made. God knows where I’d be otherwise.”
Elle watched him for a long minute, this polished, intelligent, kind-hearted man. How he’d gotten himself to this point all on his own was a testament to an iron core of strength. Hell, she often felt sorry for herself because of her screwed-up family, but she’d had every advantage given to her. Private schools. Tutors for outside lessons. A college fund. A car as soon as she could drive. She hadn’t had to work until she was out of school.
And what had she done to Lane to convey how impressed she was by the epically difficult mountain he’d climbed? She’d denigrated him for what he did. Made him feel less than. Bile burned the back of her throat.
People often called her a bitch, but in that moment, she felt like one.
“Is this the exit I should take?” Lane asked.
She’d typed in the address on the GPS for him, but it was giving them two route options.
“Yeah. This way’s the quickest.”
Lane followed the GPS directions, taking them off the interstate and into the city. The streets went narrow and bumpy and the buildings grew older, history rising up around them in a city that cherished its age and didn’t feel any driving ambition to modernize. She appreciated that about New Orleans. It didn’t change for anyone or try to be something besides itself. You either loved it for all its quirks and grit and personality, or you could get the hell out. Despite missing Napa when she’d moved here, she’d always felt a connection to NOLA in that way.
They took a few more turns until they were on her mom’s street in the Garden District. The sunlight became dappled along the windows and enormous oak tree shadows painted the road, the ancient branches looking both welcoming and threatening all at once—depending on if your ex and betraying sister were waiting for you, or if you were just on a stroll after having brunch and a cocktail at Commander’s Palace. Unfortunately, Elle hadn’t had a cocktail.
“Wow,” Lane said, leaning forward to peer at the houses on the right side of the road. “This isn’t bad living.”
“Yeah.” Even Elle had to admit that this part of the city was nothing short of gorgeous. Beautiful, historic homes in white and sometimes frothy pastels displaying the best of New Orleans architecture. Lush gardens and short iron fences that were art pieces in their own right, with all the intricate designs and scrollwork. If she’d been a child when she moved here, she may have thought she’d entered some kind of fairytale land. But as a teenager, it’d looked like a gilded cage.
“I’ve never really driven through this part of the city. I didn’t realize it’d be so beautiful.” When she didn’t respond, Lane glanced over, brow dipping. “You okay?”
She rolled her lips inward and nodded. “I’m good.”
He reached out and gave her knee a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be fawning over this like a tourist. This place isn’t a happy one for you.”
She shrugged, trying to shake off the feelings with it. “I can’t blame the neighborhood.”
He nodded and gave her an empathetic look. “Believe me, I know that pretty houses can hide ugly situations. I used to visit a lot of pretty houses. I’m sure it was hard living here, everyone thinking you were leading a charmed life, but feeling lonely and out of place inside.”
She swallowed back the emotion that his statement sent rushing through her and forced herself to take a breath. “It’s the second one on the right, with the two-story porch and white columns. You can park on the street.”