My head jerks back. “I didn’t think you meant electronic things.”
She shrugs. “Dad is an engineer. He was always fiddling with things like this. I used to like to help him.”
“And yet you became a nurse.”
“I did, but I learned a lot from my dad.”
“That’s nice.” A warm bubble fills my chest. “It’s nice that you are all close.” I cast her a quick glance and don’t miss the curiosity in her eyes.
“You… ah…is your father in your life?” she asks. I turn from her. Fast. Every muscle in my body bunching. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “You don’t have to answer that. I was just curious, I guess. It’s none of my business.”
I don’t talk about my past, ever. The only one who knows the shit I’ve been through is my brother and while I’ve only just met Jules, for some unknown reason I want to open up to her, and that is just all fucked up. I can’t make sense of it. Then again, nothing about us makes sense but perhaps it’s the easy understanding between us, the fact that she doesn’t want anything from me, and I can just be me. Rider, the guy who’d do anything for those he cared about, not Rider the hockey player who is known for his wild ways.
“I never really knew my dad,” I begin as I pull four slices of bread from the bag in the basket. I butter them and add a dollop to the pan.
She stands. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay. We’re friends, right?”
“We are.” A small palm settles on my back, between my shoulder blades and the heat and warmth that comes with her touch is…everything. She presses her thumb into my muscle and it’s only then that I realize I’m tense.
“Dad left when I was young, and Mom. She liked her drink. It prevented her from holding down a full-time job.”
“Not easy for a kid,” she says and I nod, grateful that she’s not apologizing or saying she’s sorry. I want her friendship, not her pity. “Pass the spatula?” I ask.
She grabs one from the drawer and hands it over. I wave it in the air. “That’s how I learned to cook.” She moves beside me and leans against the counter, but her leg is touching mine, like she needs the contact. Or maybe it’s because she knows I do.
“And now I’m reaping the rewards,” she says and I laugh at that. “Although you were probably too young to use a stove. Then again, you are a thrill-seeker, so maybe you liked the risks that came with doing something dangerous.” I grin at that. “By the way, even if you hadn’t told me you were a thrill-seeker, I would have figured it out.”
“How?” I ask.
She gestures to the pan. “You’re melting butter in a hot pan with no shirt on.”
I laugh as she teases me, and as tension drains from my body, I say, “Child services removed me from the home when I was around seven. I was pissed off, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“We were checked on a few times and I was doing a good job of holding it all together. I used to keep boxes in the cupboards to make it look like we had food.”
“Smart,” she says. “I like that in a guy.”
Man, and I like her.
I toss two slices of bread into the hot pan, add the cheese, and place the other slices on top.
“But the worker caught on when the boxes never changed. Apparently, I wasn’t that smart.”
“Yeah, you were. She just wasn’t about to be outfoxed by a seven-year-old.”
“Apparently.”
She frowns. “Was it better for you afterward? In the foster homes?”
“Some places were great.” I shrug, and rub my hand over my right temple. I fought back when I was eleven, trying to protect my foster sister, who’d got caught sneaking in after curfew. Her old man was an abusive asshole, and I had inserted myself in between them. I was a scrawny pre-teen who couldn’t do much, other than give her time to run and lock herself in her room until her father could cool down. The boot he threw at me…yeah, I’d do it again. But after that, I started weight training. “Some weren’t.”
“Then you found yourself with Kane’s family?” she says, injecting a cheery note into her voice.
I nod. I’d gone into the home with a chip on my shoulder, expecting the worst. I take a breath, and try not to think about the first time Marion hugged me. “Yeah, at fourteen.”