Author: Teresa Mummert

Marie didn’t scold me; she only cocked her head to the side and shook it slightly. “Tell me about meeting Brock.”

I swallowed hard as I got lost in the memory of the boy who changed everything.

“Whatchya writin’?”

I glanced up to see a pair of gray eyes.

“A novel.” I covered my notebook with my free arm so the stranger couldn’t read anything I wrote.

He laughed as he shook his head. “You been inside one day, and you’re already writin’ your memoirs?” he joked with a thick Boston accent.

“No. I’m a writer—at least I wanted to be before I ended up in this place.” My eyes scanned his dark buzzed hair and haunting gray eyes.

“You don’t just end up in a place like this, sweetheart. You had to be a bad girl to get in here.”

“Would you believe I was innocent?” I tried to suppress my grin as I narrowed my eyes at him. He didn’t, and I caught a flash of his perfectly white teeth and the deep dimples that settled into his tanned cheeks. His jaw was strong and square, like a statue of a Roman gladiator. The only imperfection was a thin scar that cut across his right eyebrow, which only made me focus on his intense stare.

“Not a chance.”

My breathing caught as I was trapped under his gaze. He grabbed the chair in front of him and sat directly across from me. His shirt was pulled tautly across his chest, and I had the urge to reach out and run my hands over his muscles.

“This isn’t prison. It isn’t even juvie. It’s some dumb‐shit place for our parents to get rid of us for a while and not feel like they’re the bad guys. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Yeah, well, it worked, and it’s hard not to blame myself.” I rolled my eyes as I doodled stars on my paper.

He sat back in his chair, stretching his long legs under the table. His foot bumped against mine, and I quickly pulled my feet back under my chair. “What did you do to get in here?” he asked. “You get a B instead of an A?”

I glanced up at him, any trace of humor gone from my expression. “I was born.”

He snorted, but his smile fell as he leaned forward and propped himself on his elbows. “I really want to know.”

“I just told you.” I flipped my notebook closed and stood from my chair.

“I was a mistake that my mother has been trying to correct since I was born.” I stalked off before the tears that threatened to fall made it past my lashes. As soon as I reached my room, I curled up on my bed and let the sobs rip from my chest. I’d never told anyone that my mother wished I hadn’t been born. It was a secret that ate me alive from the inside like a disease. A family friend had raped her when she was fifteen years old. Her parents—my grandparents—were deeply religious and told her it would be a sin to have an abortion. Of course, once I was born, I was the ugly spot on the family tree. They wanted nothing to do with me. They left me with a child, a victim of rape who knew nothing about being a parent or an adult. My mother spent years struggling to survive, all the while secretly wishing I would disappear.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

I pulled myself from my memories and glanced up at the boy through blurry eyes.

“Too late.” I sniffled as I sat up, wrapping my arms around my legs.

“I’m Brock, the asshole,” he said, as he crossed the room slowly and sat down on my roommate’s bed.

“I’m Delilah, the mistake.” I laughed nervously as I wiped my hand across my cheek. Brock also laughed, humorlessly.

“That’s a nice name.”

“My friends call me ‘Lie.’ Not really. I don’t have any.” I rolled my eyes, wishing the room would swallow me whole.

Brock shook his head and sat next to me on my bed. I slid over, not liking being so close to someone I didn’t know, and wondered what his motive was. No one was ever nice to me just for the sake of being nice. He had to want something.

“I stole a car and disappeared for a few weeks,” he confessed with a laugh as he ran his hand along his strong jaw.

“Accidents happen.” I shrugged as I let my legs hang over the edge of the bed.

“It wasn’t an accident.” He laughed again, and his gray eyes met mine for a moment before he studied the speckled tile floor. “I was pissed. We just moved here from Boston, and I had to leave all my friends behind. It was stupid.”

“I ran away.” My voice was barely a whisper, and I braced for him to ask me to elaborate, but he only nodded, his hand falling on my knee and giving it a small squeeze.

“It’s not that bad here. I promise.”

“Can’t be any worse than home.” I sighed dramatically.

“You’re kind of intense, Lie.” His lips quirked up in a smile, revealing deep dimples that settled into his cheeks, and I fought against a grin.

“So what are you? Like, the welcome committee or something?” I joked nervously as I pulled my lower lip between my teeth.

“You just looked like you needed a friend.”

“Where were you a few years ago?” I rolled my eyes again, this time wishing I could pull out of my funk for five minutes. This guy was making an effort, and I probably was scaring him away.

“Well, I have plenty of time to make it up to you.” There was no hint of humor in his expression, and I relaxed next to him.

“What did you think of Brock when you first met him?” Marie asked, shaking me from my memories, and I realized I was smiling.

“He was different. No one had ever really been nice to me before.”

“So you liked him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you feel guilty for liking him?”

“Wouldn’t you?” I sighed loudly as I ran my hand through my ponytail. “Look at what happened. If Brock never had met me he—”

Marie held up her hand to stop me from completing my thought. “We can’t control other people’s actions. You’re only responsible for what you do. Do you think you did something wrong?”

“I existed.” Unable to look her in the eye, I brushed away a tear that fell from my lashes.

“You aren’t responsible for other people’s actions. That includes your mother and Brock.”

“It’s not just what he did. I just…”

“You don’t regret being with him.” Marie finished my thought with a sigh. I nodded, not wanting to admit it out loud. “That’s understandable, Delilah. You’d gone through a lot with the bullying and the issues with your mother. No one blames you for clinging to the one person who showed you kindness.”

“Brock wasn’t just kind. He was everything. He listened and he cared. He was protective of me, and for the first time in my life, I felt safe.”

“Tell me about how he made you feel safe.”

I readjusted in my seat as I looked at the drops on the window that had run together, blurring the picture of the outside world.

I was writing in my notebook, stuck on where I wanted my story to go. It’s hard to even imagine a fictional happy ending when you’ve never experienced one in real life. A shadow fell over me as I lay on my stomach in bed, and I glanced up to see Brock smiling down at me. My heart instantly fluttered as I locked eyes with his. I tried to tell myself that the nervous feeling that settled in my stomach when he was near was from his intense personality. Brock was the kind of guy who could cut someone down with a glare, but his eyes softened when he looked at me, and I knew fear wasn’t the cause of my nervousness.

“You gonna stay locked up in here like some Disney princess, or you gonna join the group?”

I dropped my pen on the paper as I let my eyes drift lower, roaming over his T‐shirt, which read, “Anarchy” across his muscular chest.

“You like that?” He smirked, and I glanced up in time to catch him winking at me.

“What?” I pushed myself up from the bed and brushed my hair from my face.

“The shirt. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Yeah. It’s cool.” God, I was a bumbling idiot, but at least he thought I was checking out his dumb shirt and not his body.

“Some of the guys are about to play poker, and I think the girls are breaking out the board games. I need you to help me cheat.” His dimples deepened in his cheeks as he grinned mischievously.

“I’m not going to help you cheat.” I slid off my bed and slipped on my Chuck Taylors, not bothering to tie them.

“I need a partner in crime,” he said.

“You need to stay out of trouble so you don’t end up in places like this.” I walked by him and into the hall, not wanting to be in there alone with him and risk getting in trouble.

“Last time I checked, you were locked up in this shithole too. That’s like the spoon calling itself a plate.”

I laughed so loudly that I had to cover my mouth with my hand, earning me a glare from one of the workers. “That’s not how the saying goes.”

“Then how does it go?” His hand nudged my side, and fire erupted in my veins, and it was all I could do to keep my knees from buckling. “The pot calling the kettle black. They’re both black, so it means someone is being a hypocrite.”

“Smart and beautiful. What’s not to love about you?” Brock winked again, and his arm looped over my shoulders casually.

“Brock Ryan!” a stern voice called from behind us.

Brock glanced over his shoulder between us and chuckled as he removed his arm and put some distance between us. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, Bird.”

“You’re the troublemaker, and my name is ‘Lie.’”

“I like ‘Bird.’ It suits you.”

My cheeks heated under his gaze, and I stared at the tiled floor, hoping he couldn’t see me blush. We stopped at the entrance to the main lounge as he glanced around.

“What’s your poison? You a card shark? You good at skimming off the top in Monopoly?” he joked.

“Actually I don’t play a lot of games. You kind of have to have friends to play with.”

“You got me, Bird.” His arm went back around my shoulders, and I tried to shrug him off but didn’t give it much effort. It was nice to have someone want to touch me. “Now pick something. I’ll teach you.”

“You’ll cheat.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’d never cheat with you, Lie. I promise. I’m a man of my word. Now pick a game before I pick for us.”

“Truth or dare.”

Brock’s jaw went slack, and his eyes widened slightly. “Oh…you have no idea how much fun this is going to be.”

“I’ll go first,” I told him. “Truth or dare?”

His eyes drifted over my body, and I tightened my arms over my chest, feeling exposed under his gaze. “I’ll go easy on you, Bird. Truth.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because no one is nice to me. What do you want?” I tried to sound like I didn’t care, but inside I was praying he wouldn’t hurt my feelings.

“I just want to get to know you.”

“Why?

“Why not?” he shot back, and I tried not to let my frustration get the best of me.

“Stop answering all my questions with questions. That’s not how you play the game.”

“I thought you didn’t know how to play any games.”

“Never mind.” I dropped my arms and turned away from him so I could go back to my room and be alone, but his fingers wrapped around my upper arm and stopped me in my tracks. I refused to turn around and face him because my sadness was lurking just below the surface, and I already felt like a fool. Seeing it reflected in his eyes would be too much.