“Go home and sleep, girl, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tara assures me, rubbing my back.
I stand, giving her a quick hug before I make my way to the front desk. I grab my bag and head out to the parking lot. Once I have my car door unlocked, I toss my bag into the passenger’s seat, get behind the wheel, and shut the door. I lean my head back and close my eyes.
All I keep seeing over and over is the little boy, his face bruised and battered from the car accident he was in. I can’t even imagine what his parents are feeling right now. I turn the car on, more tears filling my eyes.
I don’t even know how I make it back to Kenton’s. Once I let myself into the house, I quickly set the alarm before heading upstairs. When I reach the top landing, Kenton’s standing in his bedroom door. His shirt is off and the pajama pants he’s wearing are barely hanging on his hips. I look at the hand he has resting against his thigh, seeing that he’s holding a gun.
I look up at his face again. This time when our eyes meet, his are concerned. Something inside me snaps and I run to him, seeing surprise on his face right before I shove mine into his chest and my arms wrap around his waist as I sob loudly.
“Baby?” he whispers, pulling me harder against him. I’m grateful that he doesn’t say anything else for a long time; he just stands there holding me in his arms, offering me comfort. “Come on. Let’s lay down.” He pulls me with him to the bed, sets me on the edge, and then lays his gun on the nightstand before going to the dresser. I watch as he pulls out a shirt before coming back to me.
I take the shirt from him as he turns around, giving me a little privacy to change. I pull off my scrub top quickly, tug his shirt on, and then kick off my shoes along with my pants. I scoot up the bed as he turns back around. He climbs into bed and his big body wraps around me, holding me against his chest.
“Talk to me,” he says as his hand slides through my hair.
I take a breath, my heart beating out of my chest because of what I’m going to tell him. “When I was sixteen, I got pregnant,” I whisper, feeling his muscles tighten. “When my mom found out, she sent me away to a home for girls who were expecting.” Tears begin to fill my eyes again, so I squeeze them tightly, trying to fight them off. “The day I had my son, I got to spend two hours with him before they took him away from me.” I feel a knot form in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “I never wanted to give him up.”
“Fuck,” Kenton rumbles, pulling me closer to him. Feeling the strength in his arms gives me the courage to continue.
“A little boy was Life-Flighted in tonight.” I close my eyes, seeing the child in my head. “When I saw him, all I could think about was my son, who would be close in age to him.” I open my eyes and tilt my head back to look up at Kenton. I can barely make out his image with the moonlight shining through the window. “Sometimes when I’m out and I see a little boy, I wonder if it could be him. Logically, I know it’s not, but my heart still hasn’t accepted that he’s lost to me after all these years and I will never see him again.”
“I can’t imagine that’s something easy to accept,” he says softly, running a hand down my back. “Why didn’t your boyfriend help you find a way to keep your son?”
“He didn’t want me or a child. When I told him I was pregnant, he told me he didn’t want to have a kid and he was breaking up with me.” I cry a little harder, reliving the devastation I felt back then. “He was happy when my mom contacted him, telling him that she was forcing me to put the baby up for adoption and he needed to sign the papers.”
“That’s f**ked up, baby.”
“I know,” I whisper.
There is nothing else to say. Kenton now knows some of my past—really, the worst of it—and I wonder what he’s thinking about as he holds me until I cry myself to sleep.
I wake up feeling cocooned in warmth. It takes a few seconds for last night to come back to me and to remember that I willingly climbed into bed with Kenton. I can only imagine what he thinks of me now. I try to lift my head, hoping I can sneak away from him, but his giant hand is wrapped around my hair, holding me in place. Between that and his leg over mine, I can’t move at all.
“You’re not sneaking out on me.” His voice is gravelly with sleep, and I close my eyes, trying to think of what I need to say.
“I’m sorry about laying all that stuff on you last night.” I hide my face in his chest.
“I’m glad you came to me. I’m sorry about your son. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.” He takes a breath, pulling me closer to him. “If you want, I can find him for you.”
“What?” I ask, caught off guard.
“It’s what I do, baby,” he says completely seriously, and my heart does a double thump at the sweet offer.
“It was a closed adoption,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes again.
“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs.
“What do you mean?”
“I have ways of finding people. You say the word and I’ll find your boy for you.”
The building tears begin to fall as I think about finding my son. Then I wonder what I would even do with the information. Would it hurt more knowing where he is? Could I even handle it?
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I would like to know if he’s happy, but I don’t know if I could handle seeing him or knowing where he is.”