Page 28 of Let’s Be Real

Adrian: All right. Take care of my girl, Nate. I mean it.

Me: I’m doing my best.

It wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t the man for the job. But like Adrian had said, it was me or no one.

Samantha moaned as she plunged a spoonful of ice cream and brownie into her mouth.

“Holy shit,” she mumbled around the brownie. “This is exactly what I needed.”

I laughed and stuck my spoon in the ice cream, taking a big scoop for myself. Just as good as she was making it out to be, the brownie hot and gooey, the ice cream rich and melty. I didn’t eat like this often—or ever, if I was being exact—but damn it all to hell, if ever there was an occasion for a junk food picnic, tonight was it.

Our room service was spread out on the king-size bed in front of us. Samantha was in sweats, her damp hair in a bun on the top of her head. I’d changed into pajama pants and a T-shirt, and we were both propped on a pile of pillows, eating dessert for dinner and watching a stupid movie on TV.

She wasn’t talking, and I wasn’t prying. When she’d emerged from the shower, her eyes had been red-rimmed and puffy, making the way she’d smiled at the brownie sundae a ray of sunshine after a storm.

“I had no idea you’d be a plaid pants guy.”

I chuffed. “No? Have you put a lot of thought into my pajamas?”

“Not a lot, but some.” She shook her spoon at me. “Do you know I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in your PJs? You’re always dressed.”

“That isn’t surprising. I don’t lounge around in pajamas. When I get up, I get dressed for the day.”

Her nose crinkled. “Is this freaking you out?”

“What?”

“Being awake in your jammies.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Jammies? I don’t wear jammies. I’m not five.”

She sniggered, her cheeks filling with color. “You didn’t answer the question! Does it bother you to be sitting here wearing your extremely dignified pajamas while you’re wide awake, doing nonsleeping activities?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but now that you mention it, I think I’ll put my suit back on.”

I started to get up, but she lunged for me, grabbing the back of my shirt and yanking me onto the mattress. She pulled me so hard I nearly toppled onto her, only catching myself at the last second.

“Crap, I’m sorry.” She giggled. “I think I got a little overzealous.”

Pushing myself upright, I laughed. “You don’t know your own strength.”

That was when I saw it. The sleeve of her sweatshirt had shifted enough to reveal a flaming red ring around her wrist.

I snagged her hand in mine before she knew what I was doing. When she saw where my focus was, her breath caught.

“Christ, Samantha.” I lifted my eyes to hers, and she tore hers away. “Does that hurt?”

She tugged her hand out of my grasp and replaced her sleeve. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is. No one should leave marks on you. Especially not your mother.”

“Are you really one to tell me how mothers should treat their children?” she snapped. Then her eyes lifted to mine, wide and shocked, like she hadn’t meant to say it.

I shook my head. “No. I guess I’m not. But no one should ever hurt you. I do know that.”

“I’m sorry, Nate. That was incredibly shitty of me to say,” she rushed out. “I’m pretty embarrassed about it all, but that’s no excuse. Bringing up your mom is beyond the pale—especially from a thirty-three-year-old woman letting her mom hurt her.”

I started to speak, to tell her she had nothing to apologize for, when she raised her hand.