Trust (London Love #5)

“My mum?” He snorted. “She wasn’t a bad mum. She had her issues, but she did love me. I have no massive childhood trauma or anything like that. She was just a kid. Got herself knocked up. Tried hard and fell in with the wrong crowd. Classic story. Doesn’t mean she didn’t love me.”

“Good,” I said. I was glad. He deserved love. All the love.

“She’s also stunningly beautiful, tall, and shapely. Gorgeous eyes. She’s really funny. I don’t see her anymore, and that’s her choice. I respect that. I mean, it’s not because she doesn’t care. It’s… I dunno. Maybe she’s embarrassed. And I think she feels, if she came back into my life, she might just push me off the tracks again. But she’s proud of me. Sends me texts on my birthday.”

“Is that enough? I mean, do you want to see her?”

“For now, it’s enough. I’m okay with it. Is that bad, d’you think?”

“Nah. I think being okay with things is good. Comfortable. Like you just go with the flow and let things happen and there’s no need to cause drama, you know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I do. And there is no drama. Not anymore. Dad sends her texts too. Tells her how I am. The odd photo.”

“That’s…civilised. And your dad? I mean?”

“Mum had…a steady stream of gentlemen who paid her bills. In a seedy…kind of…”

“So she was a…?”

“Yeah. But it’s not always black and white. She couldn’t hold down a job, and she had me, so…yeah. My dad didn’t know I existed until I was twelve. Mum went down for dealing and I went into the foster care system, and my dad came forward. He’d read about her case in the local paper. So we did DNA tests, and it turned out I was his son.”

“Wow.”

“Again, not as traumatic as you think. I mean, I could have been stuck in a children’s home. Instead, I had a dad. A permanent placement and all that, and I was a little shithead. Made Dad’s life hell. But you know what? He stepped up.”

“I can imagine him doing that.”

“He did. Taught me a thing or two. I…kind of have…uh. A record. Juvenile stuff, but still.”

“Well. I have several records. Most of them have gone platinum.”

He laughed at my bad joke. Snuggled into me.

“You’re such a dick.”

“I know.”

“That’s all in the past. I have a clean licence now. Own my car. Full-time job.”

“Girlfriend?”

Stupid question, again, but I wanted to keep him talking.

“Shut up. We need to sleep.”

“So no special lady then?”

“Not sure any special lady would be overly pleased having her boyfriend share a bed with The Dieter.”

“Hate that name. Going to bin it permanently as soon as I can.”

He went quiet. Stroked my hair.

“Dad…” he began, then cringed. I could feel it in the air, the small shudder that ran through him.

“Your dad, what?” I kept my voice soft. Perhaps others enjoyed my stupid raspy singing voice, but me, personally? I loved hearing Reuben talk. His soft vowels. The slight London accent. The way he smiled through his sentences. For someone who’d flunked out of school, he was well spoken. And kind. And…fuck.

“My dad wasn’t always like this either.” I had a feeling that wasn’t what he’d intended to say. “He used to drink too much and was a bit of a loan shark on this estate. Made some real enemies. People turning up at our door shouting. It used to scare the living daylights out of me.”