Page 83 of Invisible String (The Underground #1)

RAINEY

W ater beads on my skin like dew on a rose.

Max’s shower is large enough to fuck me sideways.

And still he won’t. Not now, at least. He says it’s not the time.

Oh, but it is. I need anything to distract my mind from the shit my parents hid from me.

How dare they take my decision from me? How dare they change my name, which my loving parents gave me?

I let out a soft moan as Max’s gentle, rhythmic hands work the warm body wash into my skin, creating a fragrant, soapy lather.

His touch is firm yet tender, sending a shiver of bliss through me.

His calloused fingertips glide over my arms and back, tracing patterns that leave trails of tingling goosebumps in their wake.

My ass faces him, and I can feel how hard he is, and he still won’t.

My hand accidentally lands on his hard, thick length.

“Rainey,” Max warns.

I pay no attention and stroke it. The velvet skin, the pulse in my hand, is the drug I’m chasing.

He moves my hand from him, and I turn angrily and kiss his chest. The skin stretches tightly over the muscle, emphasizing every contour, dip, and line.

I love his tattoos. Deep striations are visible around his pecs, especially around the center and upper body.

The man is a work of art. My tongue twirls around his nipples.

“Rainey,” he warns again. “Not now.”

“You wanna do me?” I lick the other nipple. “I know you want to.” Then I suck. “I want you to.”

Max lifts my chin, then squishes my cheeks. “Sunshine, I always want you, but now is not the time after everything I revealed to you.” He cocks his head like he’s disciplining a toddler.

“It is. I need your touch. I just need a minute to forget. After dinner, we can talk more. God knows I have so many questions.” I lick my lips. “Do you need me to beg?”

His eyes soften. God, I love this man. I hate that I don’t remember our very first time together in a heartbreaking situation where all we had was each other.

“ Tesoro mío , no, I never want you to beg in situations like this. You want me to make you feel good, I will, but we are not having sex. I have other ways.”

Always a but.

He lifts me like I’m a feather. “Wrap those legs around my head.” He backs us up against the wall, and steam fogs the window.

His tongue circles, and he sucks and bites like he can’t get enough. Every part of me buzzes high on dopamine. I grind my hips with every friction of his tongue. “Mmm, faster.”

“I’m not a damn lizard.” His voice is muffled.

I’m about to laugh when he bites, then flicks like I know he can. Skilled is what he is.

Within minutes, I collapse against the wall, my hand leaving a print on the shower door. Carefully, he balances me and steadies me. I swear his shoulders could probably stack a bunch of bricks.

Max grips my neck gently and kisses me until I’m floating on a cloud of ecstasy. I taste myself on him, reminding me where he was mere seconds ago. I want more of him.

To my disappointment, he retreats.

“Take out should be here shortly, or it might be cold on the porch,” he announces in his husky voice, shutting the water off.

I scrutinize his body like it’s the first time I’ve seen him naked. He turns to hand me a towel. I don’t hide the “fuck me” eyes. I know I can’t hide from my problems, my pain, but the distractions would be great.

“Fuck,” he groans, wrapping the towel around his waist.

Tacos, including different meats, rice, and beans, along with flautas, arrive shortly after coming downstairs. As always, Max’s hand is always on me. I appreciate it more than anything; I need it now.

My thoughts go back to my childhood. Do I remember waking up in a hospital room?

No, not at all, and that’s the frustrating part.

I have photo albums at home of me from birth.

My mom holding me in the hospital. It obviously wasn’t me.

It’s a hell of a good Photoshop. Among many others, under eleven years old.

Where I was supposedly at school functions, a lot of just me, a few as a family, come to think of it.

I remember telling my mom once, boy, I’ve changed since I was young.

She just smiled. Who would think your parents would change your whole identity to the point of fake photos?

I understand that when kids get adopted, they change their names at birth, and that is because they are babies.

Although I didn’t remember my name or anything about myself, they shouldn’t have changed my name.

I understand why they did it. So it wouldn’t trigger my memory.

Damnit, I want to remember it all. I want to understand their reasons, but they took it too far.

Why couldn’t they have spoken to me about the parents I lost, or the boy who saved my heart, and the teen boy, Drake, who saved me in the pool? Although it ended in tragedy, the need to remember pains me.

I lean to kiss Max’s cheek. He just glances up at me from his plate. “Are you okay? Where did you go? I was talking to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. My head’s a mess.” I muster a smile under the mask. “What were you saying?”

“My dad. I’ve gone to his place, and he’s gone. He left a note two weeks ago and is still not back. Something about work.” His brows furrow.

The sourness in my stomach wants to bounce back up. Guilt for lying hangs over me like a heavy burden. Even after everything his father has put him through, he’s still worried.

“He must have a lot of work.” I avert my gaze and stare at my plate.

“He’s an alcoholic, Rain. He hardly works. I pay his bills.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Anything.” Max drops his fork and gives me his full attention.

“You worry about him. You take care of him. Carlos mentioned you check up on him every day. Why, after everything he’s done?” I want to mention what Hector said. How he searched for him and was told he was adopted. That would involve me saying where Hector is.

He’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “I can never erase the pain he caused me, or the endless days I waited for him to come for me. I longed for the love he didn’t offer after my mother died, and I remember the blame he placed on me.

To live a life free of bitterness, I realized I had to forgive, but I’ll never forget. ”

He takes a bite of his carne asada taco, still thinking. I give him time and take a bite of my own.

“He’s my dad. I knew who he was before my mom’s death changed him.

It’s not an excuse by any means. No child deserves this treatment.

My dad lost himself completely; he didn’t grieve.

He held it all in.” He sighs. “He’s the only family I’ve got.

I hated him in my teens. When I went to his house on my eighteenth birthday, I saw how fucked up he was.

Nothing had changed since I’d seen him at nine years old.

The only difference was that he was older and lonely. ”

Hector cried for hours that day. I feel so horrible for hiding this.

Max rubs my finger, then loops his pinky finger in mine.

“You know, tesoro , I would do it all over. The abuse, the hunger, the loneliness, the in and out of homes to meet you. I’d do it.

” He doesn’t say it, but it’s a pinky promise.

I would never want him to relive it, even if it were for us to meet. We would have met in another way. Isn't that how invisible strings work?

This is where the guilt sets in. He didn’t get adopted. I did.

After dinner, like we planned, Max takes us upstairs to the bedroom. My head throbs as I wait for him to get the box from the spare bedroom. The weight of a thousand boulders lies on my chest. I’m so damn nervous.

His navy-blue sweats hang low when he walks into the room with a bright yellow storage container. He drops it in front of me, then kneels in front of it. The thud in my chest fills with excitement but all the same fear. I’m going to view a life—my life as Sol, I know nothing of.

A stuffed dog lies in there—the one he spoke of. There are also hair ties, a diary, a blanket, pink nail polish, lip gloss, a dress, and two photo albums. Max takes the albums with him and sits next to me.

“Do you want to look through it alone, or do you want us to look at it together?”

“Together, please.”

He nods and opens the first one. A beautiful woman holds a newborn in her arms. She looks so much like me—my mother. A man who must be my father hugs us both, smiling. A tear slides down my cheek. This is the first genuine photo I’ve seen of myself. It feels surreal—a beautiful, happy couple.

“That’s your dad…Sol.” He shakes his head. “You told me who everyone was in the photos.”

There are so many milestones in my life, from my first tooth to my first time eating solids, then my first time walking.

Christmas, Easter, Halloween, every holiday possible, with happiness in every one of them.

This is me. Not those fake photos I stared at for years. I flip through each page as Max smiles.

“You were a cute baby.”

He points out my grandmother, who couldn’t keep me for whatever reason.

I giggle at some funny photos of me with my dad making silly faces, some of him in his military uniform.

We move on to the second album. It’s thicker with pictures starting from my first day of kindergarten up to the very last one, when she passed.

The last image is her looking sick, with pale skin and hair loss.

The last page has a note. I look at Max, who’s been watching me like a hawk.

“She wrote a note in case she didn’t make it. You would read it every night,” he whispers.

Sol would read it every night.

My hands shake as I open the worn-out white paper.

My beautiful Sol,