Page 15 of Lost Little Boy (Pride Camp 2025 #5)

Chapter Eleven

Perry

Wex wanting to help me was completely overwhelming, and with the past I brought into our relationship, I had no idea what to do. I was plagued by nightmares and woke every morning in the solarium, which was never intended to be a bedroom, but it was mine.

I tossed and turned for too long, remembering how sweet he’d been to me when he asked if I’d let him take care of me.

Nobody, and I mean nobody, had ever wanted to take care of me.

Certainly not the guys who I used to let fuck me so I could pay my rent for a shitty long-term motel room, nor the guy who ran the motel who I had to blow once a week to get a break on said rent.

Never, ever, could I tell anyone what I’d done to make my way in life after I’d left the adolescent boys’ home where I’d been sent to live. Nobody wanted a kid my age, so it was my best bet, but it was fucked up.

When I aged out of the system at eighteen, I thought I’d finally found independence. I believed I could finally live my life without someone telling me what to do, but I was wrong. I didn’t believe anyone ever had independence. My life only became worse.

Now, I had a place to live that I’d gotten on my own, though I’d sacrificed some things to get it, but being on my own? It was a new beginning I’d always hoped to have.

With Wexler Grassley in my life, for the first time, I had dreams. I’d never dared to have dreams, but maybe if I was very, very, good, I could see my dreams come true?

A huge part of me hoped so, but how long had it been since I’d had dreams? Oh, it was when I was eighteen and hitchhiking from Tennessee to Virginia .

One of the servers at a truck stop I’d landed in after getting a ride had called me a lot lizard . I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, but I qualified for the label.

I gave blow jobs and got fucked by truck drivers to get from one place to the other. I’d gone to a free clinic in Bristol, Tennessee to get tested, and I found I had been lucky. I’d used condoms every time—blow job or fucking—and I’d avoided STIs and anything more serious.

I was grateful I’d stocked up on the condoms the clinic had in bowls on every surface before I left. They’d offered counseling services, but I wanted to move on.

Getting tested became a recurring thing for me, but most clinics did quick tests for HIV and STIs. To ever be with Wexler Grassley the third, I’d need a full physical. He didn’t want to be with anyone like me. He just didn’t know it, and I didn’t want to tell him because I didn’t want to lose him.

He needed to get away from me because he was good, and I wasn’t. I couldn’t tell him what I’d done because he’d run away from me, and it would kill me to see it.

Once sleep failed me, I got up and went to the kitchen to get a drink of water, hoping I could shower before Nora or Shane woke. They were graduating in a couple of days, and I had to be out today so they could pretend that I hadn’t lived there.

When I came out dressed for the day, Shane was in the kitchen making coffee. “Oh, uh, sorry, but since your moving, you can’t use our food. I know it’s harsh, but really, you were only squatting here. I’ve got trash bags if you need something to take out your crap.”

I’d never punched anyone before, but I’d never been so compelled in my life…

I pulled back my arm and hit that asshole square in the mouth.

It hurt my hand, but I didn’t think I’d broken anything.

Seeing Shane on the kitchen floor with a busted lip dripping blood gave me a little satisfaction for the first time since I’d moved in with the two of them.

Shane’s mention of trash bags had brought back horrible memories of moving from one home to another with the few things I had in green trash bags when I started in foster care.

I just wanted to get home to take care of my brothers and sisters, so I kept running away.

Finally, I was sent to the boys’ home where I’d lived until I phased out.

I would never put my things into a trash bag again.

“You can go fuck yourself. I need nothing from you. I hope you get what you deserve.”

“Good luck, loser.”

I flipped Shane off. Luck? I’d never had luck in my life.

I packed my clothes as efficiently as I could…

five pairs of briefs, five T-shirts, three pairs of jeans, two pairs of shorts, a sweatshirt, and a denim jacket I’d had for years.

I had two pairs of shoes, a pair of black sneakers I wore for work, and a pair of running shoes I tried to use at least three days a week.

They were both purchased at a nice second-hand store, along with one nice outfit—a pair of black pants and a denim shirt.

I didn’t miss what I’d never had, but what was mine was mine.

Shane got his ass up from the floor and stared at me. “I’m going back to bed. Be sure you’re gone before I get up again and take it all with you. Be careful taking your crap out of here. If anything gets scratched, we’ll blame it on you.”

Shane walked back to his room, and I sat on the couch and cried. When would my life ever be anything close to normal? Based on my childhood, I was sure the answer was never .

What I had to figure out was how to leave behind Wexler Grassley the third, who seemed like he had every intention of taking care of me. He was never supposed to be tangled in my fucked-up life, and the fact I’d fallen in love with him didn’t help anything.

My life was going to continue to be shit, but I wouldn’t drag Wex down that ugly road with me.