Page 10 of Loving Trent (Love in the Bootheel #5)

Six

SHAWN

As I move about picking up my apartment, all the times that I did things for him, bought him whatever he wanted, and tried to be the best boyfriend, race through my mind.

When I first met Steven, he told me about his life.

Steven came out when he was eighteen. His parents kicked him out and forced him to live on the streets until he saved enough for his little apartment.

He told me how much he worked to afford the bare minimum in life and his schooling.

So, I made sure I showered him with gifts, paid for trips with his friends and nights out that I was never invited to, and even found enough money to pay for a semester of his school. I’m not poor, but I’m not filthy rich.

I’ve always sent Mom money since I got my first job in college.

Then, when I found out about my niece, I started a college fund for her.

I failed my family and had to make it up in some way.

Sammy refused to take any money from me, but was okay about Dylan’s trust. I’m not someone who likes to spend money on frivolous things, but I never complained when Steven wanted something.

I own a gym in town, a new restaurant, and the building I’m living in.

I have two tenants renting the lower apartments for a decent price.

However the majority of my money comes from investments I made in college thanks to my roommates dad. I don’t have a lot of investments anymore but the fact that I live as if I’m poor helped create a good bite of savings.

Picking up my phone, which had been thrown to the floor, I see that Steven messaged me an hour ago. We had agreed to meet at his favorite Mexican restaurant for date night. As soon as I read the message, his outburst makes more sense.

Steven

I know you must be too busy to have forgotten about date night, but Jimmy said he hasn’t received our money for the trip next month. If he doesn’t get the payment within the hour, we won’t be able to go.

God, I’m such a fool. My earlier exhaustion hits me harder than before, and I plop on my leather sofa.

My head drops back onto the back cushion, and a long, drawn-out sigh leaves my body.

How could I have missed what was right in front of me?

All the signs were there, but did I refuse to see them?

At different times, he would ask for something and whine if I didn’t get it right that second.

Of course, I felt bad for him because of his past. Who wouldn’t?

But did it make me blind to who he really was? Probably.

My childhood wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t that bad either.

Before we were even born, Sammy and I were placed for adoption.

Our biological mother was young—still in college—and made the selfless decision to place us with a family who could support us.

Sandra, our biological mother, is back in our lives, and our relationship is thriving.

Our biological father, Sonny, didn’t know about us until years after the adoption had happened.

He is now a big part of our lives as well.

As for our adoptive parents, our dad split before we turned one and hasn’t been back, but Mom is amazing.

She worked her ass off to provide for me and Sammy.

We didn’t have much, but we had what we needed and some of what we wanted.

My coming out didn’t go how I thought it would.

I ended up blurting it out in a police station while fist-fighting with Zak.

Not my finest moment, but I had just learned that Dylan, Sammy’s daughter, was his, and we were facing the fact that both Sammy and Dylan were dead.

But no one looked at me any differently, and I have never felt an ounce of hatred from my family or my friends.

So yeah, I felt bad for Steven and didn’t think twice about helping him or buying him nice things.

I’ve always been someone who spoils the people they care for.

Even when the abuse started, I still gave everything I could.

But looking at our relationship now, it’s easy to see that Steven was taking advantage of me and my generosity.

I feel like a bigger fool for thinking that we were in love. My phone buzzes from my pocket. I know who it is before I even pull it out. I hesitate for a second, worrying about how I look. But the person calling is the one person I never want to upset by not talking to them.

I accept the FaceTime call and smile as my niece fills the screen.

“Hi, Uncle Shawn,” Dylan says. Then her blue eyes narrow, and she looks more like my sister and, I guess, me since we’re twins.

“You’re hurt!” Her little bottom lip starts to tremble, then it stops, and all the emotions clear from her eyes.

She’s getting mad, and I’m not sure what to say to calm her down.

Not when the evidence of what just happened is clear as a sunny summer day.

“I’m okay. I hit the punching bag to hard at the gym, and it hit back,” I say, hating that I have to lie to her, but I answered the call. Once again, I’m fucking everything up.

She tilts her head to the side, assessing my story. “You need to talk to Momma. I think someone hurt you. I’m telling all my uncles and Daddy. They will come up and take care of it. Hold on.”

God, I love her. Sammy and Zak had her tested a year ago for ADHD. Of course, she has it, but nothing could make me not love her. “Dylan,” I say, but she ignores me. She must be running through the house because all I see is the ceiling flashing by.

“Mommy! Something is wrong with Uncle Shawn. Someone hurt him,” Dylan says frantically.

Sammy’s face instantly replaces the ceiling with the same look I saw a second ago. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes narrow, and I close my eyes, so I don’t see the disappointment in them.

I sigh, “It’s nothing, I went too hard at the gym.”

“Liar,” Dylan yells in the background. She turned ten this past December, but I swear she thinks she is an adult.

“Dylan, leave us for a second. When I’m done, I will bring you the phone,” Sammy says.

“Fine, but I’m telling Daddy he needs to go back to Cape and beat Steven up. No one hurts my Uncle Shawn and gets away with it. I know it was him,” Dylan says, and I can’t help but laugh at how stern she sounds. She is way too damn smart for her own good.

“Okay, Ms. Ten years old, going on twenty is gone. Talk to me,” Sammy demands.

“It’s no big deal. I had an issue at work and forgot about date night.

Steven wanted to make it out like it was the end of the world, but in reality, he was pissed because I forgot to pay for some expensive trip he wanted to take with his friends.

” Keeping my eyes closed, I take a couple of calming deep breaths.

There is no way I’m going to tell her about the verbal abuse or how it turned physical.

Even though she would never judge, I don’t want her to know how bad I let it get this time or in the past.

“And your face? Shawn, that’s a handprint.

Plus, I can see a cut on your other cheek and red marks on your neck.

Is that a bruise?” With each question, tears sting my eyes, and the urge to tell her the truth grows, but I can’t.

I can’t allow her to know how much of a coward I am.

Not after everything she went through. This is nothing compared to her situation.

“I'm fine.”

Sammy sighs loudly. “Shawn, whatever happened, you can tell me. I won’t judge you or even tell you that I was right about him being wrong for you.”

She will never know how right she was. The first time Sammy met Steven she told me she had a bad feeling about him.

I should have listened to her because after what she went through with William, her ex, her instincts have never been wrong since.

“Sammy,” I say. Her name is a plea for her to let it go.

“He had a big dick, didn’t he?” She asks, and my eyes spring open.

The smile on her face lets me know that she is going to let this go for now.

There is still worry written in her eyes, but I’m thankful that she is willing to change the subject.

It’s not over, and I know it, but I need not be forced to talk about everything tonight.

“Shit. I don’t want to hear about big dicks. Unless you’re talking about mine,” Zak says, which makes me gag. I don’t want to think about his dick. I spent way too many years fantasizing about that part of him.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear about your dick,” I groan.

Zak must have pulled the phone away from Sammy because now I’m staring at his ugly mug—okay, he is still handsome, but that crush is dead, thank God. “Dylan said I needed to come beat Steven’s butt. You okay?” I look away because just like Sammy’s eyes, Zak’s turn hard and burn with anger.

“This isn’t becoming a thing.”

“What isn’t?” He asks.

“All of you sticking your noses into my personal life. I’m a grown-ass man who can take care of himself. So, I broke up with my boyfriend. I’ll be fine. Now, give the phone back to my niece. She is the only one I can stand right now.”

I sigh in relief that he doesn’t argue but returns the phone to Dylan.

I spend the following hour listening to her talk about her day and everything she did.

She shows me her two dogs and tells me how Zak said she couldn’t have a cat.

She acts like this isn’t a daily thing—our phone calls—but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

After telling her I will see her this weekend, I get off the phone with her and decide to get drunk.

I need to stop thinking. After slamming back shot after shot of whiskey, I pass out on my bed and tell myself tomorrow is another day.

My drunken sleep is interrupted hours later by the shrill of the fire alarm.

At first, I’m confused and disoriented, not understanding what’s happening.

That is, until I stumble into the living room and open the front door.

All the alcohol still pumping through my blood dulls my senses.

Throwing the front door open, I sober up pretty quickly at the sight of orange and red flames consuming the hallways.

The flames are blocking the elevators as they ignite the walls.

My eyes sting as I pan toward the door leading to the stairs, only to find it blocked as well.

A voice inside screams that I have seconds before the flames reach the walls of my apartment. I need to find another way out, or else I’m going to die in here.

The air inside the living room is already thick with smoke.

Thankful that I fell asleep fully clothed, I pull my shirt over my mouth, and slam the door shut.

My lungs restrict as my heart tries to escape my chest for the second time tonight.

Creaks and groans come from the walls and the floor, which is getting hotter by the second.

With the thick smoke surrounding me and the tears in my eyes, my vision is very limited.

My leg hits the corner of the coffee table, and on the way down, I hit my head hard on the warm floor. I’m temporarily blinded by bright lights and pain, but there is no time to lie around. I have to get to the window. It’s my only way to get out, to live.

My lungs burn, needing fresh air. My vision grows darker and darker with every passing second.

Finally, my fingers connect with the cool glass of the large picture window that opens up to the fire escape.

My whole body is being shaken by fear, and the hard coughs coming from deep inside me.

There is a lock at the top of the window, but for the life of me, I can’t find it.

Giving up on finding the lock, I plaster my face to the glass and see a small crowd gathering on the street below.

“Help me,” I shout and pound on the glass, hoping someone hears me.

“Please help me.” Tears pour out of my eyes, as I suck more smoke into my lungs because there is no more clean air.

Sweat pours off me as the flames keep moving closer.

Finally, my eyes connect with deep brown eyes as a man looks up at me.

“Please, don’t let me die.” The last thing I see is the man with the brown eyes pushing people away, but he’s too late. My body hits the ground, and everything around me goes dark.