Page 42 of Marvelous

Bronson sighed, then ran his hand through his hair, “What’s said, stays here, right?”

At all our nods, he said, “When I was four, I was found in a closet in a motel by the cleaning staff. My mother had put me in there so she could meet up with her John. She forgot about me,or whatever the fuck. Shit went down, and I was placed in foster care. I was shuffled around from house to house.”

He took a pull from his beer, then continued. “I was in my eleventh home in four years when a little girl was taken in. And I watched as the dad eyed her. It wasn’t right. Something in my gut had been screaming at me. That was why I slept on her floor.”

He swallowed, then he clenched his fists, “And I had been right. Because one night, while he had been drinking, he had stumbled in her room, and had I not been there, I don’t even want to think about what he would have done.”

We all nodded.

Then he said, “A few months later, his bookie or something came to collect his money. And when he didn’t have the money to pay him, I was big then already, he offered me up to him. Cassie, in her little six-year-old self, crept in then and planted her little body in front of mine. Telling him off in her six-year-old wisdom.” Bronson chuckled as he obviously remembered it all.

“She was the only person up until that point that ever gave a damn about what happened to me.”

“What happened?” I asked.

He looked at me, “I aged out. Then her father got custody of her. Don’t know the rest. Tried to find her, but back then, I didn’t have much. Tried to find her again when I made it big, but my guy couldn’t.”

After we talked some more, they all headed home, but Bronson stopped and said, “Viewed her as my little sister. Still do. Saw the way you looked at her. You want someone in your corner... she’ll do that, in fucking spades.”

I jerked my chin up at him, then sat back down in my chair, took a beer, popped the top, and took a long pull.

My phone rang.

I checked the call and then answered it.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, baby boy. Now, what is this I hear about you going off on Talia the other night?” she asked me in that tone that said I was about to be in trouble.

Then I heard Dad in the background growl, “Didn’t raise you to treat your sister like that.”

At his words and her tone, I did something I’ve never done before, at least not to my parents, and not to anyone that I knew, personally.

I lowered my tone to the cold, chilled version of me, and I said, “First. You didn’t raise her to be a bitch. Second. You didn’t raise her to judge someone without having all the facts. Third, you raised us to respect women. The scene she perpetrated because she’s a judgmental bitch wasn’t okay. It was so far from okay that it isn’t even funny.”

“Sweetheart,” my mom started.

“No. Mom. Just no. She owes Cassie one hell of an apology. And quite frankly, the two of you owe me one as well, because neither of you were there. And here you are asking questions over shit that you don’t even know about. Now, I love both of you to the depth of my soul.”

And with that, I hung up the phone.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I heard.

That voice.

Holy. Shit.

It did things to me that have never happened before.

It gave me that adrenaline high I’ve spent my life searching for.

It made my heart stutter a beat.

But to hide all of that, I winked at her, “Yeah. I did. It was the right thing to do.”

Then I tagged a beer and held it out to her, “Want a beer?”

She smiled, then I popped the top and handed it to her as she took a seat beside me.