ANYTHING BUT ENEMIES

29. are you crying?

"Is that why you're a snot?"

"Hilarious, Cleodora."

"Sorry, couldn't help it."

"Sure." He clicks his tongue. "Anyway as I got older, it became clear to me that they expected me to become a lawyer in the family's firm."

"Kind of fitting," I shrug. "You'd be a pretty good lawyer."

"I know. I'd be pretty good at most things. It's more so a matter of what I want to do with the rest of my life rather than if I'd be successful or not."

I refrain from pointing out that arguing is one of his favorite pastimes on account of him being willing to share sensitive information with me.

"Dad made me start going to standardized test practice when I was eight, and I had to make sure I always held a spot in the top three for school rankings. Low rankings meant I was grounded. Not like it really meant much 'cause I already had no friends. Academia became my life etcetera, etcetera.

So the year I turn twelve, I randomly find out I have a grandma—my biological mom's mom—in the US, and she's apparently been dying to meet me for however many years until my parents finally agreed to it.

About six months after that, it's sprung upon me at the dinner table one night that my mother has also been hanging around the state. So I meet up with both of them, and for a few years, it felt like everything could actually be falling into place."

A grim smile floats over his face now, lingering on his lips for a second before souring into something that makes my stomach drop.

"My mom and grandma are able to talk my parents into slackening up on me and school a bit, we're going to their house for biweekly family gatherings, and I'm figuring out why my mother had to leave me in the first place. One day, she even gives me this chain that she said was my dad's."

Dane pauses for a second, looking a bit dizzy, and I unconsciously find myself reaching forward, fingers lacing through his again.

He jolts a little at the contact, relaxing just barely as my thumb traces over the back of his hand.

"If it makes you feel better, you can pretend we're on a date," I say in a tone barely above a whisper, swallowing hesitantly before meeting his eyes again.

His expression speeds up my heart rate. It's similar to the way he was looking at me in my hotel room, yet different enough to be read as something other than lust.

I clear my throat, letting my other hand cup his before averting my gaze back to our hands. "Then what happened?"

"Then...? Then when I turned sixteen, she disappeared."

My breath catches in my throat a bit, and I almost immediately regret asking the question. "Have you seen her since?"

"No, she, uh, she didn't come back. My grandma didn't know where she was either, still doesn't."

I suddenly have a horrible recollection of the day on the roof. The day when he'd gotten defensive after I'd taunted him.

"You would be one of those people."

"What do you mean, one of those people?"

"Hurt? Lonely and miserable? Daddy or mommy issues? I don't know, buddy, take your pick."

Shit.

He's oblivious to my realization, continuing on with his story. "I waited for a couple weeks then decided I should run away from home when she didn't turn back up. My parents were going crazy, and Dad was determined to blame Mom, saying it was her fault for letting me meet my biological family in the first place. It was all just a huge, fucking mess.