came to protecting and caring for her family.
I liked her more and more.
"Yes, we live together. He's still in high school."
That didn't quite make sense to me. "Your mother is back home in Dayton while you two are here in Houston?"
She hesitated before reluctantly admitting, "Mom is locked up in Henley doing a twenty year bid."
Twenty years? Jesus Christ! What had that woman done?
As if reading my mind, Jem explained, "She was picked up during a drug raid at our old house where they were cooking meth. My little brother was in the house so she got hit with a list of charges a mile long."
"I'm sorry." I didn't know if that was the right thing to say, but I wasn't sure what else was appropriate.
"Don't be. She got what she deserved for putting him at risk like that. She did stupid, selfish things that hurt us, and now she's paying the price."
She didn't speak with malice or anger in her voice. I heard only resignation. "What about your father? He let her keep your brother in a house like that?"
"My father is dead. Benji's dad was locked up in the county jail on a DUI charge. By the time he got out, I had custody of Benji, and he split."
I decided not touch the stepdad in county lockup part. "Custody? How old is your brother?"
"He'll be sixteen in a few days. I took custody of him almost three years ago."
I hastily did the math and found myself in awe of her. How many other eighteen-year-olds would have gone to that trouble to save a younger sibling from foster care? What else had she given up to take on the role of parent at eighteen? College? Her dreams?
I thought of how selfish I had been at that age and the stupid shit I had gotten tangled up in at an even earlier age. Semyon, my older brother, had saved my ass on more than one occasion. He had gotten me through high school graduation before giving me the speech about being a man and making a life for myself. He had chosen to join the Navy, and I had chosen to run away to Los Angeles with Dom. Eventually, we had ended up in Oslo, of all the cold fucking places, and bumped into Tor and Leif. The rest was metal history.
"Like I said," she whispered, "my family is a hot mess of crazy."
I realized she had misinterpreted my silence as disapproval. I brushed my knuckles down her cheek. "You're a good person. You love your brother. That's all that matters."
"To you, maybe." She dropped her gaze, and my damned chest ached, my heart slamming into my ribcage at the realization that she had spent so many years having people look down on her for family's bad choices that she automatically expected everyone to call her trash or worse.
I slid my fingers under her chin and tipped her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Right now, my opinion is the only one that matters. You've shown me that you're a good person, Jemima. I believe what people show me."
Not wanting her to feel badly about anything she had just told me, I confessed, "When I was a kid, I used to run pickups for an Albanian bookie. I got it into my head that I could start running my own book on the side. Let's just say that didn’t go over well, and I damn near got clipped one night. If it hadn't been for my brother and Ten, my cousin, I would have ended up in a cement foundation or tossed off a boat somewhere off the coast of Galveston."
"When I was a little girl, my dad got into some trouble with the cartel. He took something he shouldn't have." She drew a slow finger across her throat. "No one was ever arrested for it, but we knew."
"I'm sorry, Jem." I couldn't even imagine the horrors she had probably witnessed as a child. The urge to protect her flared hot and steady. I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and run away with her, take her back to my apartment and keep her safe there.
Too fast. You're moving too fast. Get a grip. You just met this girl.
But as I gazed down at her, I knew. I fucking knew that she was the one.
Fifty years from now, I was going to tell our grandkids about the day I had