Page 88 of Crave Me

“I can’t even imagine,” I answer him truthfully. “That must have been hell.”

“I’m certain it was. He often joked about always being the last one picked on a team and how he was the smallest among his peers. But he was brilliant and used his strengths and talents to build an empire.”

He’s smiling fondly. There’s not even a hint of anger or sadness. That doesn’t mean I’m not feeling enough for the both of us. “You loved your father,” I say.

“I still do,” he admits.

“Then why would your mother send you away? You and your dad, needed each other.”

“My mother never wanted children,” he says. “A fact she kept from my father until several years into their marriage.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Why didn’t she want them, or why didn’t she tell him sooner?”

This is all sorts of fucked up, but I’m trying not to show it. FYI, I’m doing a shitty job. “Both. That’s not something you keep from someone you’re marrying.”

“My family comes from money. My father’s side invested well and thrived for years, while my mother’s family came close to losing everything.” He takes a small breath. “Until she met my father. His family’s fortune saved what remained of hers.”

“I see,” I say, my voice clipped.

“I didn’t have a mother who demonstrated affection or one who was willing to spend time with me. But I had a father who committed to being the best father and role model he could be.” The affection in his voice shows me what his father meant to him, but it doesn’t last. “I knew from a very young age to keep my distance from her, and not ask for anything. That didn’t stop me from wanting to be close to her.”

“What would happen if you approached her?” I sit up slightly when he doesn’t answer, my heartbeat slowing like it does when I know I’m going to hear something awful. “Was she abusive?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” he says, his voice dropping. “She’d ignore me, or leave. Often for days, claiming she needed to take a holiday. Children . . . they know when they’re not wanted or loved. So they learn not to ask for or expect more than they’re used to.”

“Why did she send you away?” I ask. He frowns as if unsure what I mean. “If she’d up and leave, why didn’t she stay away permanently? It didn’t have to be you she sent packing.”

“It did have to be me,” he says. “You’re forgetting, I wasn’t necessary. My father’s money was. It’s the only reason she agreed to have me. He’d begun to pull away, and she wanted to hang onto him, or rather, hang onto his wealth.”

I’m not naive. I know people like that exist. I just never expected one of them to be Evan’s mom.

“Wealth is something she feels entitled to,” he explains. “It’s all she knows.”

But what she needed to know was love. Not for herself. For Evan who needed it most.

I embrace him. As strong as he is, I want to shield him, not because he can’t handle anything that comes, but because he’s already handled enough on his own.

His arms sweep along my back as he murmurs against my hair. “I knew my father was dying. No one had to tell me. I was furious God would take away the only person who loved me.”

“Evan . . .” I say. It’s the only word that comes. He’d told me it was too hard to talk about his parents. But I had no idea how bad things were.

“Dad had such a tremendous heart,” he tells me, his features gathering that look people get when they’re remembering the pain they’ve felt. “And more money than any one person could ever need, but neither was enough and it enraged me.

I began to act out. My mother used it as an excuse to send me away, insisting to those close to Dad that my presence would only kill him sooner.” He huffs. “As it was, in my absence his condition deteriorated quicker and she had plenty of space to do as she wished.”

The resentment in his features morphs into an anger that seems almost foreign to a man as kind as Evan. I can already guess what happened, and he knows as much. He tells me anyway. By now, Pandora’s Box is already open, the evil he’s seen is flying out.

“My father admitted to a close friend that he never intended to marry someone so young. However my mother pursued him, enticing him and convincing him she was the woman he’d dreamed of, and would give him the children he feared he’d never have.”

His demeanor steels and he quiets. “She used him,” I finish for him.

“And many more following his death.” The muscles along his broad chest tense. “My mother never had the drive to work, but she possessed the charm and beauty to seduce any man of her choosing. She took many lovers. Some married, some older. It didn’t matter, they all gave her what she wanted. But that was then. Now that she’s older, neither men nor money come as easily.”

“Is that why she came to see you today? She wants more money?”

“It’s the only reason she ever comes,” he responds.