Peyton’s shoulders are back, and her smile is stiff as she pauses, hands on the back of the chair. “Mom. Dad. Good to see you.”

The senator is a tall man with broad shoulders, sharp eyes, and Pey’s freckles. Her mother is softer, curvy with a wide-eyed innocent smile that screams fake, and a power suit that would make Hilary Clinton jealous. And they’re watching Peyton with something like disgust in their eyes. Shock. That’s what it is.

“Well. That is certainly a different look, sweetheart.”

Peyton touches her hair and gives a smile. “Like it, Ma?”

“Not particularly,” comes the stiff reply.

“Pity,” Peyton coos, sugar sweet and I swallow a laugh. She tucks her hand into my arm and tugs me forward a step or two. “I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Rike Johnson.”

Their eyes swing to me, and the younger dude lets out a startled laugh. “Damn, Tay. Did you pick him to piss them off?”

“Fuck off, Brody,” she says lazily, and for the first time since we arrived, a real grin tugs at her lips as she flicks a glance at her brother. He laughs, a soft noise that reminds me of her, and some of the tension eases from her shoulders. She pulls a chair out and sits, and motions for me to do the same, putting me between her and her brother, away from her parents.

Who are still staring at me like I’m a devil bent on pillaging their daughter’s virtue.

“Nice to meet you,” I say with a small smile.

They stare, and the senator blinks once, then focuses on his daughter. “What the hell is this?”

“My boyfriend.”

“No.” He doesn’t even argue. Just a flat no, like she should care about what this prick has to say.

“Do you think we can order drinks before we start in on how Pey has fucked up her life?” she says, and my heart hurts. She doesn’t ever change her tone. It’s classic defensive Peyton.

A puzzle piece of the enigmatic girl slides into place. I glance at her, at the pleasant smile, and I get it, suddenly.

“What the hell are you trying to prove with this?” Collins hisses.

“I’m not trying to prove anything. It was never about that.” She turn to me. “What do you want to drink?”

A very petty part of me wants to ask for a beer just to fuck with her folks, but her big eyes are pleading and desperate, and I remember suddenly that she is only here because I threw a bitch fit this morning.

“The Talbot pinot noir,” I say, flashing a quick smile at the hovering waitress. She gets the rest of the orders, and scurries away.

The senator is looking at me instead of his daughter now, which has to be an improvement. I push up my sleeves and his eyes tighten at the sight of the colorful tattoos tracing up my left arm. I meet the hostile smile with my own. “Good to meet you, sir. Peyton has told me a lot about you.”

“Note that he didn’t say it was good shit, Dad,” Brody says.

“Well, I do try to avoid lying. My mama raised me well,” Peyton deadpans and Brody laughs, shaking his head.

“We didn’t realize you were dating, Peyton,” Mary Anne says.

She leans back, and I feel her hand on my back, a steady pressure. I don’t know if it’s for me or her, but it’s soothing. “We’ve been together for over six months. And before you ask—I’m not hiding shit. I’m living my life. You haven’t bothered to ask or visit, so excuse me if you aren’t up to date on who and what is important in my life.”

“You made it clear when you left for UT that you didn’t want us involved in your life,” Mary Anne says stiffly.

“And you’ve always been so fucking good at listening to what I want, right? That’s why Dad first ran for office. Because you totally listened when I said I didn’t want anything to do with his political circus.”

Mary Anne makes a dismissive noise and waves a hand at Collins. “You deal with her. You’re the one who thinks her being at the benefit is a good idea.”

“She lives here. How the hell will it look if she lives here and doesn’t show up to support the campaign?” Collins says evenly.

“Give it up, Dad. I’m not coming to the fundraiser. I’m done doing the political daughter shit. I’m here, now. As your daughter to let you meet Rike. Now do you want to focus on that or should we go?”

The senator and Peyton glare at each other for a long tense moment, and then he huffs. “Will you consider it?”

“Will you drop it if I say yes?” He nods and she shrugs. “Sure. I’ll consider it.”

Brody snorts and I turn my attention on Peyton’s younger brother.

He’s got the same red hair, just a few shades darker, a wide grin, and mischievous eyes that are instantly likable. He’s the only one in her family she ever talks about. She likes her young, wild brother. I think he’s the only reason she ever goes home—even on her abbreviated visits.

“Tell me about yourself. What do your parents do?” Collins says as the waitress puts our drinks down. She takes our order and then scurries away and I have to face the question.

I shrug. “My mother was addicted to crack. We bounced around with her pimp for a while. She overdosed when I was six and I landed in the system. My father—well, he’s never been part of the picture.”

He blinks at me, and I stare, my face blank.

No one is ever completely comfortable with me dropping the info like that. And this guy—he doesn’t want me anywhere near his daughter to start with.

“Were you adopted, then?” Mary Anne asks.

“Nope. I was in and out of group homes and foster families until I aged out. Spent six months in juvie when I was fourteen for assault. When I turned eighteen, my best friend and I had a little bit of money saved up, so we got a place and that was that.”

She looks startled, and I smile. “Not exactly the pretty picture you wanted, right?”

“How serious is this?” Collins asks, his gaze on Peyton. He’s gone back to pretending I don’t exist.

“We just moved in together, Dad. Pretty fucking serious.”

“You know he’s using you, right? For your trust fund.”

“Fuck, Dad,” Brody sighs.

“What’s shocking, Dad? The fact that someone wants me or the fact that I’m not playing the dutiful daughter?” she snaps.

“I don’t need your daughter’s money, Senator. Frankly, I’ve tried to convince her to quit using it to pay for rent. I make more than enough to support us both. I’m with her because I love her.”

“Excuse me if I choose to not trust a violent felon,” he says coldly.

“That’s what everyone focuses on. My violent crimes. Peyton asked, you know. Why. The why is more important than the what, and I’d do it again. Every fucking time.”

The table is quiet and then Brody asks softly, “Why?”

“His best friend. Scott was being abused. He’d kept it quiet for a while, and pulled the attention from the other kid in the house. He made himself a target to protect them, and kept it from Rike because he knew how Rike would react.”

I close my eyes, and lean back. Let her tell the story.

“One afternoon, Rike shows up at the foster home. They haven’t seen each other in months—just emails to keep in touch and to make sure the other is safe. They’re all each other has, right? So he shows up at this foster home. It was a bad time—Scott was home with the bastard while the other kids were out and he’d managed to piss the guy off, not that it’s hard, you know. And Rike walks in on him beating the shit out of Scott. Scott’s covered in blood and piss, barely fucking conscious, and Rike—well, he’s smart. He knows it’s been happening for a while. He can read bruises like most people can read the paper. And he lost it. Attacked the guy with a glass bottle he found on the table. By the time they got Rike off the dude, he’d carved his face up and beaten him to a pulp. The guy spent a month in the hospital before he was tossed in jail. Rike should have gotten a fucking medal. Instead, he got six months and probation, and wasn’t allowed near Scott for two years.”