Chapter Two
Blossom stared at the closed door of her apartment for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest. Was that… Brexton? She’d seen the handsome alien on TV, but what the hell was he doing at her apartment? She removed the chain from across the door and opened it again, looking at him and absently smoothing her hair back. Had she remembered to wash it this morning? Or this week? She couldn’t even remember what she was wearing, but couldn’t seem to pull her gaze from his long enough to check.
His eyebrows lifted as he stared down at her from his rather impressive height. She couldn’t remember meeting anyone quite so massive before, even though she’d seen pictures of men his size. The thugs who lived in her neighborhood tended to run on the smaller side, but it didn’t make them any less deadly. If anything, she figured they were so mean because they were overcompensating for their smaller stature.
“May I come in?” he asked, his gaze still locked on hers.
Blossom felt her cheeks warm and she took a step back.
Her apartment was really small, and the space felt even tinier once Brexton stepped inside. She glanced around, thankful she’d cleaned earlier. Not that it was going to matter much longer. Without a way to pay rent, they’d be out on the streets soon enough. Blossom chewed on her lower lip and eyed her couch, knowing it was polite to offer Brexton a place to sit, but the threadbare furniture might not hold his bulk.
He looked around the room before focusing on her again. “I was told you have children, but I don’t see any. Are they in school?”
He thought she was old enough to have school-age kids? Maybe she should rethink wearing make-up. If she’d felt inferior before, now she really did. The man standing in front of her was used to models and actresses, not worn out moms who’d dropped out of school, and apparently looked older than they were. She’d never envied the people who could afford all those expensive face products that kept them youthful until that very moment.
“They’re taking a nap,” she said. Why was he asking about her kids? And who had told him about them? She was so confused. Men like Brexton didn’t know she existed, much less showed up on her doorstep.
“You aren’t safe here, Blossom,” he said.
“You know my name and that I have children?” she asked. “Why are you here? Who sent you?”
She hadn’t been afraid until just then. She’d been so dazzled that Hollywood star Brexton was standing on her doorstep, she hadn’t thought that he might be there for nefarious reasons. The aliens had seemed nice, but what if they were just like humans and had people who did bad things? Just because they only showed one face to the world didn’t mean they were all pleasant.
He lifted a hand and took a step back, apparently sensing her fear. “I’m not here to cause trouble. A young woman at the studio said you needed help, that your boyfriend was trying to trade you to a drug lord. She gave me your name and address.”
Brexton pulled out his phone and showed her.
She felt the blood drain from her face. Only a handful of people knew about that, and most of them were in on it. She’d only been brave enough to confide in one person, a young woman who had escaped the neighborhood and was making something of her life. And now that Blossom thought about it, Sabrina worked at the studio. If anyone had sent Brexton, it would have been her, but why? And why did the actor care what happened to her and her kids? They were nothing to him.
“I want to help,” he said. “I live behind a gate, and no one has access except those I trust. You would be safe and your boyfriend couldn’t reach you.”
“You want us to stay with you?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “What will that solve? Eventually, we’ll have to leave and he’ll come after us again.”
“The authorities can pick him up.”
She snorted and looked away, remembering that he lived in a vastly different world from her, and not just because he was an alien from outer space. The last time the police had come to this neighborhood, it was to clean up the dead bodies after a drive-by. No one gave a shit what happened to the people living in this part of town. Hookers, drug addicts, gangs… The people society didn’t deem worthy to wipe their feet on were the ones who lived in this neighborhood, and Blossom had been stuck here her entire life.
“You mean they won’t?” he asked, looking confused.
He couldn’t really be that naïve, could he?
“The police don’t care what happens here. If people go missing or end up dead in this neighborhood, they just consider it the trash taking care of itself.”
His eyes darkened and his jaw tightened. “Don’t refer to yourself as trash.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said softly. “What do you want to hear? That I was abandoned when I was thirteen and dropped out of school, lived on the street to avoid foster care? That I got knocked up at fifteen, then lost the baby because the daddy beat the hell out of me? Or that I have two other kids, and they don’t have the same daddy? Ever heard the term ‘trailer trash’? Well, they’re a few steps above me.”
Fire flashed in his eyes and before she could stop him, he was storming into her only bedroom. She followed, anxious to see if he would wake her kids, or do something that could hurt them. He jerked open her closet and dug around, then gave her an exasperated look over his shoulder.
“Where are your bags?”
“What bags?” she asked.
“Your luggage. The thing you carry your belongings in when you move from one place to another.”
“We don’t have any. We only have a few things each so it’s not really necessary. If I have to move, I just stuff everything into plastic sacks from the grocery store.”
His gaze locked on her sweet babies, sleeping soundly in their beds, and he moved closer to them. She tensed when he reached out toward her one-year-old, but he gently ran his large hand over her daughter’s head. Her son was waking up, rubbing his eyes and fussing a little. He never woke up happy.
