Somebody to Love (Tyler Jamison #1) - April Wilson Page 0,91

“Yes.” Please do it again.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind going. There’s nothing to worry about, Ian, as long as your friends don’t cross the line. Remember, I don’t share. You might want to tell them that.”

Chapter 32

Tyler Jamison

Ian is in his element as he pilots his yacht through the marina and out into the lake. I don’t have any boating experience, but he did let me help prep the boat to cast off.

Once we’re out of the marina and out in open water, I sit beside him in the cockpit and watch him operate the controls. “I’m impressed that you can operate this boat alone.”

“It’s only forty feet,” he says, as if that’s no big deal.

“Only? That seems pretty big to me. What if you got injured or sick out on the lake by yourself? What then?”

“I’d radio the Coast Guard for assistance.”

“What if you’d broken your leg and couldn’t get to a radio?”

He pats his back pocket, where his phone resides. “I’d text them. My phone’s always on me.”

I laugh. “Smart ass.” He’s got an answer for everything. “I still think it’s pretty risky to come out by yourself.”

He leans into me, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Then it’s a good thing you’re here, isn’t it? If I get sick or break my leg, you can call the Coast Guard.”

I watch as Ian lifts his face into the wind, smiling up at the sunshine. He clearly loves it out here. He’s happy now, carefree… nothing like the insecure man I kissed earlier below deck.

Frankly, his insecurities baffle me. He’s incredibly handsome and charismatic. He’s smart. He’s adored by his friends. He’s close to his family. So, where does the insecurity come from, and why is he so susceptible to feeling rejected?

His cryptic father’s words come back to me. You don’t know anything about my son. You don’t know what he’s been through. And I’m not going to let you undo all the good his mother and I have done for him. He’s finally in a good place in his life, and I won’t let you fuck that up.

I lay my hand on the back of his neck. “Ian, tell me about your life before you were adopted.”

He turns to me, his brow furrowing. “How do you know I was adopted?”

“Your father told me. He said I had no idea what you’d been through. What did he mean?”

“My dad has a big mouth.” Ian frowns down at the console in front of him, inspecting the myriad dials. He increases the speed, and the boat skims high over the waves.

“Ian, please. Answer my question. I need to understand.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“I think we should.”

He shakes his head. “There’s not much to tell, Tyler. I was born to a single mother who had a drug habit she couldn’t kick. Child Protective Services took me from her. I was in and out of foster care for a couple years. She’d try to get clean, and she kept promising I could come home again. They’d place me back with her, but every time she’d mess up and start using again, and I’d be back in the system. Finally, the powers that be had enough of the revolving door that was my life, and I was put into care permanently—with the Alexanders. Once my birth mother’s rights were terminated by the state, they adopted me. The rest is history.”

I can hear the pain in his voice as he recites his history. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs off my touch. “Don’t be. The Alexanders were the best thing that ever happened to me. Besides, other kids have had it worse.”

“Ian, don’t minimize what you went through.” I reach for his hand, linking our fingers together. “Where’s your mom now?”

“I have no idea.”

Ian’s insecurities make a lot more sense now. He grew up with so much uncertainty, his mother coming and going from his life. I admire the Alexanders for giving him a stable home and for trying to help him overcome his early childhood. Ian lived his formative years knowing nothing but disappointment. I’m not surprised he struggles with rejection.

Ian turns the boat in a wide arc, changing direction as we head northward. We cruise the shoreline, past Kenilworth. Ian’s attention is focused solely on the controls. Honestly, I think he’s gone somewhere else in his head.

I rub gentle circles on his back. “Do you want to talk about it?” I say.

He runs his fingers through his hair and blows out an agitated