I Won't Give Up on You by F. L. Jacob

holding. At least she was giving me this. Tread lightly , I told myself.
    As she passes me, I take a deep breath—lilacs and Sabrina. My most favorite scent in the world. I follow her in, shutting the door behind me and locking it, ensuring we won’t be interrupted.
    I turn around and drink in the sight of my beautiful girl in front of me. Her brunette hair is still swept up on the top of her head in a messy bun. The tendrils that fall frame her face. She has a slight blush from the exertion of moving about on her crutches. Her lips are plump, and I want nothing more than to kiss them. She has a lime green camisole on that I know matches her undergarments. I feel my dick twitch at that thought. Her black pencil skirt stops right above the knee, hiding the scar and more importantly the tops of her black stockings and garter belt straps. I find myself taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, trying to keep myself from jumping her right here in my office.
    “Caston?” she says, sounding annoyed.
    “Sorry, please, sit,” I apologize, shaking my head, bringing myself out of my daydream while motioning to the couch on the side of my office.
    She props the crutches on my desk and walks slowly to the black leather couch. Seeing her walk on her own puts a smile on my face.
    “I love that.”
    Quickly snapping her head in my direction she looks at me like I’ve got two heads. “What?”
    “I love that you’re walking there without your crutches. You seem to be getting steadier every day, baby. The doctor said you don’t have to use them anymore. I’m not sure why you still do.”
    I see her clench her jaw. “I do what’s best for me, Caston. Is this what you want to talk to me about, because if it is I’ll turn right around and walk back out of here?”
    “No, no,” I say as I walk past her and wait to see where she’ll sit.
    Finally she sits on the couch. I move to sit next to her. I’m disappointed when I feel her tense under my touch and pull away, setting her hands in her lap while turning her head.
    Not wanting to make anything more awkward than it already is I start, “Bre, I got an email from Detective Alverez saying he thinks he found my real mom and that she’s alive.”
    Her head snaps in my direction, eyes wide as saucers, and her hand flies to her mouth, covering the escaping gasp. “What?” The sound is barely audible.
    I hang my head and think about that email. “He has emailed me a few times, but I haven’t responded yet. I’m not sure how to.” I look up and lock eyes with her. “I’m not sure I want to.”
    “Oh, Caston.” She moves closer to me, resting her hand on my leg, sending an electric jolt through my body. I love that her touch does that to me.
    “Honey, you have to at least talk to him. See what he has to say. Trust me, if you don’t, you’ll never forget it and wonder what if. Caston,” she places a hand on my cheek, “it’s okay to be afraid. I can go with you if you want? You don’t have to do it alone. Trust me, though, you will want to know. I’d give anything to have my parents back.”
    I slide a hand into her hair, and she leans into my hand. “Bre, will you tell me about how you lost your parents?”
    Her eyes immediately well up. I feel bad asking, but I have to know her account of the accident. I’ve read the reports a million times. I don’t see how she thinks it was her fault they died. It was a freak accident. Her dad lost control of the car in the rain.
    Taking a deep breath she starts, “Dancing was my life. Ever since I was three, I’d been in some sort of dance class. My parents gave me every opportunity to make my dreams come true. They gave up so much, and I never thanked them. The house went into disrepair, they got second jobs, and carted me around at all hours just to give me the leading edge. Countless times I’d ask to take another class or to attend a special convention, and my parents never said no. I saw the worry lines grow deeper