Page 29 of Bronson

I shake my head, releasing the thoughts.

I’m being ridiculous. A man in my position, a man with my past… it’s just not an option I can entertain.

I will give her guidance, discipline her when the need arises. Ensure her tummy and bank account are full. I bought her a coat to keep her warm.

It’s nothing romantic.

The look she gave me over her shoulder when she presented her round, reddened ass over my desk, waiting for my belt.

The scent of her arousal filling my office.

The peek of her pink, shiny pussy.

My cock twitches.

Who am I kidding?

I want her.

She wants me.

The way her face blushes when she sees me. Her nipples tightening beneath her clothing whenever I grab her arm.

Which I do, often.

She’s such a flighty little thing. I fear she’ll dart off.

I like having her by my side. Close.

Very, very few women can handle being with a Bachman man. Sure, they think it sounds fun, sexy. But then they find out what type of commitment is required of them. And when things get real, that’s when they run.

But Paige is different.

She’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met.

When I ask her about her past, she glosses over the truth.

I once attempted to ask Jane and her expression immediately closed.

“Her history is hers to tell,” she said. “But I will tell you this: no one handed Paige the life she has. She built it herself.”

The rest has come to me in fragments. A joke Paige made about spending her eighteenth birthday in a youth hostel. A passing mention of arriving there with fifty dollars and one backpack. The way her face empties whenever someone speaks fondly of childhood Christmases or parents who worry too much.

Piece by piece, the truth has become impossible to miss.

Paige was abandoned by the people meant to protect her. Instead of allowing that abandonment to destroy her, she contacted a former guidance counselor, enrolled in classes, earned her Medical Assistant Certificate, and built a family from the people the rest of the world had forgotten.

And her capacity to love is endless. The way she cares for the elderly. Changing their clothing, bathing them, feeding them, sneaking them goodies. Listening when they speak. Laughing at their jokes.

The thing about Paige that I most admire is the way she speaks to them.

Gently. Kindly. Treating them like the special individuals they are.

Somehow, she knows what each of them needs in their lives. And she gives it to them through stories.

For the woman in room 204 who grew up on the coast, it’s happy tales from childhood. All made up, I am almost certain. Trips down the waterslide, the taste of sweet popsicles, the melting juice making her fingers sticky in the sun. Hours spent paddling in the pool, her fingertips turning to raisins.

The man in 203 who is on a strict diet for diabetics, for him she speaks of food. All kinds: double cheeseburgers from greasy takeout dives. Tacos and empanadas from food trucks, washed down with ice-cold beers. Multiple course meals from elegant five-star restaurants. Ordering bottles of wine older than he is.