"Your uncle is an attorney, ass-wipe. Save the bullshit for someone who buys it. What happened?" I press.
"Damn, you're nosey! Nothing really happened!" he exclaims. "What happened with you and Cole? From what I hear you guys weren't together for what? Like seven years?"
I roll my eyes at him. "Yeah, that was different, Cole's an idiot."
"And you're not?" he asks with a sarcastic laugh.
"Stop trying to change the subject," I mutter, trying to fight a smile.
The side of his mouth turns up a little more and his eyes grow sad. "You know when you love someone so much that you make them miserable? You push them away any chance you get because you know they can do better than you. It kills you, but you do it anyway...because you know, you just know that they can't possibly be happy with you. That they'll figure out at some point that you're a piece of shit and they're so much better and they'll leave you anyway?" I nod slowly, blinking back tears.
"Well, that's what happened. And now I can't get her back."
The tears I was trying to blink back begin to run down my face and I wipe them quickly as Connor looks at me, his own eyes clouding. He clears his throat loudly.
"I told her I didn't love her anymore...like that," he continues. "Fucking ripped my heart open, but I had to."
"Wow," I say, my voice barely audible. "That's messed up. You're worse than I am."
He nods. "I'm worse than a lot of people are, Blake."
"You're not. The big guys never are," I say, shaking my head and offering a smile, making him smile back. "So are you still in love with her?"
"Always have been, always will be. She knows that too. She let me walk away because she was hurt and hurt more with what I told her...but she's not stupid. She knows she has my heart forever."
"Do you think love conquers all?" I ask quietly.
"I hope so. If it doesn't, we're all doomed," he replies seriously.
My phone chirps while I'm washing the dishes and I lean over to look at the screen.
Cole: I miss you.
I smile at the screen and wipe my hands to respond.
Me: I miss you more. Thinking of going to Mark's.
Cole: Be careful.
Me: Taking Connor.
Cole: Be careful.
Me: I got that part.
Cole: K I love you. See you later.
Me: Love you too.
I smile at the screen for a couple of seconds before I shuffle off to my room.
"Con, I'm going to Mark's. Wanna come?" I ask once I'm dressed in presentable clothes.
"I guess. He know we're going?" he asks with scrunched eyebrows.
"Nope. Figured we can show up and sneak in there in between his meetings. I have to get some papers he owes me from a while back anyway," I say with a shrug. He agrees and helps me finish cleaning up before we head out.
We have Bruce and Spencer meet us downstairs and make the drive to Mark's office, but when we get there, Connor says that he can't go inside. I give him a confused look and he explains that nobody can know that he's Mark's nephew because "shit will get ugly", his words. I contemplate heading back home, but Connor assures me that he doesn't mind waiting in the car with Bruce while Spencer goes inside with me. I shrug off my worry and head up to Mark's office with Spencer on my tail. Everything about this place is so familiar; it's oddly comforting, all things considered. Once we reach the firm's lobby on the eighteenth floor, I see one of the Barbies behind the desk. She sees me and her smile goes from brilliant to snarl before it fixes on fake.
"Hmm. Miss. Brennan, do you have an appointment?" she asks, clearly annoyed. I'm taken aback by her attitude, she's never been nice to me but this is just...weird.
"No, I don't. Do you think you can squeeze me in between appointments?" I ask, watching her expression sour suddenly. Before she can answer me, the door that leads to the offices opens and Mark and a couple of men in business suits walk into the lobby. They're all so lost in conversation that they don't look around or notice me. One of them is an older man with salt and pepper hair that looks familiar, but I can't place him. As I study his face, my phone vibrates with a message in my purse.
Connor: Abort mission. I have to get home ASAP.
I look at the message for a couple of seconds before I reply.
Me: Abort mission? Lol I'll be quick. He's already out here.
Connor: Alone?
Me: No. Saying bye to clients.
I stay staring at the phone, but his reply never comes, so I put it away and look up. The men are still talking and I decide to walk a little closer to make my presence known to Mark. Both of his clients are wearing black suits and have serious yet easygoing expressions on their faces as they speak. The other man is probably in his fifties and has brown hair and light brown eyes, he has a laid back smile that I find myself entranced with. I don't realize how close I've walked to them until the three of them turn their heads to face me.
When they see me, it's as if time stops. Suddenly the chatter, the ringing phone, the elevator ding, the closing and opening of doors—everything is muted except for my harsh breathing. I stare wide-eyed, first at the older man that has eyes so similar to mine, I feel like I'm looking at myself. Then at the younger man, who now looks so familiar, but I cannot figure out where I know him. I search my mind through all of the catalogs of faces that I have stored and come up short, yet I know him. Last, I look at Mark, whose face has gone completely pale. The loud ding of the elevator and a large male form running toward me makes me take a defensive step back and look at Connor, who is running at me full speed.
"Fuck," he says, breathing heavily and holding onto his knees. "Fuck."
I stare at him willing myself to speak, to ask, to demand, but produce nothing.
Nothing.
I feel my body temperature drop and the walls start to close in on me as I place my hand over my chest and begin to loudly gasp for air. I blink away the tiny white dots that my vision produces before I feel Connor or Mark or one of the men, somebody begins to move me. They walk with me before I completely black out.
"How could you not fucking tell me?" a man shouts angrily. "I can't fucking believe-" his voice trails off before he begins to wail loudly.
When my eyes flutter open, I see Connor's concerned baby blues as he squeezes my hand.
"Sorry, B," he whispers, not giving him a chance to explain why before the brown haired man launches himself at us, falling to his knees beside me and Connor. He awkwardly pulls me into his arms and presses my face to his chest as he cries openly, loudly. I stare at Connor, with saucer wide eyes, not quite understanding his emotion.
"Liam, let the girl go, you're scaring her," says the old man in a gruff, smoky voice.
The man loosens his hold on me and holds me at arms' distance as he examines my face. His face and eyes are wet with tears and they continue to flow freely before he lets out a sob. He drops his hands from my arms and wipes his face with the backs of them.
"Sorry," he says with a sniffle. "I didn't mean to scare you, it's just-" his voice breaks before he begins to cry again. For a moment I hear no sound except for the pitter-patter of my heartbeat. And then I see, feel, hear the pain that the man before me is bearing. And even though I don't know him, even though I haven't seen him i
n an eternity, locked memories flood my mind. Memories of that smile, those eyes, that voice, that smell. Especially that smell. He smells like a rainy day, he smells of home, or what I considered home many moons ago.
Sorrow bubbles deep in my stomach as I stare at the man who was once my father. And even though I've always imagined what it would be like if I ever saw him again, this doesn't add up. In my lifetime, I've pictured millions of scenarios in which I'd run into his arms laughing and crying of happiness. Where he would go to Maggie's house and find me sitting in my room listening to music or show up after school and announce that he'd searched high and low until he found me. It's not that I wanted our reunion to be deemed good enough to be featured on an episode of Oprah, but I expected to feel...something. Something happy. Something hopeful. All I feel is blank. And sadness. Bleak sadness. What a fucking thing to feel when you're looking in the eyes of the person who helped create you.
Somebody clears their throat and I tear my eyes away from Liam's to look up at Mark who is watching me carefully, with sadness in his own eyes. The old man standing beside him has unshed tears in his own eyes and from how much he looks like Mark, there's not much of a question that they're related. Then again, I know who he is, and I know he's my grandfather. I stand up on wobbly legs, and am thankful when Connor helps steady me by holding my arm.
"I...I have to go," I say in a hushed, hoarse voice. "I can't-" I don't even finish the sentence before I dash out of the room, holding my empty sobs inside. When I make it to the elevator I press down on the button furiously and cross my arms while I wait. I see Spencer from the corner of my eye, but refuse to look around me. I don't want anything to trigger my impending tears.
"Tell Cole I say hi, Miss Brennan," says a chirpy, annoying voice behind me. I instinctively turn around with my eyes narrowed and look at Skipper the bitch.