Chapter 64 #2
All thirteen of us spring into action. Boxes and furniture fly down the cargo ramp. I task Lila with directing traffic.
“Where’s the dolly?” Romero shouts from the bottom of the ramp. “I’m not carrying that fucking desk again.”
I suck air through my teeth in a slight cringe. “Oh yeah. That thing is solid wood.”
McBride brushes Drake out of the way, his boots clicking up the metal gangway. “The men will handle it.”
Drake steps aside to let him pass, adding a mock bow. “Be my guest.”
Sawyer pats Drake’s chest as he climbs into the truck. “We don’t need no stinkin’ dolly.”
“You weren’t there when we put it in the truck. It’s heavier than it looks. Have fun, though.”
My brother pauses to flex his muscles comically, which is how he does most things. “Oh, I intend to, sister.”
Can’t place the impression, but I’m confident it was one.
Kri stands on the porch. Grinning at Lila, she pointedly sniffs the air. “Ah, fresh testosterone. And a hint of stupidity.”
Rolling out my shoulders, I reluctantly enter to assist. “We need to be careful with this thing. Break anything else but this. It’s handcrafted. And it wasn’t cheap.”
It has some serious sentimental value.
Perry studies it, seeming impressed. “Nicest thing I’ve seen of yours all day. I approve, bro.”
Guilt scuttles over my sweaty skin in an ominous warning. But I shake it off. “On three?”
We try to lift it twice before Grant joins in. The four of us get it to the edge of the truck bed before stopping to suck wind.
“Hey, brain trust,” Kri goads from the sideline. “Did you consider removing the drawers?”
A series of curses and groans fills the truck.
“Let’s do it,” Grant says, already removing the drawers and stacking them aside.
Warning bells ring in my psyche. Stubbornly, I disregard them.
It’ll be fine.
It won’t be fine, though. And our hero knows why. Could it be he’s allowing them to clear out the desk so he can free himself of the secret that’s been tormenting him? Get your popcorn, folks. I’ve got mine.
Removing the contents from the lower half of the desk does the trick. With only minimal swearing, we get the desk inside and lower it gingerly.
When we get around to changing the flooring, we’ll hire someone to lift it or work around it. I can’t recall the type of wood he used, but I suspect it was a concrete variety.
Lila comes in with one of the drawers. Kri trails behind her with another.
Behaving in classic twin style, Perry and I glide in unison to take them from the ladies. Not sure how long it’ll take to get used to doing shit like that. Creepy.
Those earlier warning bells turn into blasting sirens when we kneel simultaneously and reinsert the drawers into the slots.
During the move, the contents of his drawer shifted, a folder blocking it from fitting. In my peripheral, I catch my twin removing the folder on top so he can slide the drawer in.
Gasping, I reach to stop him. It’s too late.
Some of the photos have spilled out of the drawer.
Shit, shit, shit.
“What’s this?” he asks innocently.
I watch in a semi-catatonic state of horror as he opens the folder to see the evidence I’ve tried to hide from even myself. Pictures, news articles, and other mementos I’ve collected over the years for those times I felt hollow and wanted to be close to them.
Sometimes knowing the file existed was enough to plaster the fractures of my soul.
Perry flips through a few of them, head quirked in pleasant curiosity.
Gradually, the lines of his face succumb to the heavy gravity of realization.
“Reed?” He whispers, looking up from the newspaper article about the fire. “Who is this about? And why is his last name Sawyer?”
He knows.
Three times I open my mouth to explain. And three times the words fail to come.
“Is this our father?”
Through a rapidly closing throat, I force out, “No.”
“Cousin? Uncle?”
Shaking my head no, I take the article out of his hand, placing it on the floor. Scanning the pile, I find the photo that broke me the most.
I’m tempted to crumple it into a ball so he doesn’t see it.
I don’t.
This is our truth. And he deserves to know.
His adam’s apple bobs as I pass the picture to him.
“This is you, right?” he prompts, still clinging to foolish hope.
“Listen, this is hard to talk about.”
“Take your time, brother.”
His easy composure helps me finally free myself of this burden.
“This is the reason I never came to find you. If you knew about me, it was only a matter of time before you started asking questions. And it would lead you to him.”
“You were protecting me?”
My eyes become heavy as moisture pools. “Yes.”
Shit. About to bawl in front of a group of tough guys. Perfect.
When I glance around the room, it’s empty. I replay what happened in the background when everything inside me froze.
Lila cleared the room for us. She even closed the damn door.
Beautiful, sweet soul.
Fuck it. Rip the bandage.
“Sawyer, when I found out, it broke me. I couldn’t do that to you.”
His posture slumps, and he lowers from his knees to flop on the floor. “We aren’t twins?”
“No.” I blink, then amend, “Yes. We’re still twins. I think. Actually, I don’t know how that works with the terminology. We aren’t the only ones.” I gesture at the photo. “He’s our triplet.”
His eyes drop to examine the young boy holding up a damn fish. With our eyes. Our face. And smile.
The same blood in his veins.
The chosen one.
I finish administering the body blows with a final sentence, “Only you and I were put up for adoption.”
Perry’s face wears a haunting echo of my pain.
I scoot closer. “I’m so sorry you found out this way.”
Voice shaky, he ekes out, “He’s dead?”
My head juts back like I was kicked. “What? No. He’s alive.” I grab the other picture. “This is him on prom night.” Next, I gesture to the desk. “He built this fucking thing. I ordered it on his website.”
All his somberness gets sucked out in a vacuum. He perks up, literally jumping to his feet. “That’s great. Where is he? What’s his name?”
His reaction makes no sense. He went from the lowest of lows back to Happy the Fucking Clown in two seconds.
While I’m struck mute, he scurries back to the file on the floor, swiping the newspaper article. “The Tennessee Dispatch.” His big eyes of baffling wonder look down at me. “Is he still there?”
I rise in disbelief. “Yes.”
“And he’s a firefighter. Badass.” He searchingly runs his finger over the paper. “What did it say his first name was?”
“Flint.”
“Flint,” he repeats, then blasts a braying laugh with his next breath. “Haaaa!”
I’d love to join in and laugh at whatever he finds so funny, but I still have more bad news to deliver.
“Sawyer, buddy, stop,” I attempt.
He’s too far gone; hilarity has rendered him incapable of stopping. “This is almost as good as the Hobbs thing with Klein and Mia.”
“What’s so damn funny?” I snap.
Still quaking, he explains, “His name is Flint. And he’s a firefighter. Flint the firefighter. Fireman Flint. Fighting fire with fire.” He chokes out another laugh. “This poor bastard. I bet he hates his name more than I do.”
Eventually, he catches his breath. “Why aren’t you laughing? That’s funny shit.”
“Sure, it’s humorous. But I don’t think you understand what this means.”
He roves his gaze over my face, growing sober to mirror me. “What’s the big deal? We have another brother. He’s alive. And a fucking hero and a woodworker. That’s cool shit. Let’s set up a trip to meet him.”
“You don’t get it,” I insist, nostrils flaring with an exhale. “She chose him.”
“She?” He arches a brow. “Our mother?”
“Yes. She picked him over us.”
“What do you mean, picked him?”
I clench my fists to stop them from trembling. “She either couldn’t afford to keep all three, or she didn’t want to. She chose her favorite and threw you and me away. She put us up for adoption in another god damn state. Probably so there’d be no chance she’d have to see us again.”
“Is that what you thought you had to protect me from?” he asks, voice devoid of the anguish ravaging me.
Through my tears, I admit, “Yes. She didn’t want us. And then I was ripped out of your fucking arms when we were four to be sent to a family that despised me. You rotted in one foster home after another. Meanwhile, Flint got all her love. Our own mother broke us up without batting a damn eye.”
My eyes are sealed shut when I finally finish purging this. Tears dampen my chest.
Perry surrounds me in a bear hug. “It’s okay, man. I gotcha.”
He rubs soothing circles on my back, holding me until I can stand on my own again.
I withdraw from the embrace, wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry. I should be comforting you.”
“I don’t think so.” He rolls out his lower lip. “You needed it. Not me. I’m fine.”
My arms fall to my sides. “What? How?”
He raps his fingertips over his forehead. “How do I say this without sounding like an ass?”
With a shrug and a sigh, he says, “I’ve always known I wasn’t wanted. This isn’t new for me. And it sucked for a long time. But you know what?”
“What?”
“It didn’t stop me from living my best fucking life. I’m married to the woman of my dreams, and we have two healthy, perfect babies who I would die for.”
His happiness ramps up to blinding levels before my eyes.
“I’ve got the best friends. A job I love.
A nice home. The finest furniture money can buy.
Skin kissed by the gods. And don’t get me started on our sex life.
It’s so fucking good, man. Even having kids didn’t stop us.
” He bites his knuckle. “The things Sammy can do to me.”
I cringe. He notices.
“Sorry, TMI. But anyhow.” He shakes his head, then launches on.
“If all that wonderful epic shit wasn’t enough, I have you now.
A brother by blood. At the risk of inflating your ego, but you’re a badass FBI agent with a smoking hot lady who loves you.
And now you’ve got an old farm, which is . . . something.”