Chapter 9
Ronan
Ollie drops his head onto my shoulder the second I take him from Colton.
A moment later, I hear it. That wet sucking sound.
He’s sucking his thumb again. I take a slow breath and start running code through my head to distract myself from the fact that there is definitely spit soaking into my jacket right now.
How is there this much saliva in such a small person?
And why can’t it stay inside his mouth where it belongs?
The elevator feels impossibly slow. I know I’m going to have to get used to this if I want to keep Colton. But dear God, the spit.
By the time the elevator finally opens into my penthouse, I’m almost relieved.
Mom said she made sure most of the place was kid-friendly.
When I stepped out earlier to arrange for Colton’s things to be brought over, I asked her why she turned the conference room into a playroom.
Apparently, now that she’s getting older, she wants to be a grandmother.
She thinks Ollie is the fastest route to that.
Since I plan on keeping both Colton and Ollie, she’s not wrong.
“Damn, you have a really nice home. So many nice breakable and stainable things,” Colton says.
“Yes, there are,” I agree.
He whirls around to face me. “You know, if you are worried about your things, we could have just stayed put.” He is frowning at me. I don’t like it.
“I don’t give a shit about things.”
“But you just agreed with me.” Now he is not just frowning, but his eyebrows are furrowed.
“Yes, I did. Because many things can be broken or stained. Mom assured me, though, that it was safe for Ollie. He shouldn’t be able to get to the breakable stuff.” I’m confused. “Do you not like it?”
“Are you kidding? This place is gorgeous.” Colton seems to relax, or at least his face does. He still isn’t smiling. I need a glimpse of his dimples.
“Can you take Ollie? I want to get dinner ready. It’s 6:00, and we eat at 6:30.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he says as he takes Ollie from me. “You said you had my stuff brought here? I can put him in his pack and play.”
I have no idea what he is talking about, so I lead him to the guest room on the first floor. “I had them put everything in here. Mom said that until I get a gate for the stairs, Ollie needs to be on the main floor.”
“How long do you think it will be till the company apartment is ready for us? I don’t think you should buy anything or make any changes to your apartment. We won’t be here that long,” he says as he picks up a long, square thing from the floor.
I take it from him and return to the living room. “It’ll take as long as it takes.” As long as it takes for him to understand that he belongs here with me. I place the pack and whatever it is on the floor. “Now what?” I point at it.
“Now, we set it up. Undo the Velcro straps — that’s the base.”
I follow his instructions until a baby cage is formed.
“He doesn’t mind being caged up?”
“What the hell, Ronan? It’s not a cage.” He laughs.
There’s my dimples. I want to touch them, but I don’t. It’s still too soon for that. But my hands fidget by my sides with the strain of not reaching out to him.
“If you say so. I’m going to make dinner.” I check my watch — 6:10. I have twenty minutes. “I’ll make a stir-fry since we only have twenty minutes.”
In the kitchen, I start pulling out ingredients for a quick stir-fry. Colton comes in a few minutes later.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, thank you,” I say.
“Wow, you really know how to cook.” Colton picks up several spices, examining each one before putting them back down. Thankfully, he sets them back down in the right order.
“All of us had to take cooking lessons when we were teens. Most of us don’t like people in our spaces, and Mom didn’t want us to live on takeout.” The sound of the chicken sizzling fills the silence as Colton watches me.
“Ronan, can I ask you something without sounding ungrateful? Because I am, but I have questions.”
“You can ask me anything,” I say, glancing quickly at him and back to my pan.
“Why are you and your family doing all this for us? The job is one thing, but everything else is crazy or over the top. I mean, your mother set up a fucking playground.”
“Mom,” I correct him.
“What?” he asks.
“Don’t ever call Alessia Murphy Mother. You call her Mom even when referring to her,” I explain. “Mom grew up with very distant parents; it was always Mother and Father. She says it puts distance and is cold.”
“I know what that feels like.” He says it low and quietly, but I still hear him.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, just that my parents prefer Mother and Father.” His fingers idly play with the ends of the dish towel on the counter.
“Are you not still close to them?” From the background I did on him, I knew he had been living with them until recently. The real background on his real name, not the one he gave me. He’s good at covering his tracks, but I’m better.
“No. Don’t change the subject. I asked you a question.”
“Mom is at that age.” I start the veggies and rice. “She wants grandkids, and none of us are moving fast enough for her. When I told her about you and Ollie, well, you saw what happened.”
“Okay, well, that explains her, but what about you? Why are you doing all of this? You just met me, and I’m an employee.” He starts twisting the towel now. I think it’s a nervous habit for him.
“Because I can,” I say.
“That’s it? That’s your reason? Because you can?” His voice gets higher as he finishes.
“Yes.”
“See, that makes no sense to me.” He waves the dish towel in my direction.
I’ve noticed several times today that when he seems nervous, he either bounces his leg or he plays with fabric.
The straps of his bag, the sleeve of Ollie’s shirt, and now the dish towel.
I like that I’m learning his tells. I want to learn them all.
I don’t comment again for a minute. I don’t understand why he keeps asking.
The answer feels obvious to me. I pull out a small tray from the fridge.
Mom sent over several prepared meals for Ollie that she had her cook make.
I read the instructions taped to the top.
Microwave for a minute, stir, then microwave for one more minute.
A separate container has fruit. When that’s done, I turn to Colton.
“It makes perfect sense. You needed a job, so I gave you one. You weren’t safe where you were, so I brought you somewhere you would be. No one can get to you or Ollie here or at the office.”
“Why do you care so much? You don’t know me.”
“I know more than you think,” I say. At some point, I need to tell him I know who he really is. I think that will scare him, though.
“What do you mean?”
“We can do questions later. It’s 6:30.”
I take Ollie’s tray over to the eating area. Thank God for Mom. She sent a high chair over. Colton follows me with the two plates I made for us and sets them down.
“You get Ollie, and I’ll get drinks. You want wine or soda?”
“Water is fine.” He’s staring at the high chair and tray.
By the time I get back with two glasses of water for us and a sippy cup for Ollie, he’s buckling Ollie into the chair.
“Did you make this for him?” Colton gestures to the food tray for Ollie. It has tiny cut-up veggies and chicken. Ollie goes straight for the fruit first and shoves a fistful into his mouth.
“No, Mom had her chef prepare several for him. Something about Ollie needing a balanced diet.” I take a bite of my stir-fry.
“She’s really nice.” Picking up his fork, he starts eating his dinner as well.
“Just don’t piss her off,” I warn.
“I don’t want to piss any of you off. Can we go back to what you said before? That you know more about me than I think.”
I study his face. I don’t know what he is thinking, but he looks serious. I probably should lie to him. I’ve just never been into doing that. Lies create other lies. The truth is what it is. No one can ever hide from it.
“I know who you really are and that Ollie is your brother,” I state bluntly.
He goes white and rigid. For a second, he just stares at me like he thinks he heard me wrong. He drops his fork and gets to his feet so fast that it makes Ollie jump.
“You what? How do you know that?” He looks around wildly. He starts unbuckling Ollie from his high chair. Ollie is pulling at the food he is trying to move.
“I don’t think he is done eating. You should let him finish.” I place my hand over Colton’s to stop him. He’s not leaving.
Colton glances at me and then back at the tray. Sitting heavily back in his chair, he takes a couple of deep breaths. Five in total. Good, that will keep him from a panic attack.
“Do the others know?” He grabs his napkin and plays with it, just like he did with the dish towel.
“No. We’ll have to tell them at some point.” I gesture to his plate. “Finish your dinner.”
He cocks his head to the side and stares at me. “You aren’t upset that I lied to you?”
“No. Just don’t do it again. I don’t like lies. I’m sure you have your reasons. Tell me.”
He shakes his head. “All I’ll say is that it was not a good environment for Ollie. You don’t need to be involved. I basically kidnapped my baby brother and took him across state lines. You could get into trouble just by knowing about it.”
“I’m not worried about that. Neither should you.”
He shakes his head and goes back to eating.
But every few seconds, his eyes flick toward Ollie.
Toward the door. Like he’s mapping out the fastest way to get them both out of here if he has to.
The thought hits me low in the stomach because I know that look.
He’s thinking about running. And I can’t blame him.
Everything about this has to seem insane from his side.
But the idea of him leaving still twists something ugly inside me.
I want to tell him not to go. I want to tell him he belongs here.
With me. Instead, I force myself to stay quiet.
Because if he stays, it has to be his choice.