Chapter 19
WREN
D arcy suggests heading back to Seattle after our awkward-as-fuck brotherly date—awkward because it was fun, awkward because it pointed out I don’t see him as a brother—but even with all that weirdness, it was the best time we’ve spent together so far.
I put my hand on top of the divider between Darcy’s and my seats and lower it. In first class. On a plane. I have my own cocoon, and I still can’t get over it.
Darcy, growing ever tired of my shit, rolls his eyes. “What now?”
“I’m lonely.”
He goes back to tapping on his laptop. Even thirty thousand feet in the air, he doesn’t stop working. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I am. I can acknowledge that. But no really, I want to know how much this flight was. Because I’m never flying coach again. Look, my feet don’t even reach the seat in front of me.” I wiggle my legs.
“Wait until it’s bedtime and you can lie down.”
“No way. I get a bed? This is awesome.”
“It’s worth every penny.”
“How many pennies we talking?”
“Let’s say it’s more than your car, less than your house. And by your, I actually mean yours , not a general your as in a normal person who has a car that was made in the last ten years.”
That makes my face fall. “What? For a seat for nine hours? Why don’t we buy our own plane?”
Darcy laughs again. “You went from you don’t need money to where’s my private plane? really fast.”
“I still think it would’ve been more fun for you to fly economy with me.”
“Never going to happen. I flew economy once from Seattle to New York, and that was enough torture to last a lifetime.”
“Oh no! The little rich boy had to sit next to—” I gasp. “—strangers.”
“Not just next to, practically on top of. For five hours.” He deadpans so well I’m not sure if he’s joking or not, but after this flight, yeah, I don’t want to go back to economy either.
It’s not the money I’ve thought was evil this whole time but the person it came from. I didn’t want anything from him, and I still don’t.
But I do want to know if this connection I have with Darcy is real or if my poor abandoned heart is projecting something that isn’t there. Is only brotherly and will always be brotherly.
I can’t imagine what would happen if I asked Darcy for a DNA test to see if we were truly related or not.
I could word it so that it’s a question of whether Warren Ritcherson was actually my biological father, but I think it’s safe to say the genes don’t lie on that one.
There are too many similarities between Junior, Tobias, and me.
I could sneak his DNA from somewhere. I’ve watched all those crime shows. A strand of hair. A used glass, straw, chopstick … Though, I don’t know if I could live with the guilt of going behind his back.
Then again, if he knows he’s not my brother and has kept it from me … there would be no safe place for him to hide from that ire.
“Can I put the partition back up now?” Darcy asks.
I pout. “Why don’t you want to see my pretty face?”
“Because you’re ridiculous. How about that?”
“Fine. I’m going to watch a movie.” I go to put the divider back up, but Darcy puts his hand on top of mine. “What movie? We can sync our TVs and watch together.”
Yesss. “Whatever movie you want to watch.”
He licks his lips. “What if I choose a rom-com?”
My gaze narrows. “I’d worry you’re trying to get your brother on another romantic date. Dinner and a movie? One more date, and you know what happens then.” I waggle my eyebrows.
And am I fishing by being completely inappropriate? Possibly.
But what’s even more inappropriate is his response. “What, no mile-high club? The bathrooms in first class are huge, by the way.”
Again with the straightlaced face. He has to be joking.
Right?
I can’t play this game anymore. Whatever game it is.
I need answers.
Even if it turns out I am as fucked-up as those real siblings who fall for each other like Remy was telling me.
I have to get a DNA sample somehow, or I’m going to send myself crazy. If it turns out I have been flirting with my brother, having inappropriate thoughts about my sibling, I’ll have an acid bath to forget it. But if he’s not?
Where do we go from there?
“Ooh, the new Coby Godspeed movie is out. We could watch that.”
And there he goes, taking my hope down a peg by not choosing the date option.
“It’s not as good since they fired Blake Monroe as the lead, but fine,” I mutter, more confused than ever.
* * *
It’s actually easier than I expected to get Darcy’s DNA. Considering I get his coffee every morning, I make sure to order two of the same, and after he’s drunk half of his, I switch it out for mine, pocket the plastic lid, and finish his coffee from the cup. Easy.
And deceitful.
But I’ve gone so far past lusting after someone who’s supposed to be my flesh and blood to not know for sure.
Darcy is … nothing like I expected him to be. I was prepared for him to be like Junior but ten times worse.
He doesn’t feel threatened by me, even though he has the most to lose out of all three of my brothers.
If he is indeed my brother. Which, I guess technically, even if the DNA does prove to exclude us from being blood relatives, he’s still Warren Ritcherson’s son.
Adopted or what, he’s technically still my brother. Will always be my brother.
Maybe finding out the truth won’t resolve anything because what difference does it make?
But … I need to know.
The DNA place I took it to says it can take up to a week to process, so each day I turn up at work, it gets harder and harder to look Darcy in the eye.
I’m constantly on edge from both needing to know the results and being scared to find out.
I can’t remember the last time I wanted something so badly, but it’s a selfish want.
That’s the kind of thing that would blow up in this bougie world.
I’m getting the hang of most things now. Know my place. What to do. I don’t have big responsibilities, but I don’t want them either. I’m happy to help out where I can.
Which begs another question. If this DNA comes back showing I’m not Darcy’s brother, what does that mean for the company?
I don’t want it. It’s not me. I might be willing to work here, possibly even leave construction to do so on a full-time basis if Darcy wants me to.
But if he’s forced out and I’m left in charge of it all …
I shake my head. I’d have to put Junior in the CEO position, and I agree with Darcy when he says Junior will run it selfishly.
Darcy works far too hard to lose it all.
When the envelope appears in my mail, I’m too scared to open it.
The repercussions of what’s inside could be catastrophic. Mainly to Darcy.
Either way, I want to know for my benefit. To know that this insanely intense connection I have with Darcy isn’t wrong. That maybe our lives are intertwined for a reason that has nothing to do with who raised us or whose DNA we carry.
I tap the envelope in my hand, completely unsure of how I’m going to react to what’s inside. In my mind, there’s no doubt I’m Warren Ritcherson’s son.
I believe Mom when she says there were no other men in her life when she fell pregnant with me. Darcy not being a Ritcherson is the only logical conclusion if these results show we’re not brothers.
It’s a big can of worms.
Monumental.
And honestly, I don’t know what answer I want more. I don’t know which one will be more devastatingly heartbreaking. To know my attraction to Darcy is warranted or that when he says he stole my life, he literally stole it. Had no right to it. But took it anyway.
That’s if he even knows the truth.
Fuck it, I need to know.
I tear into the paper and scan the results so fast I miss it at first, but there it is in black and white.
Zero point zero chance of familial relation.
My heart flies even as my gut drops like lead.
Darcy isn’t my brother.
It’s official. One of us isn’t Warren Ritcherson’s son, and I think it’s obvious who that is. I let out a long breath as I sink to the floor, trying to wrap my spinning head around what this means. I thought I was prepared for this answer. I’m not.
My entire world has imploded.
I need to see Darcy.
Do I text first or just show up?
I’m assuming he’s at home because I forced him out of the office on time like a normal human being, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he snuck back in there. Though, there’s nothing stopping him from working at home on his laptop.
I hope he’s at home because this isn’t a conversation we should have in the office. I send him a text as a heads-up: Just so you know, I’m coming over, so if you went back to the office, you better hurry home before I beat you.
And now for the moment of truth.
Has Darcy been lying to me since the moment we met, or is he as unaware as the rest of us?