Milàn
I glance at my watch for about the hundredth time. Then I check my phone. Also for about the hundredth time. I lift the phone to my ear and listen to the dial tone. Nobody picks up. That, too, happens for the hundredth time today.
I pace back and forth while I eye all the possible directions that lead to the stadium.
No Rory.
Fantastic.
I had a feeling I should’ve handcuffed him to me when he left the house this morning to make sure he made it to soccer practice, but I figured they wouldn’t look on it favorably at school if one of the students had some random grown-ass man cuffed to him.
I was supposed to pick him up at home and come to practice. He didn’t show up. I waited until the last possible moment before I made my way to the stadium, which brings us to now and the sinking feeling inside me.
He’s not going to show.
Fan. Fucking. Tastic.
I clench my jaw tighter. It’s not the first time Rory’s disappeared from school and been gone for hours without picking up his phone, and where I’m usually worried more than annoyed, right now I’m mostly pissed.
I stuff my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and clutch my neck while I stare at the sky.
“Fuck!” I mutter.
“Things are going that well, huh?”
I whirl around at the voice from behind me and meet Jordan’s amused gaze.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just out of curiosity, is it essential for Rory to actually physically be here for soccer? Or is it, perhaps, enough if he’s here, say… in spirit?”
He steps closer and takes a cursory glance down the street before he looks at me.
“Should we be worried about the missing thirteen-year-old?”
“I’m gonna be honest here, being worried isn’t my first instinct right now.
” I blow out a breath. “It’s not unusual for him to not come straight home after school,” I admit.
This already doesn’t make me sound like the best parental figure, so I stop myself from giving him a rundown about how a lot of days Rory is gone well past dinnertime and firmly headed toward call-the-police-and-file-a-missing-persons-report territory because I have no clue where he might be.
How I’ve enabled location sharing on his phone only for him to disable it, I’ve grounded him and given endless lectures—all of it with no results.
Amazingly, when I finally brave a look in Jordan’s direction, it doesn’t feel like he’s judging me. Or maybe he’s just good at hiding it.
I eye him warily.
He’s dressed in a pair of charcoal gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that’s half tucked into the waistband of the sweats.
It highlights his narrow waist and is a grave reminder that I haven’t been to the gym in months.
And that’s not even the biggest issue with my looks right now.
There’s also the fact that my hair is getting too long.
I’m wearing jeans that have a rip just below my ass.
My shirt has so many wrinkles in it that the wrinkles themselves have wrinkles, and there’s a ranch stain on the front of it. It’s faint, but it’s there.
I’m really winning at life.
Half a year ago, this wasn’t me. Sure, I wasn’t at the top of my game then either, but I sure as hell wasn’t out of my depth like this. And at least I looked good, which goes a long way when you want to hide what a mess you are inside.
“I guess I better get out of your hair. And…” I take a fortifying breath to prepare myself. “I’ll go talk to the principal and explain that we need to figure out some other way to handle this. I’m sorry.”
He stops me with a hand on my arm. Warm fingers wrap around my forearm and stay there.
“Relax.” He lets out a small laugh and his thumb starts to move in circular motion, massaging the rigid muscle. “Seriously. You’re all tense. Take a few deep breaths and let’s figure this out.”
The way he says it is so self-assured and confident that I have the ridiculous urge to slump against him and let him take over. Let him figure shit out for me. I have never felt more pathetic and incompetent in my life. It’s goddamn humbling.
“Rory might just be late,” he says. “Stuck in traffic?”
I do take those few deep breaths, and he smiles at me. This is clearly him being reassuring, but it’s also sexy. Unintentionally so, I figure. Still. Sexy.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you around while we wait.”
I follow him into the stadium.
“Locker rooms are down there.” He points to a dimly lit corridor on my left. The walls haven’t seen a new coat of paint for half a century, and half the lights are just bulbs hanging on wires from the ceiling.
“It looks like crap,” Jordan says cheerfully. “The girls’ locker room looked worse, so that was renovated first. Boys will get their turn sometime next year, provided we get the money. I’m trying to get some grants, but it’s slow going.”
He motions for me to follow, and after a short walk we end up on the field itself, where rows of kids are running up and down with soccer balls in front of them, moving between cones and lines on the grass in surprisingly well coordinated chaos.
The way these kids are moving that ball effortlessly through the maze of hurdles looks pretty fucking impressive.
I should really swear less. Even in my head.
I turn to glance at Jordan. “Remind me what you said last time? Something about not being a very good team?”
“We’re not. We’re only eighth on our league’s cup right now.”
“How many teams are there?”
“Twenty-four.”
“That’s still in the top third of all the teams,” I point out.
“Well, yeah. But barely.”
“Oh, this is going to be a shitshow,” I say, and then I wince before I look around to see if anybody overheard that.
Jordan snorts out a laugh. I fix my gaze on the field in front of us and firmly clamp my mouth shut to refrain from saying whatever incriminating thing my brain is bound to cook up next.
Jordan puts his forearms on the railing in front of us and leans forward casually, eyeing the field with a small smile on his face.
I spot Theo running on the other side of the field.
Even all the way across from him I can sense the quiet determination that comes off him as he concentrates on the drill.
“Theo seems like a good player. He’s not on the school’s team?” I frown. “Is there a school team?” It’s probably something I should know.
“There is. He didn’t want to switch.” Jordan’s eyes stay on the field.
“He was on the team in his previous school, but…” He has a faraway look in his eyes, but then he shakes his head and smiles.
“It wasn’t a good experience. This team is a good fit.
He’s made friends.” He frowns. “That hasn’t always been the easiest for Theo.
” He looks at me, and for a few moments the frown remains before his expression clears.
“Anyway, long story short, here we are.”
We fall silent for a bit.
“How does one inherit a brother?” he asks.
I keep my own eyes on the field while I consider that question. And my answer.
“Does the name Gerard Corbin tell you anything?” I eventually ask.
He gives me a blank look before he squints. “It’s faintly familiar, but I don’t…” He shakes his head.
“He was a tennis player.”
“Oh, yeah. Didn’t he di—” His eyes widen, and he clamps his mouth shut.
“Yes, he’s dead.”
He sends me a thoughtful look. “I’m making an educated guess here that the fact that you two share a last name isn’t a coincidence?”
I don’t like talking about my father, but for some reason, I find myself less reluctant than usual right now.
“I’m the oldest. Then Aiden. And now Rory. We’re all half-brothers. Half Gerard and half whoever the wife or mistress at the time was.”
I sound bitter, and I can’t help it. It’s pathetic how I still, after all these years, let it get to me that Gerard was who he was.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I nod. What the hell is there to say to that, anyway?
I press my lips together and keep my eyes firmly on the soccer practice that’s happening in front of me.
I’ve been waiting for the grief to hit ever since I learned about Gerard’s passing.
Maybe not grief, exactly, but I thought there would be something.
Anger, if nothing else. Sadness about all the things that could have been if I’d picked up the phone during those last few years.
Because there was a period there when Gerard did try to contact me.
Based on the messages he left me, it was to try and make amends.
By then I was too disillusioned and done to reply.
I did think that once the confusion of finding out about Rory had settled a bit, I’d feel something.
There’s nothing.
When I think about Gerard, all I am is numb.
“He wasn’t the best father out there,” I say, as neutrally as I possibly can. “Honestly, he should’ve never gotten married or had kids in the first place. I never asked him why he did. I should’ve. Just out of curiosity.”
I can feel his gaze on the side of my face.
“How old are you?” he asks.
I raise my brows at him. “Thirty-five. Why?”
“How old is your brother?”
Ah.
“Thirty-four.”
He hums and nods. “The early nineties were a busy time for your father, then.”
I let out a startled laugh.
“Insensitive?” he asks with a grimace.
“I welcome that.”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His arm brushes against mine.
It feels nice. Somehow less alone, even if I don’t want to admit that the loneliness is there in the first place.
I’m independent. It’s something I’ve always been proud of.
That no matter what comes my way, I can handle it on my own.
If I’m out of my depth, I swim. Independence is my thing. It’s how I survive.
This is the first time in my life I’ve been lost like this, but for a moment, thanks to the feel of this relative stranger’s shoulder against mine, I almost feel calm. More like myself.
“He died suddenly?” Jordan asks. “Your father.”