Chapter 4
The moment Breht left Ohpaua, he loosened his tie. He’d always hated the way they rested against his throat, but hadn’t managed to find an alternative that didn’t make him look like a wannabe pirate. Business demanded a certain level of decorum.
He hadn’t seen Brierley in years. Most of his old school connections had gone the way of ghosts when he’d left his home area to join his Ma with his tail tucked between his legs.
Dura had looked upon him with bitter disappointment ever since he’d left school with nought but a single grade in the arts; told him to ditch all his connections and get to work properly.
Ever since he returned, he knew it was inevitable that he would run into a familiar face or two.
The old haunt was bound to throw up recollections from his troubled youth.
To do so soon, to be facing a business connection with one.
Brierley of all people. It was uncanny. She'd been popular in school—the kind of girl who was always out of reach for someone a year younger.
But her talent for jewellery-making was undeniable, and that was what mattered now.
He took his phone from his pocket and scrolled through the numbers. He hadn’t much to report to his Matriarch yet, but she’d expected daily updates. May as well give her a brief one. On the third ring, she answered with the clipped tone he was accustomed to.
“Mr Merloft.”
“Ma,” he replied curtly. “Just wanted to let you know I’ve touched base with Miss Mirren of Ohpaua.”
“And?” Came the startlingly brief reply.
"I'm expecting her to call back mid-afternoon," he projected.
Usually, retail had a lull in the afternoon hours.
It's when those thoughts of giving in often turned to restlessness.
If she hadn't called by early evening, he would try to ring the number attached to her file.
Either way, he was going to need to speak with her again soon enough.
“So no real progress to report then?” He could hear the sneer from behind the phone's screen.
“It’s early days yet,” he replied, trying to remain positive even though she seemed determined to tear him down every chance she got.
“You keep telling yourself that,” she retorted.
His silence stretched on. He'd spent fifteen years proving himself, and fifteen years falling short.
The brother was dead. Dura was impossible.
And somewhere in between, he'd become a man defined by what he couldn't be—not by what he'd accomplished, but by the infinite distance between himself and enough.
“I had dinner last night with Mr and Mrs Reyroris,” she announced.
His eyes closed as a short exhale parted ways with him.
“How were they?” He asked. While he had parted ways with their daughter, he’d always felt a fond respect for her parents.
They were caring, doting on their daughter, but understanding that not everything in their rocky relationship was entirely on his shoulders.
“Good. Rosani was there,” Dura reached the crux of her tangent. “She said she has been trying to ring you.”
That was a lie. Other than the message he had received yesterday, he’d not heard an accursed peep from her. For which he was thankful.
“Why are you telling me this?” He asked. Dura would never see the frown that formed on his face, but it was there all the same. “I told you, we broke up.”
“I told her you’re away on business and that you’d get in touch with her when you got back.”
“I’ve got to go, I have an incoming call,” Breht lied.
It was one thing for Dura to chastise his business practices, but quite another for her to try to work her way into his love life.
The last thing he wanted was her interjection in his toxic relationship.
Her interference was obstinate and most unwelcome. He hung up before she could object.
He ran his hand through his hair, pushing the longer strands back so they flopped to the sides in an endearing mess.
Despite nearly all the bridges of his prior friendships being burned from when he had lived in the town, a single, strong friendship had remained.
Gorim. He’d been best mates with him back in the day, and they still phoned one another on a semi-regular basis.
Usually, around the festive season to wish one another well.
With the parting promise to keep in better touch in the months to come.
Only for it to never happen. The enthusiasm with which they spoke when they called again, with banter as though they’d never parted, made the false promises feel worthwhile before life got in the way again.
Breht scrolled through his contacts and, once he found the other orc's number, he called, taking off his jacket in the warm weather while it rang.
His footfalls carried him away from the busy street of storefronts towards the beach promenade, instinctively knowing the way from years of living in the unchanged town.
Some of the shops had changed in the interim years, but the streets and the passageways had all stayed the same.
A smile graced his maw when he made it to the beachfront; the sound of waves crashing against the sand brought him home.
His smile only broadened at the sight of the ice cream stand on the corner.
Displaying the same old sign, with a very tired-looking display of all the different flavours.
“Hello?” Answered a child's voice.
“Hi Jolyn,” Breht greeted the young voice. “Is your Dad there?”
The young girl got a good telling-off for answering her father's phone. Encouraging her to go and play with stern words, Gorim put the phone to his ear and sounded suspiciously similar to her as he greeted, “Hello?”
“Gorim, Hey, long time no speak!” Breht greeted enthusiastically.
“Breht! Is it that time of year already?”
Instantly, his swirling thoughts dissipated, and he launched into the usual tirade of pleasantries, asking how his daughter was doing at school and what his life-mate was getting up to.
Catching up with all their good family news always distracted him from his own turbulent life.
The simplicity of their life hit him with a stroke of envy, but Gorim always had a good word to say.
Their casual conversation made the weight on his shoulders feel lighter until the dreaded question came from his friend.
“How is Rosani?”
“Ugh, don’t ask,” was all he could muster. Gorim knew the rise and fall of his relationship; he’d been told many a time.
“Look, mate, do me a solid and don’t go back. She only makes you miserable.”
It was a truth that he already knew, but to have it told to him made him feel defensive.
“This isn’t what I rang you to talk about,” he said, trying to move the conversation on before he could dwell on his ex-fiance and the terror she’d brought into his life.
The last thing he wanted was a replication of Dura’s interferences, only from Gorim.
“Something on your mind?” Gorim asked, “Not in trouble, are you?”
Why did everyone assume that he was in trouble? Or going to cause trouble?
“No, nothing like that!” Breht grumbled. “I’m doing some work in the area and, if you’re free, thought you might be able to catch up. In-person. Face to face.”
“And see your ugly mug?” Gorim laughed, “I’d love to. Actually, do you remember Alluin? Skinny guy with long hair. He’s having a bit of a get-together, a reunion of sorts, tomorrow night. Short notice, I know. It would be great if you came along.”
Alluin wasn’t someone that Breht could forget in a hurry.
He bore no ill will towards the hyperactive human; the mere mention of him pulled at the strings of his nostalgia.
Breht wasn’t sure such a large gathering was what he really wanted right now.
He’d been thinking more along the lines of meeting up in a sports bar.
Whittling away the evening, reminiscing over some old-time gossip while catching up on the good times he had missed since he’d been away.
He leaned against the metal bar protecting pedestrians from the drop off of the sea defences onto the beach below.
Gazing out to sea as a small speedboat whizzed by. Maybe.
The warmth of the day hit the back of his neck, the short-cropped, shaved sides of his head felt the rays against him, and he came up with the excuse, “I don’t know, I’m here on business, not to pleasure.”
At one point in his life, he had been all about the party scene.
It wasn’t a good night if he didn’t end up face down on the floor, flirting with unconsciousness in a fit of reckless twenty-something foolishness.
Usually with Rosani in tow, she loved the high life, showing off the latest catwalk fashion on her delectable curves.
Initially, he had loved showing her off; how many chances did orcs like him get to have a beautiful woman on their hips?
He’d been proud of what they were. What they had done together, then he’d matured and found the thought of staying up until the small hours and getting up for work in the morning too taxing.
Now? His hand bunched into a fist around the metal bar.
To steady the rush of anger she caused, he took a deep, purposeful breath.
“What’re you working on?” Gorim thankfully interrupted his reverie.
“It’s a bit of an odd one, Ma brought a building complex.
And, rather than kick out the businesses.
I said I’d turn one of them around and make them viable.
I guess it sat ill with me that she just wanted to boot them out in favour of bigger brands,” Breht paused, wistfully dreaming about what other businesses might be in trouble once the rest skyrocketed.
“You always were a soft touch,” Gorim teased.
“Only with the right people,” Breht retorted, accepting the jest for what it was. It’s true, he did tend to spoil his partners. “You’ll never guess who I am working with?” He prompted.
“Go on?” Gorim said slowly.
“Brierley!” Breht enthused.