Chapter 3 PIKE
Now
Whitlock Manor. It’s an abnormally huge Victorian Manor with expansive grounds still standing since 1888. Dad never had the heart to leave it and it’s just us in this big house, but the moment Greg pulls up in the cobblestone drive, I notice the monstrous black Ford Raptor parked next to my dad’s silver Aston Martin.
We don’t have any extended family and Dad never meets with any of his business associates at home so I can’t imagine what would show up here at this part of the evening. All our social encounters are always out of the house.
“Are we expecting any visitors?” I ask Greg as I get out of the car and shoulder my backpack.
He grumbles something under his breath and I roll my eyes as I head up the gray cobblestones to the huge, dark jade green front door.
When I push the door open and step inside, I can hear loud, heated voices coming from the living room. I quickly recognize Dad’s voice, but the other voice is unfamiliar, younger, and deeper. Dropping my bag on the floor, I move through the foyer, my heels clicking on the dark wooden floors.
When I round the corner, I see my dad first. He’s facing me and the other person is a dark-haired guy with his back toward me. I can see from his back that his muscles are tense under the black t-shirt that he’s wearing. They’re both standing there, facing each other and immediately I can sense the tension permeating the air and bouncing off, of them.
My dad sees me and his eyes widen for a second, his features are mixed with anger and confusion.
“Upstairs.” He says to me. Just one word, but I can hear the anger and irritation in it. But before I can move or ask him what the hell, the guy turns around.
The second his dark grey eyes meet mine, my breath escapes my lips and I’m suddenly glued to where I am. No, it can’t be.
“Dad,” I say even though I’m not even sure why I’m calling him.
Rhys. I never thought I’d ever see him again. This must have been why Dad was in a shitty mood all week. It explains a lot.
“Pike.” My dad’s tone is a warning, but I ignore him.
The back of my eyes burns with tears as I stand there, facing my brother. Not just my brother, but my fraternal twin. I haven’t seen him in years.
“Pike,” Rhys says, his dark grey eyes, the same grey as mine, watch me, watch as my chest rises and falls rapidly.
“The fact that you’re staying here doesn’t change anything,” my dad says to Rhys, his voice is filled with so much anger and I haven’t heard him use that kind of tone in years.
“Yes, Sir,” Rhys says as he continues to stare at me.
His jaw is hard, his expression unreadable.
What the fuck is going on? I want to speak, but my lips are glued together and I can’t seem to find the right words.
“Dad.” My lips move again, but I can’t hear myself speaking.
My dad’s dark eyes flicker to mine. “I’ll be back later.”
He leaves without another word. The front door slams shut and then it’s just us. It’s just him and I. Even though the living room is huge, the space in it is suddenly not enough. The air in it is not enough.
Rhys takes a step forward and I stay glued to where I am, so he takes another step, and another, and another until he’s standing right in front of me.
I can hear him breathing now that’s how close he’s standing in front of me. I lift my gaze to his. His full lips part and I find myself studying his features. The new and the old. The fading scar that slashes through his left eyebrow is new. His sharp cheekbones now stand out in replacement of what were once baby cheeks. His inky black hair, the same inky black as mine, is cut roughly at the edges in no specific style. There’s something di erent about him though and it’s not just the broadness of his shoulders or the fact that he now towers over me. No, it’s something else. Something darker about him. I haven’t seen him in forever and even though we were once inseparable, it now feels like I’m standing in front of a broken mirror. It doesn’t feel like how it used to feel before, where I knew him and he knew me. His dark gaze rakes over me, taking in every inch of me, until his eyes are on mine once again.
I reach out with both of my arms so that I can hug him, or at least feel him once again, but Rhys takes a step back as if he can’t bear the thought of me touching him. His jaw is tight and his eyes are narrowed as he looks around the living room and then back at me.
“I never thought I’d ever see you again,” I say, dropping my arms at my sides.
“I’ve been here all week. Transferred to St. Charles to play for the hockey team,” he says.
I blink away the tears and suck in a deep breath. “I didn’t know.”
“I guess life is always throwing surprises at us.” His words are clipped and I frown, because this isn’t the kind of reunion I was ever expecting if I ever saw him again.
“My dad told me about what happened,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
Rhys turns away from me, but not quickly enough before I see the way his jaw clenches and his eyes avoid mine.
He bends down and grabs a large black bag from the floor and swings it over his shoulders.
“Yeah, life happens, Pike. Glad you got the memo though.” Cruel amusement laces his deep voice. “Didn’t think you’d hear anything up here in this fortress that you’ve been kept in all these years.”
“You’re acting as if I never cared-” I start, but Rhys is already leaving through the front door.
“Did you ever?” His voice echoes around me and I wince as the door slams shut for a second time, filling the house once again with silence.
I stand there for a few seconds not really sure of how to swallow down everything. I can already feel the bile in my throat rising. The packet of Doritos I had earlier is already attempting to find a way out of my body.
I run up the dark spiral wooden staircase and head straight to my room. I grab the hem of my sweater, pull it over my head and throw it on my room floor before heading into the adjoining bathroom.
Grabbing the sides of the toilet, I fall to my knees and all the vomit comes up, burning my throat as I empty my stomach contents.
My senses are infiltrated by the rancid smell. Clenching the sides of the toilet, I feel my stomach lurch. My throat constricts and I gag but nothing else comes up and all I’m left with after is a bitter, sour taste in my mouth.
I fall back against the wooden cabinet behind me and close my arms over my stomach. The tears fall and before I know it, I’m crying. I’m crying because of Mom and Rhys and everything else that’s fucked up in my life.
I sit like this for about ten minutes, until I calm myself down by steadily inhaling through my nose and then blowing out deep breaths through my mouth.
When I’m done, I stand up and position my shirt right before going over to the sink and rinsing my mouth out with some mint-flavored mouthwash.
I have to go to the game later because I want to go to that party later on, so I strip o my clothes and climb into the warm comfort of my bed for a short nap. As I fall asleep, I can’t ignore the apprehension I feel in my chest.