11. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
JULIAN
I tried my best, but it was hard sometimes to understand what my mother meant.
It got harder after she was gone, and I was alone in foreign places.
I tried to remember what home felt like more than anything.
I could never find that feeling, not until a paintbrush was placed into my hand.
At least, it was the closest I could get to it without getting that desperate urge to claw at it like a madman.
Eventually, it got easier to forget than to remember. Abigail helped a lot. She still does. It’s why she stands warily in the corner of the room, pretending to be a fly on the wall while I speak with three of the most obnoxious businessmen I’ve ever met.
They’re all the same, riding atop their high horses and flicking invisible lint off their shoulders. Cheating on their wives, most likely. At least I’m pretty certain that’s not Mr. Danielson’s wife hanging on his arm.
I know it’s hypocritical of me to despise the men I’m asking for money, but I know it’s what I have to do to change the system. However, I do not beg, and I can tell that they want me to. They dangle their money and connections in my face, holding it above their heads to see if I’ll jump for it.
I won’t.
There’s a permanent clench in my jaw as I stare at Steve Danielson and his posse of degenerates, Reid and Vincent. I tried to meet at a neutral place, but they insisted on visiting the gallery. I now realize it was a power move to dismiss me and my foundation all in one setting.
I was proud of my creations, and I found it odd that they tried to belittle me when we were standing in a room full of paintings that sell for a minimum of a million dollars.
The floor plan is open and wide with high ceilings, split into sections for viewings. One floor wasn’t enough, so the exhibit is three stories. On the fourth floor is my art studio; the place I often retreat to when everything else in my life is too loud.
When I scheduled this meeting, the last thing I would’ve expected was for Steve to do an extensive background check on me.
Now he thinks he knows me, but everything he found happened when I was a kid.
He’s making sure I know that he still sees me as one.
I try not to let it bother me that they don’t take me seriously, but it does.
In their eyes, I’m a wannabe—a pretender in their world.
My eyes dart to Abby, who not so discreetly inches closer to listen as she pretends to view a painting.
“Listen, kid,” the bald one—Reid—starts and my body is already tense in restrained annoyance. “We get what you’re trying to do, but we just can’t see the bigger picture.”
Perhaps it’s due to your pea-sized brain. I almost smile at the thought of it being something Andrea would say. “Not many can,” I say neutrally.
Vincent offers me a tight smile, not kind but also not off-putting. I hope he knows he’s not fooling anyone with that toupee. “A lot of the guys don’t like the idea of investing their money into criminal activity.”
These men are older than dirt and convinced they know it all. It’s very unfortunate. I blink at him like he’s an idiot. “They’re not criminals, they’re orphans.”
He shrugs like there’s no difference. “Who takes part in criminal activity.” He gives me a look. “Don’t think we don’t know all about your part in society.”
“I was a teenager with no direction,” I tell him. “If I had some back then, things could have been different for me and a lot of other kids.”
“You want to open up the world for nobodies and make ‘em somebodies, eh?” Steve asks, but it’s not a question. “Have you ever thought you’re one of the lucky ones that made it out? Here’s a lesson for you, if the world puts ‘em in a gutter, you leave ‘em there.”
And then the fucker walks away, the rest of his posse following behind him, tossing me smug grins on their way out. Anger and disgust swirl inside of me, mixing in an unpleasant way that sickens my stomach.
Abigail speed walks over to me, heated. “Did he really just—”
I sigh, counting backward in my head to let it go. “Yes.”
“What a wanker.” I toss her a confused look and she shrugs. “What? Lily’s been watching British television,” she says in explanation.
“Ah,” is all I say, frowning back at the glass door. I do a double take at Abigail. “Did you get bangs?” I ask, surprised. When we were younger, every time we saw someone with bangs, she made it a point to tell me how hideous they were and that she’d never get them.
She gently pats her light brown hair, careful not to disturb the placement of the bangs. I also notice that it’s shorter now, above her shoulders. “Yes, I did.” There’s a look on her face that I can’t decipher. “I wanted to try something new,” she says and then shrugs like it’s nothing.
“Are you having a midlife crisis, Abby?”
She scowls at me and scoffs. “No! That’s very rude of you to say.”
“No,” I say slowly. “The rudest thing I could say is that they’re hideous.”
Gasping, she smacks me on the arm, and I laugh, allowing it.
“You’re an ass.” She pauses. “Fine, I may or may not have let Lily near my head with a pair of scissors.” My eyes widen and she explains quickly.
“She just seemed so excited and passionate and what kind of person would say no to her puppy face?”
“An intelligent one.”
She ignores me and continues, “She had these big round eyes. I tried to get her to do Micheal’s, but she said he was already almost bald, which yeah, that’s true. Anyway. . .” She shakes her head with a grimace. “She’s almost eleven now. I want her to chase her dreams, but just not near my head.”
“I’ll have to thank her for finally getting payback for what you did to my hair when I let you cut it.”
Her eyes widen and she covers her laugh with her hand. “I forgot about that.”
I chuckle, missing the little daredevil.
Thinking of Lily makes me think of Willow Vensling’s brother, a man I’ve never met but feel a strange sort of connection to.
My chest still tightens at the thought of everything she’s gone through, and Abby must notice because she says softly, “You’re allowed to ask questions about. . .everything.”
It was nearly a month ago when I sat down in a hotel room with Willow, and she told me a story.
I thought I’d known her before that, but I didn’t really know her at all.
There’s a feeling that crumbles inside of you when you realize you don’t know a person in the way you thought you did.
I felt that way with Abigail too. It hurt worse that she didn’t tell me who Lily’s birth parents were.
Since Willow was nine years old, she was raised by her brother after their mother abandoned them when their father passed away. He was only fourteen and shouldered the responsibility of becoming a parent. Fourteen .
I was angry at first—that initial emotion you get when you’ve been lied to for years, but then I only felt hurt more than anything.
For a while, I thought I was in love with Willow, but now I know it was the idea of her and the life we could’ve had together.
She forever has a special place in my heart, but it’s just not as deep as I maybe wanted it to be at the time.
I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that her brother is Lily’s birth dad and when he died, the girl carrying his baby was alone.
I was somewhere lost in Europe at the time the three of them took her in. Abigail and Michael had been trying for years to have a baby, but nothing worked. Willow and Abigail met on a plane and the rest is fate—or whatever they’re calling it.
Swallowing, I say, “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring your calls.”
She snorts, waving her hand dismissively. “That’s all right. If anything, it’s preparing me for Lil’s teenage years.”
I ignore her dig at calling me childish. “Do you still have Francesca’s number?”
Her mouth purses in thought. Francesca was her best friend in college. They fell off slightly in communication after graduation, but they’re still pretty close. “You can’t sleep with her,” she says.
My face pulls, offended. “Relax. I’m asking because Carter’s cousin is looking for a place. I assume she’s still a real estate agent?”
“Oh,” she breathes, smiling apologetically as she pulls out her phone. “I’ll text it to you.” She types quickly. “Sent. Coffee?”
I sigh. “Sure, let me lock up first.”
WE BOTH SIT ON a stool at the long bar facing the tall windows of the cafe.
The city streets are flooded with life. It’s a nice place and Abigail always stops by when she’s in the city.
She lives two hours away in New Jersey. She and her husband own Sullivan Vineyard & Winery and they often visit to meet with sponsors.
Ever since we were fifteen, Abigail has always made time for me.
She could be drowning in tasks, but she’ll always pencil me in even if it’s for a quick rant, which happens often.
Though we’re the same age, she’s basically a little sister to me—one I’ll always guard with my entire life.
“Everything okay?” Abigail asks, peeling the wrapper off her banana nut muffin. “You seem lost in thought.”
“That’s because I am,” I admit before taking a small sip of the pumpkin spice latte she ordered for me. I don’t think she realized it has cinnamon in it, but I don’t have the heart to tell her. I try not to grimace as I set it back on the table.
She sighs. “They’ll come around, Julian. It’s senseless of them not to.”
“I agree, but the only thing men like that make sense of are numbers. Emotion is a foreign concept to them.”
Taking a bite of the muffin, she hums in satisfaction. “Want to know what I would do?” she asks, mouth full.
“Not particularly.”
She ignores me and decides to tell me anyway. “I’d tell them to shove it. Orphans aren’t a transaction, they’re human beings who deserve a good shot at life just like any other child. ”