CHAPTER SEVEN

PIERS

Not wanting to go home just yet, I stop by the office. As we pull up in front of my building, I decide to send my driver home for the night.

“Thanks, Lyle. No need to wait.”

“Sir?” He looks over the seat at me.

“I may be a while.” My hand scrubs down my face at the thought of going home to an empty flat. It didn’t seem so empty before I left, before I knew I was a father. Before my life felt so out of control.

He nods, turning around as I climb from the car and into the early evening mist.

Looking up through the grey drizzle, I take in the structure that houses PAN Enterprises, the company that I built from the ground up. These resurfaced bricks, steel beams and mirrored glass are more than an office. This is my life.

As soon as I step foot into the building, I feel a sense of calm wash over me, prepared to lose myself for a little while in work. Something I can control. I like control. I need control.

Nodding to the guard as the steel doors close, I ride the lift up to the top floor. Classical music fills the space, competing with the deafening silence. I usually welcome the solitude, the quiet it brings, but tonight, it feels empty. Something has shifted. I haven’t been the same since those little green eyes locked on mine.

Walking through the office, I see that everyone has gone for the day – it’s nearly evening – left to go home to their significant others, their children...to their families.

Relieved to be alone with my thoughts, thoughts I struggle to understand, I head to my office.

Removing my jacket and dropping my tie on my desk, I step up to the liquor cart, ready for that drink. Just one to take the edge off.

Pouring, I look out at the lights of the city coming to life below, noticing the drizzle has picked up to a steady rain. Fitting. I throw back the first drink and let it burn its way down. Pouring another, I turn my back on the view, ready to get to work. Regain some sense of control.

I check my emails and start sorting through files, but my mind keeps drifting to Willow.

How she looked. Incredible.

How she smelled. Vanilla.

I wanted to stay at the estate tonight. I hated leaving. The thought of wasting another second without Drew is almost unbearable. But he still doesn’t know. He needs rest. She needs time. I need space.

Even after all this time has passed, she still takes my breath away. But that’s not all she took away. I look at her, and I see my past. Our past. The could have beens. The should have beens. A life I didn’t have, dreams I’ve buried.

What she did. Lied.

What she took away. Drew.

Grabbing my drink, I take another sip to quench the anger I feel bubbling up inside. Studying my surroundings, I see the life I built in place of those dreams. I see cool steel, glossy black wood and pristine leather. Clean, sterile even. Cold...like me. No hint of the naive dreamer I was.

Every last detail I hand selected, priding myself on having the latest and most cutting edge everything. “A young trendsetter with an old soul and an avant-garde approach to business,” is what the papers called me last year when I took over my biggest rival. If they only knew how old my soul felt.

Feeling like more self-deprecating is in order, I sip my second drink and think to myself how I was approving computer upgrades and paint colors and building an empire while Willow was a world away, decorating a baby nursery. Raising our son. A son I didn’t even know existed. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Another sip to wash it away.

Footsteps echo on the slate floors just outside my office door, interrupting my thoughts. I look up just as Scarlett comes barging in with an arm full of files.

“What are you doing here so late,” I question, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Christ! Piers!” She jumps, files scattering everywhere. “You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

“Sorry, Scarlett.” I stand to help her. “Why are you still here?”

She replies as we collect the mess of paper and files. “I got your message about being back. I didn’t expect you ’til tomorrow, but I had some things I was trying to catch up on before I take off for the weekend.”

“Oh that’s right. The Anderson retreat. I completely forgot. You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” I ask, standing with her and handing the files over. Feeling like a giant arse...she will be dealing with one of our most difficult clients at his company’s yearly retreat.

“I think I can handle myself, Piers. I’ve been doing it long enough,” Scarlett reminds me, annoyance lacing her tone as she takes a seat opposite my desk, crossing her arms.

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” I offer, leaning against my desk. “I just know how stubborn old man Anderson can be. His son is pushing for a seat, and with the timing of the retreat so close to the vote...and then the gala coming up. Then there is James. I’d feel a lot better if you would at least take one of the interns.” I can’t think straight. Contemplating, I run a frustrated hand through my hair. I should be going, handling it myself. But with everything going on, I just can’t. “Maybe we can back out of the retreat? The deal is basically done.”

“Are you even serious right now? Listen to yourself! Back out? That’s bloody stupid!” Her voice raises an octave. “I busted my arse on that damn account, and it may not be important enough for you to show up, but I’m sure as hell not going to bugger it up!”

“What’s up with you? Since when did the Piers Nichols back down from anything? You’re the one who taught me about seventy-hour work weeks,” she continues, hitting her mark.

“Watch it.” My tone carries a warning. She knows just how to push my buttons. She always has.

“I’m serious. You’re distracted and look like shit, so what gives?” she pushes.

“Not now Scarlett.” It’s not that I don’t want her to know. It’s just so much to process, let alone share.

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” She stands to leave.

“It’s just that—” I stop myself and pace a few times before sitting behind my desk.

“I don’t doubt you can handle it,” I say instead, trying to pull myself together.

“Like I said, I’ll be fine,” she reminds me. “Speaking of the gala, our masks came in while you were away.”

“Hmmm? Oh, the masks. That’s great. Anything else I should know about the gala?”

She begins rambling about the seating chart and some other trivial issues. She comes and takes a seat on the edge of my desk, placing the files next to her. I take a second and study one of my oldest friends. Long platinum hair, dark blue eyes with thick black lashes and legs for days. Far cry from the boney girl I grew up with that had knobby knees, an overbite, a bad pixie cut and a mean right hook. I have no doubt she can handle herself. The thought makes me smile.

“What’s that look for?” She glares at me skeptically, misinterpreting my amusement. If there is one thing she takes seriously, it’s her work. Like me, she is married to the job. I would never discredit her ability. I trust her.

“Calm down. I was just thinking about when we were kids,” I confess. Something I rarely do.

“Nostalgic much?” She sighs. She hates talking about our past almost as much as I do. “How many drinks have you had?” She eyes me wearily, sensing I’m not myself.

I shrug. “One and a half. It’s not that...it’s—”

“Is this about Willow?” She asks nervously, and I look down, sobering at the thought of Willow. The one person I was trying not to think about.

Dragging my hands down my face I lean forward, opening my eyes and looking at her.

“Well?” she asks. “Look, I get it. I’m sure seeing her was difficult.” I raise my brows, and she carries on. “Okay, so I can’t imagine what that must have been like. But did she at least sign the papers?”

A long sigh drags out, and I avoid her gaze.

“She didn’t sign the papers? I can’t believe you would leave the states and not get them signed.” She seems almost angry. Why, I have no idea.

“She needs to meet with Mr. Barrington herself. You know that.”

“But I thought you found a way around that?”

“I did,” I admit.

“So what’s the problem? Why didn’t she sign?”

“Why do you care so much about whether she signed or not?”

“Because, I’m your friend, and I was here to pick up the pieces when she left.” She begins pacing. “I don’t know why you would want to prolong closing that chapter in your life once and for all.”

“It’s not that simple, Scarlett.” It never was.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She keeps pushing as she wears the floor out.

“I have a son.” The words fall from my mouth.

Her eyes go wide, and she freezes in place as the room grows silent.

“He’s called Drew,” I say proudly.

“A son?” She walks to my desk, picks up my tumbler and takes a long sip.

“Yeah, a son.” I smile.

“So, he’d be about?” she asks, her tone impassive.

“Five,” I finish, annoyed at what she’s implying.

“He’s mine, Scarlett.” And the look I give her lets her know the subject is closed. She’s always so skeptical, never trusting anyone. And she comes by it honestly. We orphans learn to rely on no one, trust no one. It’s what makes her such a great businesswoman. But as my friend, I’m a little upset by her strange reaction.

But I don’t need her doubt clouding my already muddled mind. I finish my drink as she stays quiet, and I feel bad for being so harsh.

“He has my eyes.” Pride fills my voice and my chest swells. “It’s like seeing myself at that age.”

“So you’re leaving? Going back to the states?” Her voice is shaky.

“They’re here,” I explain, setting my empty glass back on the cart.

“Here?” She looks ashen.

“Yes, why wouldn’t they be? It’s what the will stipulates anyway. You really think I would leave without him? My own son?” Anger tinges my voice.

“You’re right. Sorry.” She fidgets, avoiding my gaze. “I’m just really tired. That’s great news, Piers. I’m really happy for you. Really.”

“I look forward to meeting him. I can’t imagine a little version of you. Talk about a flashback,” she adds.

“About that. Scarlett, I— Well. You know...you and Willow never got along well. I need this to go smoothly.” I struggle to find the right words, walking a fine line.

“I got it.” She gathers her files. “Well, I think I’m gonna head out. If there’s nothing else?” I hear the hurt in her voice.

“Scarlett it’s not like that. Stop. I just mean—”

“I know what you meant, Piers. It’s Willow. The Willow. Your Willow. God forbid I make her feel uncomfortable.” She walks away, and I go after her, placing my hand on her arm.

“Stop acting like a brat for a second. This isn’t a game. We aren’t kids anymore. This is my life. My flesh and blood. My family.” The catch in my voice on that word, the one she knows guts me, causes her to stop, but she never turns around.

She just replies, “I get it; I really do.” And I know she does. Because we’re more alike than I care to admit.

“Thanks, Scar.” I lean forward and place a brotherly kiss on the back of her head.

She clears her throat and nods before stepping away and collecting her things. “Come on daddy. You’ve had a few. I’ll drive you home.”

“Scarlett,” I warn.

“Too soon?” She turns to smile at me, but I see the tears in her eyes. I hope our friendship can survive this.

I grab my jacket, replying, “Lead the way, Corporate Barbie.”

“Arse!” She smiles, but I notice it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Going down in the lift, I feel lighter than I did coming up. The fulfillment I feel from sharing the news, it changed something. I was afraid to utter the words to anyone but myself. For fear I might wake up tomorrow and find this was all a dream. But now, I want to shout it from the rooftops. Nevertheless, for now, I’ll settle for sharing it with my friend.

Regardless, the only thing I’ll be drowning in tonight is pride. I have a son. I’m a father.

§

WILLOW

I watch the car until it passes through the gates before turning to go in. I take a deep breath and slowly step over the threshold, past the large wooden double doors, running my hands gently over the ornate, carved wood.

Standing in the foyer, I look around, taking in the dark wood and the pale blue papered walls. It even smells the same, like peppermint and lemon furniture polish. I breathe it in deep.

An entry table full of photographs rests beneath the staircase bannister directly in front of me. So much love captured, little tokens of the memories made. Our family and the children who lived here. Who had a second chance here, a third and a fourth.

The ones who were cast aside like rubbish. Given away or given up on. Ones that Wendy took in and loved as her own. Just as she did me when my parents were killed. Tears burn, filling my eyes as I continue to inspect the framed photographs, some in ornate gold, others in aged walnut and some in simple brass.

One of Piers catches my eye. Picking it up, I see it’s of him standing in that little boat from the pond with Teddy and Scarlett at each of his sides. Playing pirates, I’m sure. His lopsided grin revealing a missing tooth, his hair ruffling in the wind and eyes so much like Drew’s that it takes my breath away. It’s like looking at my son, not the ghost of the boy I once knew.

Setting it down, I find another. My parents at the beach, still living...young and in love. Their lives not yet snuffed out by a careless drunk driver. A tear slides down my face when I blink. I said goodbye to them years ago, but the pain is as fresh as yesterday. And this place. This haven, this estate, was the last place I saw them alive. It’s been hard, so hard. But the pain lets me know I’m alive. After them, Piers and I were closer than ever. Wendy and James took me in and cared for me. When I left and Drew came along, I had a new reason for living.

I pick up another. It’s of Wendy and me in the garden during one of my summer visits. “Some people whine that roses have thorns, but I’m grateful that thorns have roses,” she told me, showing me how to tend the blooms and teaching me about seeing the beauty in everything. Not a care in the world. Wendy was alive and well. No illness spreading inside her, slowly taking her beautiful life.

It hurts to remember. But it hurts even more to forget. The faces in the frames blur as my tears fall. I hold the picture to my chest and weep. Falling into the nearest chair, I sit, letting the tears attempt to wash away my guilt.

Guilt for not being here. For being afraid. For thinking I had all the time in the world. I shed big, ugly tears for the tomorrows that will never come. I cry until everything I’ve been holding in is hot on my cheeks and dripping into the worn, wood floors. I try to let go, releasing as much as I can. I know it’ll take time, but it’s a start.

The laughter drifting from the kitchen reminds me I still have plenty of reasons to smile. I pull myself together, knowing the biggest reason is across the house waiting for me.

Standing, I place a kiss to the cool glass before setting it back down. “Love you,” I say aloud as if they can hear me, feeling at peace in my heart thinking that they can.

I didn’t want to come back, afraid of what I might find, afraid of what I wouldn’t. But living life in fear isn’t really living.

So I’m going to do what Wendy would want, put on my big girl bloomers and live. I pull myself together, dry my tears, and join Drew. Determined to make the best of our time here, free from ghosts and the weight of secrets.