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sassasquashedgrapes · 7 years ago

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Deep Love: Part Deux

You still with me? I’m so happy you enjoyed Part One with it’s lengthy, detailed intro. Now if you’ve noticed, my story is always written in the perspective of the two main protagonists, Quinn Fabray and my OC, Iain Hargreave. Same format follows, however, I was yet again, as I almost always have, not been able to come across the full ending. It’s always bee a bad habit of mine, sorry. I do come around to write an ending and there are so many drafts I’ve written down on paper or whatever I could come up with during those long nights of pulling clinical rounds back in my heyday.

But don’t worry, I’ve got some extra stuff about Iain Hargreave and his long-lost brother, Neil. I’ve even managed to make a continuity from the supposed ending and it coincided with the New York Season on Glee in its latter part before the show went bye bye.

Anyway, please leave me a kind message if you would like to read more or have any reactions, be it violent (be gentle with me please!) on this fanfic.

Ok, carry on!!! Click below

***

Chapter 7:

Quinn

Friends. He wants us to be “just friends”.

My heart sinks a little at the thought as I look at his handsome dark, impassive face. It may not what I hoped for, but at least a little bit of him wants to open up and he is talking civilly enough.

Wait! Hang on a sec.

Why on earth should I care so much for someone who obviously doesn’t want to have anything to do with me but feels obligated to stick around because he feels sorry for me.

Being around Iain is so confusing. He reminds me of this guy I had a big bad crush on during my Lucy Caboosey days when I was fat, overweight, and unloved. His name was Phillip Creed and I was obsessed with him. He was the star of the soccer team and was popular, rich, gorgeous with the same dark hair but he had hazel brown eyes. Phil had a girlfriend who picked on me the same way I did to Rachel Berry during sophomore year. Angelina Wilcox wasted no time at all making me feel like I never had a chance with her boyfriend because of who I was. Fast forward a few years later minus the fat and rhinoplasty, I still find myself feeling the same way around Iain minus the bitchy girlfriend.

At least this time, Iain is smiling and he looks more relaxed than usual. As much as I would never admit this, I have only been around him for less than a week and I missed him terribly when he was away for those three long days. Some part of me wanted to ask why he was gone. Did he go home to a girlfriend during those days he was at Lima? The thought of him with some unknown woman leaves me feeling bereft.

To the point that I blurt my thoughts out loud. We were in the middle of one of our tutorials when I express my worries vocally.

I throw Iain a horrid look, instantly regretting my spontaneity. Way to go, Fabray. Just perfect. It’s like those days when I greeted Phil along the halls and he looked right through me.

Iain’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He was in the middle of discussing the laws of thermodynamics. Which by the way, was actually pretty sexy considering physics is boring and how he describes it makes it sound so easy. Never mind that he looks ridiculously hot in a dark blue grey sweatshirt that brings out his blue-gray eyes and cream pants that are immaculately clean. He hesitates for a moment before he throws me a quizzical look.

“Well, you’ve been gone for three days. Don’t I at least deserve an explanation for that? I mean, what if you’re out and gone again for a longer time period? Maybe your girlfriend misses you terribly? I might be forced to get a different tutor who isn’t tied down.”

Iain sighs in relief, probably thinking I worried about him being with somebody. Not that it was the whole truth, but I do deserve some explanation.

“I went on a personal leave. I had some, uh, business to attend to that required me to be out of town for more than a day. I was helping my grandmother move some things out of her apartment because she moved a floor down. And lastly, I hate to dash your delusions that I’ve got some girl waiting for me, but for now, I’m single.”

Was it me, or did he just emphasize on the word ‘for now’?

I avoid his piercing gaze because he’s giving me that look that makes me completely uncomfortable. It’s as if he’s trying to break the walls I’ve built up my whole life. These were the walls that have protected me from ever being disappointed, hurt, and heartbroken.

With Finn, there really wasn’t anything there. I thought there was at first, but it turns out he wasn’t what I wanted. It was more like I had this urge to relive those ‘glory days’ of him being the town football hero and I was his number one girlfriend, but things have changed through the years and what I felt around him didn’t matter anymore. Puck, on the other hand, was a disaster. I admit that I care about him because he is after all, Beth’s father. However, other than having a baby in common, we weren’t right for each other. He’s too reckless, selfish, and immature.

Sam Evans was a sweet guy, but I guess even though he was perfect on paper with his Ken doll good looks and sandy white blond hair, even that wasn’t enough to make my heart pound furiously the same way I react towards this impermeable, mercurial young man sitting across me.

And here was Iain looking for a way right into it. If I wasn’t careful, he was probably going to break all those walls in a heartbeat.

All he ever had to do was ask.

But for now, I sigh with relief despite feeling a stab of disappointment, when he doesn’t. The man leans calmly on his chair, linking his hands behind his back as if waiting for me to answer or throw a quip at what he had just said.

Focus, Quinn. Don’t let him get the best out of you.

“Okay, that makes sense. But why are you here? You aren’t from around these parts, I can tell. So why Lima?” I ask instead. I notice he’s still debating whether to tell me. So I put on the pressure. “I mean, you can tell me since we’re “friends” after all.” Gosh, I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic on the we’re friends part, but I feel like after what we’ve been through, he owes me some sort of explanation.

“If you must know, I have a younger brother who doesn’t know I exist.”

My eyes widen in shock at the news. In my mind I had played over that maybe Iain was a serial killer, a man with a wife and a kid, or a double agent working for the secret service. Amongst other creative things that I had thought of his life, this was the last thing I was thinking he was going to say.

I wasn’t sure if it was the way he just said it out bluntly or was it another one his methods of throwing me off my guard but I look at his face to see some kind of reaction and he was honestly telling me the truth. In fact, I catch a small sight of something that seems like he’s showing a vulnerable side which he quickly squelches and resumes his impassive mask.

“I was eight when my mother left my father because she felt......abandoned and they had a big misunderstanding. She went home to Ohio to live with her sister. After the divorce papers were settled, she wasn’t heard from again until a few months ago I received word that she had died from cancer. I went through her records and found out that she had left a will to a young boy who was born six months after she was thrown out of the house by my father.”

“So you’re father never knew your mother was pregnant?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could anyone be so cruel and cold-hearted to just to drop someone they chose to marry? Exactly whatever that misunderstanding that passed between Iain’s parents was, it was that big of a deal to do something so drastic and tragic. My heart went out to Iain, who was such a young boy that he probably couldn’t understand or comprehend anything at the time.

“Yes. He’ll never know since he’s also dead. He died in a plane crash before I graduated high school.”

This just gets more depressing as he keeps going on about the details on his parents’ divorce.

“Do you still remember her?”

“Barely.” He answers, but I know somehow that Iain is lying because he just stares blankly at the wall.

***

Chapter 8: Iain

When Quinn asks me if I remember my mother, I knew I was telling her the truth that I barely remembered her.

Some memories I have as a child were forcibly blocked so I could deal with the pain. I know that whatever transpired between her and my father broke something inside and forced me to grow up.

When my mother left my father, he was heartbroken. He had remarried several times, but couldn’t stay in a relationship because he either cheated on his wives and they eventually found out, or that he divorced them on grounds that ‘it wasn’t working’. But I knew better. My father never got over my mother. She was his one and only true love and he lost her forever.

But there was this one memory that I still have of her. I was four years old at the time and it was during that night when my father brought my mother to the opera. My mother was in a beautiful full length gown with her pale blonde hair coiffed into a neat chignon. I went inside their room because I didn’t want them to go out without me, but my mother assured me that they would return. She kissed me on the cheek tenderly as I caught a whiff of the Chanel No.5 perfume she had put on. She grabs one of my father’s neckties and patiently teaches me how to tie it.

After demonstrating to her twice that I had gotten it right, I remember following her until the top stair cases as she descended down to the hallway where my father was patiently waiting for her.

He looked dapper in a tuxedo and smiled gently at my mother as he bowed gallantly and told her she was ‘more beautiful than Grace Kelly”. He took her hand and kissed it and he pulled her towards him and twirled her around as they danced while my father hummed to “Moon River”. All the while, my mother blushed and laughed heartily and I knew from the looks that they gave each other that they were truly, deeply in love.

It was both the happiest and the saddest memory I possess. I was sent to England a month after my parents’ date to the Opera when my great grandmother found out that I was a child prodigy with a genius level IQ.

Genevieve Rolfe-Stuart insisted that I was to live in England, with private tutors. It was to not only appease my insatiable curiosity and enhance my knowledge, but also to prepare me for Gordonstoun, a private co-educational boarding school in Scotland where my ancestors before me attended. I was to be separated from my mother, who had visibly objected, but was helpless once Madame (great grandmother) made her choice.

My transfer to England broke my mother’s heart.

Four years later, she and my father divorced. Since then, my father was too busy to pay me any attention because he buried himself with work which I knew was the only way he coped with the pain.

Genevieve didn’t waste time making me wallow in self pity. She hired tutors, most were retired professors from the one of the world’s respected Universities like Cambridge and Oxford. I was a curious child and a quick learner that my grandparents and Genevieve had taken it in themselves to hide me from all the gossip and emotional turmoil New York had spun from my parents’ divorce. When I was older, I moved further away to another boarding school in Scotland, where the weather was so cold that I actually forgot to feel miserable and enjoyed my time, especially whenever my mates and I snuck out of school grounds to pick up local girls.

I notice Quinn’s silence and saw the look of pity on her face. I shrug it away with a wave of a hand and tell her it was all in the past and I didn’t suffer from any emotional scars. I then threw her a joke (okay it’s a slightly lewd one) about her doing one thing that could cheer me up and then the sad mood disappears. Like clockwork, she changes the topic because I know that my presence and our underlying mutual attraction to each other distress her. As if I haven’t noticed the way she checks me out?! I’m not exactly one to toot my own horn, but I love the way she looks at me. Like I’m the only one who has the ability to affect her the same way she affects me.

“So were you able to track your brother?”

“I haven’t had much luck because I haven’t spent as much time in McKinley High.”

“What’s his name?”

“Neil.” Quinn’s shakes her head saying that she doesn’t recall anyone with that name.

“If ever he does go to McKinley, he’s probably in the sophomore class. You said that your mother left you when you were eight, so that would make him a year younger than me. If he looks anything like you, I would have noticed.”

I raise my eyebrow as I take in the soft blonde hair that falls nicely on her beautifully perfect face as her eyes widen at the realization of what she said earlier. A faint reddish blush escapes those delicately molded cheeks. It takes a huge restraint on my part not to touch her and feel if that silky fire beneath her porcelain skin, to touch it and know whether that velvet-soft skin feels warm or if it would burn my skin.

“What I meant was, I would notice him because he would look like you since he’s your brother.” She was stammering and avoiding my gaze. I start to wonder if anyone in her school has ever made her feel this flustered. I suddenly get this jealous jolt through my body thinking of some inexperienced, small town dweeb from that school who has the same ability. I dismiss the thought because whoever that motherfucker is, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.

Whoa easy there, Hargreave.

I remember my little sister, Chelsea telling me this interesting theory of hers that men turn into Neanderthals when it comes to their women. We were going through her studies and she read me a poem called “The Cave girl” by Mae West when she had voiced out her opinion. Now that I think of it, perhaps maybe I am a caveman after all. All I need now is a big club.

“So does that mean you’re going to help me?”

“I can do the best I can. But Glee club isn’t the most attractive club for teenagers. I’m no longer a cheerleader, as you know so the other way is to form a Christian Praise group. I’m going to call it, the God Squad.” “What makes you think my brother is the Church going folk?” I try to smother a laugh as Quinn throws me a dark look.

“It isn’t fun to make a joke out of religion and God.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I respect the whole concept that people put their faith into God and all.” “But...” She waits for me to respond because she just knows I’m going to say more.

“But nothing. Look, let’s just drop this Quinn. I think it’s cool that you‘re trying to help me. But I want to be more hands on and find a way that I can get close to my brother. He isn’t aware that he has family. I doubt my mother would want to cause him any grief about what happened between her and my father. I also know that my mother would never make my brother bear any hatred towards my father even though what he did was rather....cold.”

“Tell me more about your mother,” Quinn implores. I did my best to recount the information I’ve gathered about her. As it was, Lisa Mae Sheridan had been a ballet dancer. Not essentially talented, according to the reviews, but she was unquestionably beautiful and the audience could never take their eyes off her when she danced. I tried to recall the ones mentioned by the reviews and articles, because I had blocked most of my memories of her and the only thing remaining of her was a scrapbook of the articles that she kept and left for me so I would never forget her. My mother tried her hand at Broadway musicals where the critics panned her acting, but praised her legs. She was glamorous as she was beautiful. The gossip columns hinted that she had serious romances with A-list celebrity stars like George Clooney before he was famous and that famous director, Quentin Tarantino. But the article that she saved for last was when she married by father with an elated look on her face as she ran down the cathedral steps whilst she held on to his arm as a people showered them with white petals.

The marriage lasted nine years. Long enough for my mother to get pregnant with me within the first year of their marriage and have a sleazy affair with a polo player. She left my father to return to her hometown when he discovered her and the said tryst.

I carefully omitted the word “Polo player” and replace it with something like a sleazy neighbor because I don’t want Quinn to feel as uneasy with me if she finds out that I come from money. Actually, I re-hash most of the entire story and tell her instead that my mother was a former ballet dancer from Ohio who chose to marry my boring, workaholic father over George Clooney. Several years later, she decided that she had enough of domestic life. Out of spite, she made my father believe that she was having an affair with the dodgy gay neighbor.

Beyond that, I knew little of my mother. I then later relayed that the whole incident between my mother and the polo player was a misunderstanding because it turned out that he was gay and was a close friend of my mother’s. But alas, living the way we do where society gossip mongers would do anything to destroy something so pure as true love, my father fell for it and threw her out of the house without any explanation from her side.

He then filed for divorce and took full custody of me. My dad would have pulled out every political influence he could so he could file a restraining order and get sole custody of me. In the end, it turned out that he didn’t have to resort to anything for my mother hadn’t bothered to wait for the court hearing, nor did she oppose him. Instead, she signed the divorce papers and told the lawyer that she forgives my father and loved me very much.

When my father had realized his mistake, he was too proud to beg for forgiveness.

He died without ever seeing my mother again.

I knew she was going to ask a lot of questions. I patiently answered each. I’m not exactly the sharing type of person when it comes to personal stuff. In fact, no one has ever dared probe on this topic. I usually brush snooping journalists off and dazzle them with my charm, but somehow, some profound feeling that I choose to ignore right now, I want Quinn to understand this part of my life. I sure as hell haven’t been honest about a lot of things, but there’s this tug at my conscience that wants me to give her some compensation for the other lies.

Well, they’re not technically lies. I just chose to omit some important details such as my net worth, my wealthy social background, you know those things.

“Did your father ever remarry?”

“He remarried a couple of times, but they never worked out. I guess he wasn’t completely over my mother. I did gain a step-sister out of his attempts. She’s thirteen and a real pain in the ass.” I roll my eyes laughing as I tell her about Chelsea.

“Does she know about Neil?”

“I think she has an idea, Chelsea’s a pretty resourceful kid.”

“Who raised you after?”

“No one and everyone. My great grandmother acted as my legal guardian.”

“That sounds pretty harsh.” I shrug it off nonchalantly. “It’s the way things have always been, Quinn. I was in boarding school most of the time. Parental supervision was mostly provided by the faculty. I pretty much grew up around adults most of my life.”

“It sounds pretty lonely.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t suffer from any emotional scars. In fact, I think it was probably the best thing to do given my situation. You deal with what you have to deal with. I can take care of myself. It’s Neil I’m worried about.”

I breathe in and exhale deeply. “A few months ago, after I had found out about my brother I did a background check on my mother’s family.” I frown and shake my head. “They aren’t doing so well. My aunt...my mother’s twin sister, lives in one of the toughest neighborhoods and I can’t imagine what life is like for my brother. I read from the reports that he’s a lot like me and it just eats my conscience knowing that I’ve been living in luxury and he’s been having it rough. He deserves much better, Quinn. He needs to know what really happened. I know it sounds cruel to break it down to him now that he’s much older, but I’d be damned to just stand there and do nothing.”

I look down at my hands.

“I’m not going to leave him like my dad. I’m nothing like him at all.” I mutter despairingly, unaware if Quinn could hear the last part. I’ve never in my entire life felt guilty for living the way I do. I had earned whatever billions of dollars I’ve made, I had worked my ass off twice as harder than anyone to become the person I am today, and I knew in my heart that my brother deserves to have the same privilege I had. I never meant to say it out loud that this situation was making me feel like crap. I hate getting emotional over things like this and right now I could use a drink. Or a cigarette if I still smoked. I kicked the habit a year ago and I wasn’t going to start again, knowing that it was also the cause of my grandfather’s demise.

Suddenly, Quinn reaches out her hand and I feel her dainty fingers try to cover mine. She looks into my eyes and reassures me that we would find my brother.

Heaven help me, my palm is starting to twitch from the warm fuzzies.

Suddenly, I’m feeling much better.

Then it occurs to me that I am not a warm fuzzies kind of man.

But I’ll make an exception whenever she touches me.

***

Chapter 9: Quinn

The next day is a whirl of excitement.

My mother and sister are going away for the week on a Mother-Daughter excursion. The local church raffled tickets to a Cruise trip to the Bahamas and they had just announced a few days ago that my mother won. They had to leave today. My father had a business trip to Texas and they decide to hire Iain to watch over me for the week.

I’m reeling from the news.

I also realize that I’ve gone down from my room only to be told by my Mom while Iain’s sitting on the breakfast bar. He’s wearing a cream collared long sleeved pullover shirt, dark olive green cotton military trousers and dark gray Chelsea leather boots. There’s a hint of facial stubble as I notice how his five o’clock shadow looks amazing on him, making Iain look more mature, sophisticated with this “I-can-still-look-hot-even-if-I-don’t-have-the-time-to-shave” attitude. I usually prefer clean shaven men, but he pulls it off so well that I’m more than willing to make an exception. He gives me a knowing smile and I blush furiously because I’m still in my nightgown. It’s an oversized mint green shirt that reaches a little above my knees with the words “Bear Hug” emblazoned above. The shirt depicts a huge black bear that looks like it’s hugging me with its paws strategically placed on each of my butt cheeks. At least I’m not wearing my plush Unicorn slippers, which was my Christmas gift from Britney because I could have died right here and there.

“That’s nice, Mom.” I nod, as if without a care in the world. “Good morning, Iain.”

“Good morning,” he murmurs not taking his eyes off the bear. I curse myself because I’m not wearing a bra underneath.

“You better get dressed, Iain will take you to school.” My mother kisses my cheek quickly. Iain steps off his stool and turns to help my mother with her bags. Fran’s outside waiting patiently. They strode off in minutes and I make a beeline to the bathroom.

I shower quickly and choose to wear something that’ll make me look sophisticated and not trying too hard. I go for a collared white lace blousy dress with a slightly open v-neck with holes designed like paisleys then top it off with a yellow and white headband. Then I get a leather chunky belt and cinch it to the middle and accentuate the whole outfit with chunky-heeled brown and white Oxfords. I always wear my gold cross as a reminder of my faith and hopefully, God will erase Iain’s earlier memory of me and that Bear Hug shirt when he finds me wearing this.

As I make my way down, Iain is on his mobile phone. He’s rolled up his pullover at the sleeves and I get a good glimpse of those bronzed muscled forearms and his hands as he mindlessly twirls a pen around his strong, masculine fingers. I watch as my mouth goes dry wondering what those hands would feel like running through my hair and how that stubble on his chin would feel against my skin.

“And the accounts on Strasbourg?” he asks, still on the phone. “Great. Inform Miller and tell him to send me a copy through e-mail.”

There’s a long pause. He listens attentively, his handsome features focused and determined as he coolly nods as to whatever exchange was going on the other line.

“Yes. Call the Washington office and relay to labor relations the news about Detroit. They’re bound to have the same problems as well.” He says calmly on the phone.

I don’t feel comfortable listening in on his conversation so I go upstairs and pretend that I’m going down for the first time. His head jerks up suddenly and he mutters on the other line before he kills the call.

“Hi,” I say a little too brightly.

“Hi there,” he nods, completely oblivious to what I’m wearing. Great plan impressing him Quinn, he’s completely stunned my Cheerio cheerleader sneers. You should have worn the uniform. Men just love cheerleaders. Oh, which reminds me you aren’t one anymore. The inner bitch queen is laughing at the snide remark.

He looks a bit nervous. “Did you just get down? I’m really sorry I wasn’t able to make you breakfast. It’s a little too early for school and your dad’s given me a bunch of errands to do, so do you want to grab something to eat? It’s my treat.” He looks so adorable when he’s blabbering his head off I can’t resist him.

I nod wordlessly, thinking about the call he made earlier. What does he do during his free time, I wonder. A while ago, he was oddly formal and businesslike when he made that call that I started to doubt if there were any UPS chains in a Europe, like particularly in Strasbourg. I don’t think the UPS stores my Dad works for had a branch beyond the United States, but then what did I know about delivery services?

“Sure.” I just say. He extends his arm and motions me for something. “What is it?” I ask eyeing him dubiously.

“Your bag, please Ma’am,” Iain answers dryly. He is offering to carry my bag.

Aw, how sweet.

“I can carry it, thanks.”

“Then let me hold it for you while you put on your sweater.” He nods to the yellow mustard cardigan I’m clutching on my other arm. “It’s nippy outside. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

I roll my eyes and hand him my school bag as I wear my sweater. It doesn’t have any holes to button them in so I leave it open. Before I can take my bag from him, Iain turns around quickly and heads off for the garage. I trot along his wake not without first admiring his broad shoulders and his butt. Okay I know, I admit it. I maybe a conservative Christian, but I’m also a girl who knows when to appreciate a handsome sexy man with an amazing body and Iain’s is just perfect. He’s sinewy, lean and muscular all over and it’s obvious that the man does work out.

The gorgeous Adonis opens my bags and looks for my keys. He switches off the alarm and we both climb inside my red Volkswagen Beetle. He settles himself adjusting the seat to his tall frame as his takes out an iPod from his jacket and plugs it in. He backs the car easily and we both drive in silence.

It’s also ironic that the first song to be played on his iPod reflects on our mood. It’s a rock tune that’s dominated by the sound of the piano and drums (how typical Iain) with a male singer, ostentatiously British, crooning about how Silence is Easy.

“I guess my iPod’s not a morning person,” Iain remarks as he throws me a sideways glance. I giggle in spite of myself, my shoulders shaking in mirth while I bite my lower lip from bursting in laughter. He looks at me sternly, his eyes on my lips and my jaw drops. He instantly sits up and focuses again on the road with a smirk on his face “You must think I’m a boring stiff with a playlist filled with piano classics.”

“Actually, I also thought of the Beatles and other old music old people listen to.”

Iain snorts and rolls his eyes as he hands me the iPod list. “Go pick a song. I’ll have you know that I do possess an eclectic taste in music.”

I thumb across the dial to find a bunch of artists ranging from different rock genres, hip-hop, and pop music. I hastily thumb through the collections of albums from Radiohead, Sting, U2, Bob Marley, Bloc Party, Stone Temple Pilots, John Legend, and other big name bands which he has most if not all the albums. I also notice he listens to trip hop and dance music. Then, I see his classic collection of Bach, Mozart, Rachmaninoff, and Ryuichi Sakamoto. He even has a bunch of Renaissance music with Thomas Tallis, Alonso Lobo and William Byrd. I’ve probably listened to Spem Alium like several times after seeing it on the Tudors because I was crushing on Charles Brandon big time. Iain sort of reminds me of the actor that played the dashing Duke of Suffolk, both men are ridiculously gorgeous for their own good.

“It’s getting pretty quiet on my end here, Quinn.”

“Hold on to your boxer shorts, I’m still finding a good song.” I answer irritably.

“Mighty feisty in the morning, aren’t we?” He chuckles as he makes a U-turn when the car comes around a bend.

“I’m hungry.”

“So am I. But unlike you, at least I know when to curb my temper. Here, let me try.” He grabs the iPod from my hands and quickly scans the playlist. I’m amazed he’s able to do this while he keeps his eyes on the road. “To atone for the earlier song selection,” he adds as he presses on a button when the song ends.

The song starts out in a soft drum beat and bass. The female singer has the most unusual voice; it’s a mezzo-soprano with a voice that resonates like she’s emotional and about to cry. I love the way she delivers the song because she sounds as if she's shivering. The effect is astounding, as the music is light, dreamy, and ethereal. She’s like a goddess from outer space. Or an alien singing underwater like one of those Pilot whales I once saw in Discovery Channel.

“It’s called Beautiful.” Iain throws me another sideways glance, as if reading my thoughts.

“It is beautiful,” I agree as I take the iPod and read the selection. It’s sung by a group called Mandalay. I make a mental note to download it on iTunes soon. We listen to the rest of the song in silence until the next song plays. It’s from the Flaming Lips called Do You Realize?? The upbeat seventies-like tempo changes our somber mood and Iain plies me to talk about me and my family. They’re pretty generic questions and I get this impression that he’s doing this so I would relax. It turns out to be an effective strategy of his, as I find myself at ease with him and I tell him stories about my other relatives. He’s an attentive listener as he nods his head and smiles at some of the antics my crazy painter grandfather Fabray did during my family’s last visit. I turn to look at him but his eyes are still on the road, his face looks relaxed as he concentrates on his driving.

“So tell me about your plan on how you’re going to find Neil?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I haven’t had the foggiest idea. My last attempt was an epic fail. First, Principal Figgins assigns me as a substitute teacher for the seniors class only to move me to Night school the next day.”

I quirk my eyebrow as I look at him. “Any reason why he would do such a thing?”

Iain looks bewildered. He obviously doesn’t realize how attractive he is, how women stare at him and ogle. Doesn’t he know the effect he has on women?

More importantly, how he affects me?

For some inexplicable reason, this attraction I feel for him cuts out on most of the bullshit drama I used to employ with the other guys from my past. Iain scares me because he makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, yet I can talk freely to him about anything. I get this feeling that the two songs playing are about him. He really is so beautiful. I’d cry like the Mandalay singer and get emotional too, if I had a voice like that.

“It’s beyond me.” He shakes his head. The song skips and moves into another livelier tune. It’s an upbeat remix of Empire of the Sun’s Walking on a Dream. I loved the original, but I’m amazed that Iain’s found a good dubstep version of it. He turns the car to the left and we arrived to IHop. I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

Iain laughs as he shuts the engine off. “What? You got something against IHOP?” He looks momentarily worried. “We can go somewhere else, if you like.”

I shake my head. “I just can’t imagine you eating in IHop.” Actually, what I was really thinking that was our first ‘sort of date’ unofficial date and out of all the choices of where to dine, it’s at IHOP. It’s not really a date, I quickly remind myself. I could have cooked my own breakfast, but somehow Iain has taken it up on himself to provide me with that. It’s a thrilling feeling, but I also feel like it’s a backhanded thing because it also means he get to treat me like a child.

Iain gives me an incredulous look. He cross his eyebrows and rolls his eyes as he ambles out of the car.

“Come on, you’ll be late for school at this rate.”

We enter the restaurant with the smell of buttermilk pancakes and fried food wafting in the air. My stomach grumbles in response. I don’t know if Iain possesses superhuman hearing, because he looks slightly peeved and motions me to sit on a booth near the window.

“I used to come to IHOP when I was studying for my exams in Harvard,” he explains as he takes a seat across me. “There were times when I went with my roommates to Denny’s but I like the food here better.” He shrugs as a waitress in her early thirties approaches us. Her name is something I don’t really pay attention to because she’s looking at Iain like he’s the breakfast that’s about to be served. My eyes narrow in jealousy as I cross my arms while Iain mulls over the menu without even looking at her.

“We’ll have two orders of the original buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup and bacon on the side, two glasses of orange juice, and coffee with the works.” I answer her with daggers glistening from my eyes.

“Yeah, that’ll do. Thanks.” Iain agrees and I’m rewarded with one of his dashing smiles. I flush with joy because his full attention is centered on me. Jane (I finally notice the name tag) writes down both orders before she sends out a long sigh and walks away.

“You seem pissed about something.” Iain remarks as he leans back against his seat and looks at me speculatively.

“That girl was looking at you like you were the main course.”

“Quinn Fabray, are you jealous?” Iain teases as his face lights up in mock surprise. I note how his blue eyes are dancing mischievously like he’s thrilled about the whole thing.

“No,” I snap angrily. “Stop laughing at me. I’m serious! It’s the way you affect women. Haven’t you noticed? Or are you just completely blind?”

“It’s just looks,” he answers exasperatedly as he throws both hands in the air in surrender because he can’t help himself with that situation. And he’s right, he can’t.

“Please tell me you do notice.”

“Yes, I have. But I’ve learned long ago that they don’t matter. Believe me, when you get to be around my age, you’ll learn not to care.”

“When you get to be around my age? Wow, you sound old.”

Iain bursts out laughing like a loon. I notice some people turn around and look at us with this stunned expression on their faces. Like as if they couldn’t believe I’ve just made this beautiful man laugh his head off. After a few moments, he settles down.

“You’re very relaxing company, do you know that?” He gives me one of those signature panty-dropping smiles of his and it’s a good thing we’re sitting down because I’m beginning to feel weak at the knees already.

“Are you prevaricating?”

“No, I meant every word.” He looks pensive for a while, reflecting on something. “I just didn’t realize how tense I was until now. Your vocabulary is astounding, by the way.”

I almost shake myself from the rapid switch of topics and his compliment. I compose myself before I get another absence episode.

“Well, I do like to read.” Jane is back with our food. She takes the longest time to serve Iain first and I glare at her. Iain is looking at me with a salacious smile on his face, reading into my thoughts. He appears as if my jealous rage gives him some perverse joy. He barely notices Jane waiting anxiously for him to acknowledge her. He just smiles at me, his eyes never leaving my face and mutters his thanks to her with a wave of dismissal when she’s finally done placing down my order. Jane obviously looks disappointed as she strolls back to the counter.

“What books do you like to read?”

“Just about anything. When I was younger I didn’t have a lot of friends because I looked studious so I took comfort in books. When I was a kid, I found myself reading Fran’s assignment books. But what I enjoy nowadays are world legends and fairy tales. I’ve always thought there was something romantic about the Japanese Feudalism too. The story about Samurais and Geishas always gets to me. Lately, I’ve been reading Indian mythology.” I hesitate when Iain regards me in silence while he eats.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” I turn my attention to my plate and start scarfing down my pancakes.

Iain shakes his head. “Not at all. In fact, I find you to be the most interesting person I’ve been with for the longest time. I can’t even remember being this enthralled by anyone at all,” he looks surprised with himself as the words come out his mouth, like he’s just discovered this fact too. He shakes his head suddenly, as if to cover himself with that remarkable discovery. “So the answer is no, you haven’t bored me at all. Why the fascination with Indian myth? I’m assuming this is the South Asian culture you’re talking about?”

My heart slams into my rib cage at the impact of his confession of me being the most interesting person he’s met.

“Uhm, yes.” I almost choke at my pancake and take a long sip of orange juice while I continue.

“I guess it all started with my fascination for elephants. When I was a little girl, my dad took me to the local zoo. There was this elephant named Raja that was brought in from India a few weeks before we visited. People would bring their kids to see him. He was a beautiful white elephant, the rarest of their kind. He was just magnificent. When we visited him, there were other children offering him peanuts and I knew I didn’t stand a chance of him noticing me. I was chubby, wore glasses and had braces.”

I exhale as Iain regards me in silence. He’s done with his food and sips his coffee as I continue. “But he noticed me. He approached me and reached his trunk out and took my peanut. He didn’t want what the other kids were offering, he just wanted mine. Then he reached his trunk again and briefly touched my hand almost as if he sensed I was lonely and in that time frame, I could sense that he too was feeling the same way. We looked at each other for a moment and I just felt....connected to him. I know it sounds crazy, but it felt like magic. Then his trainer shouts a command which he then turns away, not before sending me another lonely glance. Like he was thanking me for even the briefest moment that we shared together and that it had meant just as much to him like it did me. I begged my dad that we should visit him again, but it took him a long while before he complied. When I did, Raja was gone. The zookeepers said that he was transferred to another bigger facility because he was miserable and wasn’t eating well. I never saw him again.”

I wave my hand to shake off the gloomy mood. “Anyway, going back to elephants in general. They’re my favorite animals in the world. Other people like dogs and cats, but I’ve always thought that they’re too clingy and being around them can be claustrophobic. Elephants on the other hand are independent. They’re big enough to take care of themselves. They’ve gone by without our help for thousands of years. I have this theory that they choose to be tamed rather than the other way around.”

“Or maybe it’s the human that ends up being tamed?” Iain suggests softly, his tender smile tells me that he wholeheartedly understands.

I sagely nod in agreement, ignoring the rapid beating of my heart. “Maybe.”

A long moment of companionable repartee follows. I allow myself to listen to Iain as he talks about his time as a boy growing up in England before his parents’ divorce. He said that he moved with his great grandmother, who by the way sounds like a real terror dragon lady. When I voice out my opinion, he laughs and nods saying that people have the same impression whenever they meet her. He tells me stories about how his father remarried Chelsea’s mother, who was a flighty thing that never cared about her daughter’s welfare and that soon after their divorce, Iain’s father immediately adopted her and took sole custody. I listen to him tell me stories about the times when his grandfather was alive and how they used to spend hours at a time playing songs on the piano. I also find out that Iain can also plays the guitar and because of his upbringing, he can speak French, Spanish, and Gaelic because his great grandmother is Scottish and insisted that he learn the language.

I enjoy so much of his time that I barely notice that I’m almost late for school. When Iain realizes this, he swears a mouthful before he ends up paying for the bill, leaving a huge tip for Jane and we hurriedly head back to the car. He drives the car in anxious silence and we come across the grounds of William McKinley High.

“I’m really sorry about that.” He looks sheepish and nervous when he puts the car on neutral. “It won’t happen again.” Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t exchange that moment for anything in the world.

“I had fun.” I tell him, rewarding him with a shy smile. I don’t know what it is about him. He’s such a complex character, full of layers and is so dynamic that I wonder how I manage to keep up with him. I reflect in that moment that maybe it’s because of this that it cuts out all the bullshit and the only thing we have left is honestly.

“Yeah, me too.” Iain agrees somberly, giving me a half-smile that I think is his own way of giving out an equally genuine shy smile. I realize he’s reluctant to leave. I also don’t want to leave either, but Lucy Caboosey is dragging my bag and my books to school.

Suddenly, an idea pops in my head. Brain blast! I can take my tea and eat my cake too.

“Listen, do you have anything to do after you’re done running errands for my dad? I have this brilliant idea on how you can get back to school and find Neil.”

Iain raises his eyebrows. “Okay,” he says slowly. “What’s your plan? I could go along with it tomorrow.”

I tell him.

* **

“So this is your good idea of a cover-up?” Iain leans over to me and whispers suspiciously as he scans the auditorium after briefly making introductions. Since that fateful night when he found me doing afterhours schoolwork, he quit his job at night school to spend more time with me. I told him that he could cover for our school pianist, Brad, who was suffering from a bad case of gastroenteritis. I was also able to convince Mr Schuster that Iain was a gifted musician and of his plans to do Juilliard in the future. Mr Schu pretty much ate up anything since nothing was going to deter him from winning Nationals.

I ignore the shivers running down my spine as I feel his breath on my face as he leaned down to whisper that comment. He looks divine in a three button collared grey pullover sweater that’s unbuttoned and open, revealing his black undershirt, distressed blue jeans that match his eyes, and a pair of chocolate brown boots that makes him look like a Hollywood superstar that just landed on LAX. Yes, this macho hunk drives me to school every day for one week and I can pretend that he’s following me around today like a lovesick puppy. My inner queen bitch is thrilled as I smile triumphantly while we pass the hallway side by side. I can see from my peripheral vision that all the girls are gawking at him, mouths wide open, drooling with lust. Iain doesn’t notice a thing and his attention is focused on me while he waits for me to answer him.

He’s mine, bitches, all mine!!! My inner queen bitch is chanting gaily while doing the cabbage patch.

“Do you want to see your brother or not? I got you off from working at night school so the least you can do is thank me.” I pick up my pace and hurriedly take my seat while Iain looks on. He shrugs and settles in, introducing himself to the other band members. They nod and shake his hand. When all introductions were made, he resumes back to his position by the piano.

Mr Schuester looks stressed. He drones on about winning Sectionals and goes on about the winning pieces he wants to use. Tension is building up and I can see it’s not just Mr. Schue who’s feeling the brunt. Finn has been non-stop confrontational since Blaine moved out of his old school. Rachel is, well, Rachel Berry as usual.

I note Tina and Sugar gaping at Iain as he, unmindful that he has an audience, ruffles through some of this week’s suggested song selections. I turn around and see Kurt and Blaine with the same dreamy look on their faces. A slight pang of jealousy flows through me as I watch Rachel scurry down over to Iain blabbering on what songs she would sing and questioning Iain’s capability to keep up with her talent when a gritty voice breaks my thoughts.

“Is it me, or are you threatened that someone might steal away your boyfriend?” Noah Puckerman asks as he is seated behind me and leans forwards, regarding me sardonically with those dark green eyes. I notice Iain out of my peripheral vision, turn to look towards our direction, barely listening to a word Rachel says. I ignore the hostile look on Iain’s handsome face as I lean against my chair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply cooly, keeping my gaze straight ahead of me. Iain seems more in tune with my conversation with Puck. Rachel barely has a clue that he isn’t even listening to a word she says. He curtly nods, politely dismissing her by giving one of those signature Iain Hargreave disarming, panty-dropping smile of his, which Rachel responds with a gasp and a blush escaping her cheeks as she turns and darts quickly back to her place. Finn is looking both at Rachel and Iain like he just swallowed a whole bottle of vinegar. Iain resolutely ignores Finn’s glowering gaze and turns his attention to Puck. Neither men are backing down from the stare down that it’s so immature, I almost roll my eyes.

“Oh, really? “ Puck scoffs as he continues on with his staring match against Iain. As much as this might seem like a turn on, having two boys fight over me, it isn’t. I was worried that if Iain lost his cool, he would blow up his cover and then his hopes of finding Neil would then be futile. Turns out, I didn’t have to worry because Iain responds to Puck’s menacing appraisal by looking bored, almost unaffected.

“Then tell me why is he looking at me like he’s about to beat the crap out of me?”

“I didn’t know you were so scared.”

“I’d watch it if I were you,” Puck looks at me seriously. “I know guys like him. The ones that think they’re God’s gift to women, being so perfect on the outside but rotten to the core. At least with me, I’m all what you get.”

“And you’ll never get that chance ever again, so please drop it.”

“Fine, whatever you say, your Highness.”

Iain starts playing a song selection called Famous by a British Indie band, Scouting for Girls. Blaine carries it off beautifully as always. Iain looks so comfortable on the piano, with his masculine hands dancing away as Blaine croons to the catchy retro 80’s beat. I remember this song blasting from Iain’s iPod when he dropped me off earlier. “You’re going to snap your neck doing that,” Iain teased, almost gently, when he noticed me bobbing my head to the music. If ever I had doubts that Iain couldn’t play a pop song, they dissipate as he looks capable and even sings along to it. He’s got a pretty decent voice too, I sigh as I tilt my head to look at him while he sings merrily along to the tune. I don’t care if the other girls in the New Directions have wistful looks on their faces, even Santana looks mildly interested. I get to go home with him for a week, I grin triumphantly. I watch with glee while Iain practically enjoys himself; his normally icy cool demeanor relaxes as he tinkers those black and white keys without a care in the world.

I compare him to the other guys in the room and find that he is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. He’s tall, maybe two inches shorter than Finn, but definitely taller than Sam. Unlike Finn, who is awkward with his towering height, Iain is comfortable with his own body. His movements remind me of a sleek panther: graceful, agile, athletic and almost predatory. Fortunately, unlike Blaine who is the second best looking guy present in the room, Iain isn’t gay.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy could dance as well as Mike Chang. He is definitely not naive. He looks worldly and yet could appear affable, being just as comfortable in a myriad of people from different social classes. He possesses a hint of rebellion like Puck, but unlike the former who screams danger, Iain’s aura whispers it. He seems to have also gained appreciation from Artie and the new Irish kid who has taken a shine on him. He emanates sexiness which I now understand why Principal Figgins moved him to teach Night Classes because he served as a distraction for every hormonally induced teenage girl.

It wasn’t until the meeting was over that I was approached by Rachel in the bathroom. I was busy fixing myself in front of the mirror when she settles in beside me.

“So that was Iain.”

“What about it?” I ask as I applied mascara. I knew gossip flowed about me having him as my legal guardian. Since my mother and Fran had decided to go on a Mothers & Daughters for Christ Cruise to the Bahamas, Iain’s been living with me. How my father has approved of this has again baffled me, but at least Iain keeps his end of the bargain by acting like a gentleman because he sleeps on the living room couch.

Since that incident when he found me doing night school, he’s also volunteered to drive me to school and bring me home. I would have protested, but he’s persistent, saying that since my dad has given him a list of things to do, it’s convenient in his part. I agree to meet him halfway at the Beanery, which was a few blocks from school, that way people wouldn’t take it the wrong way and think that I was living in sin with a man who is just as sinful as the devil himself.

“He’s very handsome.”

“You plan on stealing him too like you did with Finn?” I turn to face her and instantly regret the words that pop out of my mouth. I know that we may never get along given our history, but that never meant that we weren’t friends. Rachel has long tried to be one for me even though I always found a way to rebuke her. She quickly waves off her hand when I try to apologize.

“I meant to say that Iain is handsome but he isn’t my type because he intimidates me. He reminds me of Damon from Vampire Diaries. Tall, dark hair, intense blue eyes, gorgeous male model looks but really scary as a whole package. I also see the way you look at him and I know you like him a lot and that you might have, um, feelings for him. I also see the way he looks at you, Quinn. He’s crazy about you.”

“He barely pays me any attention.” I try to look bored but my heart is racing like I’ve been running a marathon. Iain has feelings for me? It sounds so ridiculous I could barely fathom the guy being the hearts and flowers type going down on one knee and proclaiming his undying love for me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize about him doing it. I just didn’t think that was.....possible.

I’ve seen the way Iain reacts when I’m around like he can’t get enough of me and that alone jolts my system and puts my senses into overdrive. I know he can tell that I feel the same way too, but somehow he doesn’t act on it because he hesitates like he seriously believes that his profoundly lacking.

In the short span of time I’ve spent with him, my ego has grown into bigger proportions that I know Iain genuinely likes me.

It would be easy to believe that I wasn’t pretty enough, sophisticated or classy for this red-blooded handsome debonair modern day Disney prince, but I knew that wasn’t true.

I can read just as much through his own bullshit as he can mine, which is surprising because with Finn, Puck, and Sam they could never tell what I’m thinking. It isn’t like that with Iain. He scares, excites, thrills me more than any man I’ve ever met. But there are things about him that he keeps to himself, just like me. We’ve been so jaded from our past that there’s this brick wall that’s stopping us from ever revealing our feelings. It’s so frustrating sometimes that I think it’s impossible to pursue a relationship with anyone who’s remotely like me.

“That’s because he knows you’re also looking at him. He stares at you whenever he gets the chance. He smiles when you smile or laugh at something funny. And he seems nice, Quinn apart from the fact that he looks pissed most of the time. Maybe if you could find your way past everything that happened to you and –“

“I appreciate your concern, Rachel, but I don’t need your advice.” I frostily answer as I turn and leave the bathroom. As I make my way down the hall, I notice a tall young man with a shock of jet black hair walking past by. He’s well over six feet in height and was just as imposing as someone whom I know so well that I breathe inward in my excited state.

It is Iain’s younger brother!

It wasn’t that hard to track him down as his muscular frame is visible through the crowd. I notice some girls in Cheerio uniforms giving him the same appreciative glances as they do with Iain. Good looks definitely run in the family, I grimace as I follow him move out of the school grounds.

He continues to amble easily and heads towards the field and out to the parking lot. He then approaches a white top down convertible and the look of horror settles on me as the dark tinted windows roll down as he laughs while giving out high fives to a bunch of boys his age wearing familiar dark blue blazers with red trimmings.

Neil wasn’t just a student at McKinley High.

He’s from Dalton Academy!

I watch from the shadows as he exchanges a few words to the boys whom I assume are his team mates because they look just as buff as Iain’s imposing younger brother. After a few minutes, the car makes its quiet exit out of the school grounds. He turns his head sideways as if to check for any witnesses and saunters his way back to campus as if nothing out of the usual happened. From the time that I’ve stalked Neil, I already make out a few differences and compare them to his implausible older brother.

Neil is handsome, broad-shouldered and long legged like his brother. Unlike Iain, Neil is taller by a few more inches and I’m guessing he’s around the same height as Finn if not taller. Also, unlike Iain, his younger brother is more muscular and looks to be even older than his given sixteen years.

In fact, he has the same intimidating pose as Iain as I note that they share the same good looks except I find Iain far more attractive, because of his leaner physique, angular jaw line, and smooth cultured refined stance while his brother looks tough, capable and just a tad angry with this “don’t mess with me” vibe.

I couldn’t quite make out the color of his eyes as his dark, almost black hair and eyebrows hood his similar almond shaped piercing gaze. I laugh at myself thinking how similar and yet different both brothers are. Iain has the old Hollywood glamour of a Dolce & Gabbana male model while his brother looks fit to be a cast member from Friday Night Lights. Not that it’s a bad thing, I actually find myself intrigued at the thought of another Hargreave that I walk towards Neil who stops by his locker with his back facing me when I gently tap his shoulder.

He turns around and I find myself staring at the most fascinating pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. His eyes were blue on the outer layer but with a central golden-brown ring on the middle of his iris that reminds me of what the rays of the sun would look on a clear blue sky. It’s a beautiful contrast against his dark almost midnight black hair and bronze skin.

Neil notices that I’m staring and stalling time that he initiates the conversation. I duly note that he’s equally as charming and suave as his brother. Instead of feeling flustered as I always do with the mercurial Iain whose mood flits from calm to stormy, I find myself at ease, relaxing to his much affable, calmer younger brother when he laughs at my reaction.

“It’s called central heterochromia. It’s a rare genetic condition where both eyes share two different colors. My name’s Neil by the way.” He extends his hand as if to shake it.

I take his hand and shake it. “I’m Quinn. Quinn Fabray”

He surprises me by bowing down and kissing my hand. I quickly retract it as he chuckles to himself, taking in what I could imagine was an image of myself blushing from the end of my roots.

“To what do I owe this pleasure of meeting you on this fine afternoon, Miss Fabray?” Neil raises his eyebrows as he gives off a signature Hargreave lazy smile that was designed to knock women off their feet and drop their panties.

Perfect. Are all Hargreave men this charming and devastatingly handsome? I could almost envision what their father was like when he was alive. If he was anything like his two sons, it wouldn’t be a wonder why their mother chose him over George Clooney.

“I was wondering if you’re new here. I haven’t seen you around in school. Are you a sophomore?”

“Junior,” he corrected. “I skipped a grade. And to answer your question yes, I did move in recently with my aunt so I’ve been in McKinley High for a month.”

I was about to ask him how he was adjusting and as if he read my thoughts, he again quirked a dark eyebrow at me and tilted his head. “Are you worried about me adjusting to my status as the new kid? Fear not, sweetheart. I’m pretty capable of taking care of myself.”

I’m sure you are, I think to myself noting the rippled muscular arms. I also notice a few people looking curiously at us, wondering why a dethroned blonde high school cheerleader was talking to a junior.

“Are you going to try out for any clubs? Because a couple of my friends and I are in the school’s glee club are we’re looking for new members. We won 12th place last year in Nationals and we could use some new blood.”

“As much as I would love to, I’m tone deaf.” He says in a deadpan voice, but I know he’s joking as I gaze into those almond eyes that crinkle in amusement and I watch in wonder as the brown circles have turned golden. “The only chance you’ll ever hear me sing is in the shower. Not unless you want to join me, I could definitely do a private audition.” He grins and winks suggestively as I roll my eyes and find myself chuckling at his humorous attempt to flirt.

“Nice try, Neil. I’m a staunch believer in sex after marriage.”

Neil clucks apologetically and shrugs his massive shoulders. “It was worth a shot. I can imagine a lot of guys whose hearts have been broken by the news.”

My thoughts suddenly turn to Iain but I dismiss them quickly.

“How about you try joining me and my friends in Bible study group instead?” I tilt my head and look at him earnestly, desperately trying to win him over. He hesitates for a moment and my persistence finally pays off because he exhales and nods curtly.

“My, you don’t ever give up do you? Alright, I’ll join you. I’ve been going through plenty of shit these days I could probably need some Divine guidance. But, on one condition.“ he cuts me off before I even ask him more.

“I take you out for dinner.”

I found myself wondering if Iain was this persistent and as amorous when he was Neil’s age. But then again, the only “date” I ever had with him was last night when he ordered pizza and we had our dinner in front of the television watching History documentaries. Iain is a closet Discovery Channel freak and I also happen to like documentaries. I keep up with the latest shows by reading the synopsis on the internet for blending in purposely.

“How about you meet me for coffee at the Beanery after Bible school? Meetings are every Wednesdays at five.”

“Fine. So I’ll see you tomorrow. Then after that, it’s a date.” Neil gives off another one of those lazy smiles.

“It’s just coffee, Neil.” I warn him as he laughs and slams his locker door before heading off for class.

I run hurriedly home excited with the news I can’t wait to break for Iain. Though he offers to pick me off and drive me to school, I call him to assume him that I was hitching a ride with Tina. I imagine a vision of him shrugging nonchalantly at the other end and tells me that dinner will be ready by the time I get home. He waits until I hang up and I go home, giddy and excited.

I rush into the house and look for him. He’s nowhere to be seen. I hear the lilting notes of the piano and saunter off to the living room where his back is turned. He’s just had a bath, I notice that his hair is still damp and I assume that he’s probably had his afternoon run, which he usually does before he picks me up from school. He’s wearing a black shirt that fits snugly on his lean muscular torso and faded distressed jeans that hangs low in his waist in a very sinful way.

He’s completely lost in the music he’s playing. He looks so comfortable, I smile wistfully as I lean against the wall of the entrance door watching him, enraptured by the soothing sound that his long skilled fingers make as he presses the keys. My goes dry, suddenly wondering what those hands would feel running through my hair, my face, my lips.....and the rest of my...

“Good day at school?” Iain asks mildly without turning his head, I am grateful that his voice breaks through my dreamy haze. I make a silent prayer to the Lord for possessing such sinful thoughts. Oh my, how can something as innocent as playing a musical instrument become such a turn on?

“Uhm, yeah. It was okay.” I mentally shake my wayward thoughts, glad that Iain stops playing and turns to face me with a soft smile on his face, as his eyes crinkle merrily.

“Hi there,” he greets warmly, his voice soft and enticing.

“Hi,” I murmur shyly. “What was the title of the song you played earlier? It’s very beautiful.”

Iain tilts his head, mirroring my own. “It’s called Liebesträume No 3.”

“Dreams of Love by Franz Liszt.” I cite off recalling one of the famous classical songs I had once never paid any attention to at school until Iain. Since then, I’ve been googling everything I could learn about classical music. In some weird way, it was the closest thing I’ve tried to do in order to be closer to this highly unpredictable young man who never fails to give me heart palpitations with just one look.

His grin is infectious. “Ah, I see that my classical music influence is rubbing on you.” He scoots over, pats the seat beside me and motions me to sit. I obey and place my hands beside me and tilt my head to look at him.

“Do you know how to play?”

I nod my head and laugh despite myself. “My mom hired a teacher with hopes that Fran or I would learn, but alas, we’re a hopeless bunch.” Iain chuckles and tinkers with a different tune, Polonaise in G minor by Chopin. Iain’s a huge fan of the Polish composer. I’m also not going to admit I have the complete collection downloaded on my iPhone and that I listen to it just to calm my nerves after a heavy stressful day.

“What was your teacher like?” Iain inquires mildy.

I get a mental picture of Mrs. Largo. “She was a good friend of my mom. I remember her being cuddly and smelling like buttermilk pancakes.”

Iain smothers a laugh as he switches to G flat major, “Cuddly?”

I laugh and playfully swat his arm which he swerves to the side to avoid, giving me this warning look but his eyes are full of mirth. “She liked to eat a lot. I just looked forward to having her around bringing us pastries.”

“Ah, what child could ever resist pancakes?” Iain agreed with mock gravity, he smiles knowingly remembering the time we spent at IHOP.

“What was your piano teacher like?”

Iain falters in his expression despite still remarkably not losing concentration as he keeps his eyes directed at his playing. “My grandfather taught me how to play when I was three.” He plays something else and this time it’s Nocturne in C minor. Chopin has a whole series of Polonaise, Nocturnes and Etudes that I have yet to remember. It’s a miracle that Iain has mastered most if not all of them to memory.

“You must have been very close.” I picture Iain as a cute little boy with big blue eyes, tousled messed up dark brown hair with a mischievous toothy smile as he eagerly plays a song on the piano with his legs dangling from the seat. “We were. He was more like a father figure to me. My dad rarely spent that much time with me because he was too busy with work. He wasn’t like your teacher though, my grandfather was as cuddly as a Grisly bear. He looks like a genetic cross between Yogi Bear and Santa too. Hence, ‘cuddly’.” Ah, there’s that impish smile again.

“So can you play anything else? I’m beginning to worry that all you know is Chopin.”

Iain throws me a mock horrified look and my shoulders shake with mirth. He looks pensive and stops what he’s doing suddenly, thinking of what to play as he scratches his chin with one hand, deep in thought while his other arm leans against the piano. Then his face lightens up as I gaze into those cobalt blue eyes of his darken in mischief.

He plays something that starts off slow, poignant...and oddly familiar.

“Are we playing ‘Name that Tune’?” I smirk and raise my eyebrow. Iain laughs. He looks so young, handsome and carefree as he nods his head and continues hitting the keys as the gentle, dreamlike, song goes on.

“Is it Piano Concerto No.2 in C Minor by Rachmaninoff?”

Iain pouts at me sexily. “I thought we were playing ‘Name that Tune’, not Jeopardy. But yes it is.” He looks impressed, my Cheerio cheerleader self is doing cartwheels and splits.

“How did you know?”

I shrug my shoulders. “It’s from the movie Brief Encounter. I must have seen that movie like a couple of times on cable.”

“Who knew Quinn Fabray likes to watch movies in black and white?”

“Just because I’m blonde and I used to be a cheerleader, it doesn’t mean I’m dumb, Iain.”

He looks at me in a feigned sheepish expression and part of me wants to reach out and affectionately ruffle my hands against that thick, dark brown hair. He’s so sitting so close to me, I realize this is the nearest proximity we’ve ever had.

I focus instead on what he would have looked like if he were the three year old who was being taught by his grandfather. He must have been so adorable when he was younger, I could easily imagine him with big blue eyes, tousled hair sitting with his legs dangling on the piano as he tinkers to “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”. I hold the sudden urge to wrap him around my arms and hug him tight.

“You do surprise me, Quinn. It seems like I’m not the only one who has layers.”

What does he mean by that?

He clears his throat. “What I meant to say was that I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve too. Take for example; doesn’t it seem odd that this particular song sounds familiar? Like as if it were from a pop song or ballad.”

My eyes search his not quite comprehending. He clears his throat again and as the song reaches into another round, he breaks into a mock girlish falsetto and sings ‘All By Myself’.

He looks so ridiculous and lovable, I burst out laughing.

“You’re cute when you laugh.” He says dryly with mock sham gravity but he’s grinning ear to ear.

“You put Rachel Berry to shame.” I answer tartly, enjoying our banter, deeply thrilled that he’s thrown me a compliment.

“Sounds like a rip-off doesn’t it?” He’s talking about the classic song’s riff used in the power ballad.

“Your singing wasn’t that bad either.” I answer in a deadpan voice. He chuckles at my quip.

This day couldn’t get any more pleasant. I didn’t feel like I wanted to break the news about Neil just yet. He looks so relaxed and carefree. Not now, my subconscious, Cheerio cheerleader, and inner queen bitch are down on their knees, pleading. I’ll do it tomorrow, I promise myself.

“Something bothering you?”

Drat! Damn Iain and his mindreading abilities.

“Uhm, no.” I lie. Iain throws me a meaningful look that says “tell me.”

“You sure?”

“It’s just...I was worried about that scholarship grant at Yale. I mean, what if I don’t get it?” There. It was half the truth anyway; I do worry about that too.

Iain’s expression softens and he rewards me with a half-smile. “Leave that part for me to worry about, ok? I’m sure you’ll get a grant from some rich benefactors with so much money to spend.”

He straightens up. He looks determined and I note that his blue eyes blaze with purpose and excitement.

“Okay,” he says as I’m further dragged into those unfathomable blue orbs. “Close your eyes.” He instructs as I give him a puzzled look.

“I’m giving you a musical appreciation course. It’s all part of the Iain Hargreave tutorial package. Not only can I improve SAT scores and guarantee a scholarship into one of the country’s finest universities, but I also give my favorite students a good sense of taste in the arts.” He breaks in a mock serious voice.

He looks so lighthearted, cheerful, and young; I actually forget that he’s much older than me. I dismiss this thought immediately and enjoy the moment. I give in to his order and he breaks into a sound that is slow, poignant, and reminds me of an old black and white Hollywood Noir movie.

“Listen to the sound and tell me what you’re thinking,” when I try to open one eye to look at him dubiously, I hear him clucking his tongue “Uh-uh, don’t open them yet, just tell me.” He implores as he plays a little louder as if the song were meant to go through that.

“I’m not going to laugh,” he adds quietly. “Trust me.”

Trust me, he says. Do I even trust myself when I’m around him?

“It’s like being stuck in an old Hollywood film noir crime drama. I’m thinking of a scene where there’s this lonely detective who’s down on his luck during the twenties who smokes way too much cigars in his office.” I listen in further as the somber sound breaks in again. “Then there’s this woman that can be seen through the heavy blinds of the window door, she knocks softly before entering. When she does, she looks way too glamorous to be stuck in a dingy office and she’s wearing red leather high heels.” I open my eyes and my mouth goes dry as Iain smiles almost as if in admirable wonder at what I had just said.

“That was amazing,” he murmurs not taking his eyes off me. I hardly noticed that he’s stopped playing as I in turn take in the unruly dark hair that falls casually on his forehead, his blue eyes turning into the color of stormy dark nimbus clouds as he takes in every angle of my face, memorizing it as if it were his last. I can smell the heady mixture of bergamot, sandalwood, and Iain. My heart flutters in anticipation thinking of the unknown.

“The title of the song is called High Heels. It’s by a modern Japanese composer, Ryuichi Sakamoto.” Had I imagined it, but has his voice turned husky? I drown myself staring into those hypnotic cobalt blue eyes and my heart races faster when I note that his pupils are dilated. Suddenly, I’m not interested in Sakamoto or anything for that matter. What I want is to lean towards him and feel those hard lips against mine. I want to drown myself into sea with this Poseidon, into the vast depths mixed with bergamot, sandalwood, and unadulterated male. I can almost feel myself leaning towards him and he’s mirroring the same thing I’m doing.

He reaches out and tucks a stray strand of blonde hair from my face. His fingers linger, gently tracing the side of my face before he suddenly stiffens with a stricken expression like I’ve just bitten him. He then quickly withdraws his arm as if touching me repulses him.

“Quinn, I think this lesson is over.” He smiles sadly, I am pulled harshly back into reality, so hurt and embarrassed that I don’t notice the unmistakable regret in his voice.

“You were spot on to guess the title. I imagined the same thing too when I first listened to it.” He switches topic so quickly that I give myself a mental shake. I don’t even notice that he stands up a little too abruptly as he eases his way off the piano giving us distance.

Wait? What? You’re not going to kiss me? My subconscious wants to stand up grab his face and.... Wait? Why do I want him to kiss me?

* * *

Chapter 10

Iain

What the fuck just happened?

I was so close to kissing her, I almost blanch at the thought of it. God damn it, Hargreave! My subconscious gives me a kick straight for the groin. What the hell were you thinking? You nearly molested a minor! What the fuck is wrong with you? It started out all innocent. She looked like she was enjoying listening to me play, so I decided to go along with it, despite the warning bells ringing in my head. It was all part of the music appreciation thing. My grandfather did this exercise with me so I wouldn’t be bored playing something that didn’t have any meaning to me. I even taught it to Becky once and so far, I’m glad at the progress she’s made with her piano lessons. Why in God’s name do I even want to make Quinn care about the stuff I like? I don’t even want to know why it seemed so important at the time to make her catch a glimpse of my own private bubble. You really got it bad, I almost roll my eyes at the thought that out of all the women I could have taken my pick from, the one who’s gotten under my skin; the only woman I want is too young and inexperienced for her own good.

I’ve done my research on her. I know it sounds creepy, but it pays off in the corporate world. My family does countless of background checks on potential girlfriends for me and wives of my dad, so this wasn’t new. I already knew about her history with that Mohawk punk; that they’ve had a baby together and that Beth was adopted by some woman who was a teacher at McKinley named Shelby Corcoran who also happens to be Rachel Berry’s biological mother. I wasn’t going to destroy her life like that other moron did.

Looking at how vulnerable she is now, with her mouth quivering and her blush reaching across her soft delicate cheeks and tears welling up her eyes I feel like a cross between a lecher and an idiot. I run my hands through my hair caught between laughing in frustration and groaning in agony because I don’t know which is worse, wanting to kiss her or feeling guilty for not kissing her when she looks so forlorn from rejection.

“You’re hungry.” I find myself frowning as I murmur that thought aloud. “You need to eat.”

It’s a lot easier keeping this distance, I turn my heel and saunter off the kitchen leaving her. I ignore gut wrenching sensation when I catch her hastily wiping a lone tear from her face because I feel lower than a snake for doing this to her.

She doesn’t need this in her life, I tell myself as I silently prepare the table while she sits at one end looking like a pale ghost of a vibrant girl who had just voiced out the same sentiments I felt about the song I played earlier. In fact, she described it better than me, I remarked bitterly.

I talk aimlessly about how my day went, keeping in line of the conversation pulling her out of her sullen mood. I omit that I made a rather expensive overseas call to my housekeeper on how to prepare tonight’s dinner. I chuckle at the memory of Mrs. Taylor painstakingly patient efforts. So far the salad I’ve prepared isn’t half as bad as I thought it would be and that the Moussakas mixed with minced lamb was just as good as how Mrs. Taylor made it. I mentally pat myself at the back that I’ve managed to cook a rather decent dinner despite my limited, if non-existent domestic skills. I’m going to have to buy a cookbook at this rate.

Dear Lord, she’s already got me cooking.....literally.

“Great Moussakas.” Quinn smiles slightly as she takes in another helping.

“You’re welcome.” I give a half sided smile as I finish off my plate.

“Not our usual take-out, but this will do.”

“What kind of food do you like?” “Just about anything. I’ve got an adventurous gastronomical streak after watching Anthony Bourdain’s show. My mom cooks the really boring healthy stuff,” she rolls her eyes with disgust. “It’s not that bad, but I could use a bit of variety once in a while. I’ve got a fast metabolism anyway so getting fat is the least of my worries.”

“I wouldn’t care if you were fat.”

She flushes a little. I wonder bleakly if I’m I ever going to tire of her looking this way?

Probably never.

She takes a long sip of water. “Really? I used to be that. You know, fat...”

“I know,” I say softly. “I saw the picture your father keeps in his office.”

“Guess it must have been a surprise to you when you found out what I look like now, huh?” I throw her a bewildered look. There are times when I don’t know what she’s thinking exactly, but I can somehow tune in to what she’s feeling.

This time I catch a glimpse of that sad, dowdy chubby girl hiding behind the gorgeous blonde. Though I know they may be as different as day and night, they’re cut from the same cloth. I find myself thinking that when Quinn lets her guard down, you could see that sad vulnerable dowdy girl.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Quinn? Please don’t.” I say quietly. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your past; it’s what defines you as who you’ve become. And you are the most extraordinary girl I’ve ever met. Don’t ever forget that.” She nods, as if the words penetrate through her. I had to emphasize on the word girl than woman because hell, I didn’t want to scare her thinking that she is without doubt the most fucking amazing woman I’ve ever met and I’ve never been intimate with her to even to know that.

And, as an afterthought even I slept with her, I would’ve felt the exact same way. I remember the time when I wanted to seduce her in New York, and thinking about how I was going to treat her like a weekend fling didn’t suit me at all. Hell, she deserves so much better than what I had to offer. I get this feeling I would never let her go if I did. What were my reasons on why I felt this way was baffling the crap out of me, but I wasn’t going to ponder on my wayward thoughts.

Now she looks about just in need of an ego patting. My thoughts go out immediately on how lacking Russell and Fran’s parental skills were that they’ve never made their own daughter feel loved and secure.

“When I saw you, it didn’t matter. It was a shock initially, of course. But it was never an issue.”

She looks at me trying to decipher if I’m bullshitting her. I answered her in whole honesty. I recall the first time I saw her that day at the hotel lobby, I caught a glimpse of that sad dowdy, helpless girl who looked like she was begging for someone to love her and it gave my sinoatrial node a jolt like never before. Even though she looks like a knockout with that sandy blonde hair and rocking sexy body, I knew I had fallen in love with the lonely lost girl first.

I remember my Philosophy professor in Stanford once quoted some cheesy line from Blaise Pascal, saying that the heart has its reasons which reason does not know; to the extent that it wants what it wants even if it doesn’t make sense at all.

And from that moment I knew that I wanted Quinn. Imperfections and all fucking seven shades of her love.

“That....was a very nice thing for you to say, Iain.” She thanks me.

What the fuck? I just let my heart, if not my dick, hang out loose and wear it on my sleeve and she thanks me like I’m her grandmother who just read her a bedtime story?!

I am never going to understand women.

“I didn’t say it to be nice,” I snap, regretting immediately when I see her involuntarily wince. I don’t know why I even bother? I stand up and hastily take my dinner plate and walk to the kitchen to rinse it off. This girl confuses the hell out of me. I should be scared shitless, but I’m not. In fact, I’m drawn to her more than ever. It’ll be a few more days until Judy gets back and I don’t know whether to dread or look forward to that day. I admit it, I’m attracted to her. What unsettles me, however, is the fact that she feels the exact same way and I don’t know jack shit what to do about it.

A few hours later, after dinner, I sit in front of the big couch and watch listless at the news on CNN. I check my Blackberry and answer a few messages from work. I pull out the Macbook I brought with me and resume to answer any e-mails I’ve left and give further instructions. I have to remember to sometime thank the people who work for me that they can pretty much cover my ass while Project Missing Little Brother is ongoing. I haven’t been doing business deals for almost two weeks now and people are starting to wonder if I’m stuck in a mental asylum.

This explains why I had to take a personal leave from the Fabrays for three days to cover a business meeting with the Hong Kong businessmen whom I had just purchased a deal in the luxury shipping lines industry. Then I had to make a conference call to Japan and Dubai as we discussed the merger of the upcoming property that was going to be built in their respective countries.

I know I’ll always be a talented pianist, but deep down inside I love the rush I get doing corporate stuff. At my age, I finally understood that it wasn’t a game like I had done when I was much younger and made mergers and do stock investments like it were a Drug Wars application.

In fact the business version of the game, Loan Shark was inspired by me. I developed the software when I was 12. With the help of my father’s advisers acting as my proxy, I had easily earned my first billion dollar net profit. It all seems like yesterday when I had taken control of the company from my grandmother when I turned 21. Almost four years of a whirlwind experience and here I find myself fuming on a couch about some fair-haired teenage girl who makes me want to forget everything and lose control.

My thoughts are rudely interrupted by the sound of my Blackberry. I pick up and answer.

“Hargreave.” “Iain!!!” A shrill youthful female voice shrieks at the other end as I wince and move my head away from my phone.

“How come you haven’t been answering my e-mails? Constance is worried sick about you and thinks you’re having a mental breakdown or something and I don’t know how much longer I can cover for you.”

“What have you been telling her?” I inquire mildly.

“Well, I told her that you’ve been dealing with some crazy South American druglords on your ship.”

“Chelsea...” I growl menacingly. If I could strangle my kid sister right here and now I probably would have done so.

“I was kidding, you can chillax Big brother. I said you visited me in boarding school for a PTA meeting and said exactly what you instructed. I’m a terribly great actress.” “You should be, I’m paying for your acting lessons.” Not to mention I’ve doubled her shopping allowance for the next two months so she could keep the end of her bargain.

“So have you met him? Your brother?”

“He’s our brother, Chelsea.”

“Yes he is. But what I meant is that he’s your blood. I’m adopted so I don’t share your DNA.” Chelsea simpers a bit and says quietly. “Do me a favor and please go easy on him, ok? I know what you’re like when it comes to opening up on the emotional stuff. I doubt this drama is going to be a walk in the park for him. He’s going to rebel and act out.”

“Like you do?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Iain!”

“Sometimes I forget you’re just thirteen.”

“I’m wise beyond my years is all.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Where’s Anton?” My sister was referring to my personal bodyguard. I actually have three on hand for security reasons, but since I went incognito, I was on my own for a while. Since my return from New York, Anton has been following me from a safe distance.

“At his usual post.”

“Aren’t you going to ever tell her?”

“Tell who?”

“The girl you’ve been babysitting! She must be really pretty because you’ve been hanging around their house for more than a week now. Knowing you the way I do, you would have been in New York days ago, dragging your new found brother alongside in tow.”

“It’s none of your business.” I ignore the tugging feeling that my sister is spot on.

“I’m going to meet her one day.” Chelsea makes it sound like she’s made her ultimatum. “I can’t wait to see the girl who’s gotten my billionaire brother in such a tizzy.”

“Goodnight Chelsea.” I cut her off before she starts protesting.

I turn off my phone knowing that my sister is going to call me again and ply me more questions about Quinn. I already feel terrible having to drag my sister into this mess and it doesn’t make me feel better that Chelsea has this idea that there’s something going on between me and Quinn.

Speaking of the blonde girl, I haven’t heard anything from her in the past few hours.

I look up at the clock and think that she’s in her bedroom probably reading the Bible, praying, or doing something utterly boring. She’s been rather quiet the entire time that I find myself swearing a mouthful as I stand from my post and head over upstairs.

I knock softly on the door before opening it and find her fast asleep on her bed. She’s in a deep slumber that she doesn’t notice I’m inside her bedroom. I lean against the door and sigh contently taking in the sight of her in a sheer lilac nightgown that’s short enough to slow her long legs and pale flawless skin.

I’m a guy who likes his women in expensive lingerie like Agent Provocateur or Victoria’s Secret (hell, I’ve even slept with the models from both catalogues) but seeing her even in a chastely modest nightgown makes my blood pound like no other.

I turn my lustful thoughts instead to her dainty room painted in lilac and purple paisley designs fill the walls of her bedpost. She’s fond of elephants as I note that there are also at least four different colored stuffed elephants in her room. A yellow one with a sun design tattooed on its forehead sits on her desk while a white elephant with a floral design on its head with eyes that remind me of an alien’s sits on her window ledge accompanied with a pink elephant with an intricate Indian lace henna on its head that appears to be winking at me.

Beside her is a fluffy cotton candy pink elephant stuff toy she fondly calls Gumbo. She once told me that she won him at the fair in a ball throwing game. The others, she explained were bought online because the proceeds go to an elephant sanctuary. I frown at the inanimate object that sits on its haunches like it’s about to take a crap, envying the damn thing because it gets to sleep beside her every single night.

I take the longest time looking at her sleeping form, watching her breathe in and out, noting the sheer thinness of her gown and that if I stare long enough, I might catch the outline of the mounds underneath her breasts. I immediately shift my gaze elsewhere and realize that she just left her night lamp on. She must have been reading a book as it lies on the floor beside her open faced.

I approach the side of her bed and find out that it isn’t a book, but a diary of sorts. I feel like a jerk invading her privacy and read some of what she wrote on her diary but as I flip through the pages, I realize that it isn’t diary but a journal.

It’s a mixed collection of short stories, anecdotes made by from artists, poets and authors. I’m amazed at the witty comments she makes along with pictures that she has taken no doubt from a Polaroid Lomo hybrid camera that she must have brought along with her. Who knew she could write like this? She’s not only got perspective but she even makes the most mundane thing seem extraordinary. She’s absolutely brilliant! I stifle a giggle as she recounts an antic Brittany does where there’s a photographic evidence of the unaware cheerleader as she tries to feed a piece of melted cheese to her obese cat.

I read through, noting that she too loves Chopin and has learned to adore Sakamoto. I thumb along and come across a page that’s splotchy that there’s an sketch of a woman opening her arms to surrender to the embrace of a winged man. I realize that it’s taken from Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss, by Antonio Canova, a sculpture I once saw in the Lourve. It depicts a beautiful woman in the arms of the angel, Cupid; each lost in each other’s embrace with a thought that resonates exactly what I’m feeling.

“The mind can calculate, but the spirit yearns, and the heart knows what the heart knows”

― Stephen King

“If you think with your head, a heart is just an organ that pumps blood.

But if you think with your heart,

you know that a heart is the core of human existence.

It feels, emotes, and expresses.

With a heart you can perceive, understand, and judge.

Often, a heart is accorded more importance than the brain.

But then, why does my mind fight what my heart wants?”

-- Q

I look quickly checking if she’s woken, lucky for me the girl sleeps like the dead, I muse as I silently close the journal and place it back. The last thing I would want her to think is that I had gone through her private thoughts.

I come closer and grab the edge of the baby pink comforter pulling it over, tucking her to bed. I realize with a dull ache that she’s been crying because I can hear her sniffles and that there’s a drying mark of tears that mar her porcelain skin.

Without thinking I run the back of my hand against her face, as if to wipe them and I feel uneasiness settle knowing that I’m responsible for this episode. She stirs a little but mews against my touch as she sighs contently with a ghost of smile on her face. I comfort myself knowing that at least in her sleep, she doesn’t fight me.

I run another glance at her sleeping form and mutter “I’m sorry for acting like a jerk, baby.” She stirs slightly and mumbles in her sleep saying something about not leaving her. Strange feelings beat inside me as I wonder if this was the exact same way my father felt for my mother.

Instead of pondering such thoughts, instead of complying to her request while she’s defenseless in her sleep, I turn off the night lamp and leave her bedroom, closing the door behind me without looking back.

* * *

Chapter 11

Quinn

I wake up the next morning feeling oddly refreshed. I knew I had been crying the night before due to Iain’s mercurial mood swings and my confused feelings for him. Since that time where I thought he was about to kiss me, he’s been distant and has avoided me the entire evening. That took a toll on me because I had been up the rest of the evening pouring my thoughts on my journal, trying desperately not to think about the handsome young man who was asleep downstairs.

I had dreamt that he had entered my room and tucked me into bed. It’s that feeling one gets when they’re half awake and half asleep and I was almost certain that I heard him apologize for his behavior. Perhaps I dreamt it the entire time, I wasn’t so sure. But what I was certain of was that I wasn’t sure how to approach him giving the awkwardness last night.

As I descend from the stairs. I guess Iain spared me the trouble. I find a letter on the dinner table addressed to me written in bold, cursive, obviously masculine handwriting:

Quinn,

Your dad made me run some errands so I had to leave early. I made you breakfast. Anton will take you to school. He’s waiting outside so please don’t take too long and waste his time.

Iain.

How thoughtful of him, I dismiss the sad feeling gnawing at my nerves thinking that I wasn’t going to see him. With all the confusion, I haven’t told him about Neil. But then I figured I had to earn his brother’s trust first before telling him the news. It could wait till later, I tell myself as I quickly devour the breakfast he’s prepared. I have this feeling Iain isn’t keen on domestic skills, but at least he makes a decent egg and bacon omelet.

Once all is said and done, I take my school bag and go outside and find a man in aviators parked in front of the house......ohmigosh, is that a Bentley Mulsanne?

I find myself looking at a tall young man who looked to be in his late twenties, with a shock of black hair, hard Latin features...Mexican perhaps? He‘s tough and fairly intimidating, but I relax the minute I notice his eyes, they had a kindness about them and looks to be smiling.

“Good morning, Miss Fabray. I’m Anton.” He nods curtly as he opens the back passenger door of the silver luxury car.

“It’s Quinn, please.” I say. No need to be formal, mister. Who the hell is this guy? Sometimes I don’t know Iain well enough to know what he’s been up to and who his friends are and what they’re like.

Perhaps this could be his way of letting me catch a glimpse of his life. He isn’t very good expressing his feelings verbally, so I guess demonstration will have to do for now. And at least, maybe I could get some information from this Anton guy.

Anton is more of the silent type. He drives in utter silence when I break his thoughts.

“I didn’t know Iain had friends here in Lima. How do you know each other?”

“We were team mates in soccer during his time in Stanford. I moved here with my wife and daughter a year ago. I had only known that Iain was here this morning when he called in a favour to ask me to bring you to school because he knows I work as a valet at Courtyard Lima.” He mentions one of the few three star hotels in town. In fact, we don’t even own anything five star here. Though Anton says this to me straight-faced, I get the feeling it’s almost as if he were reciting a prepared speech. Instead of questioning him further, I nod as if this piece of information has appeased my curiosity. Anton visibly relaxes.

I guess he doesn’t like to lie either.

There are things about Iain that don’t add up. First of all, he’s too cultured and educated to be just some musically inclined guy from New York, plus he’s way too arrogant to take orders from anyone that it’s a wonder why he runs errands for my dad who can be overbearing to people he thinks are beneath him, and now this......being dropped off to school in a silver Bentley? I don’t mean to sound snobbish because I can’t imagine anyone in this town would own a car like this, I mean, who in Lima Ohio drives a car that’s over two hundred grand? Sugar Motta gets driven around in a Benz, but this car costs twice. Actually probably more than thrice, as I notice the additional features inside the car. There’s a portable jack where one can plug electronics, a small screen monitor and dvd player, an Apple dock, which I take full advantage of charging my phone. As I open the mini refrigerator, Anton’s voice booms from his side telling me that I can help myself with whatever I wanted. I smile gratefully and grab a Diet Coke and open a box of Truffettes de France Truffles. I’m crazy about those things and it’s a delightful surprise that the fridge happens to have them. I giggle amusingly as I pop a piece in my mouth as I continue to mull over the things about Iain that doesn’t make sense.

Like when I met Anton, he’s formal to the hilt that I get the feeling I’m his employer than just a friend of his friend. Plus, he doesn’t look like the chauffer type either but there’s something about him that can make anyone feel safe when he’s around. Like a bodyguard. And yeah, like I didn’t notice that he wore a gun holster that was barely concealed from his blazer when he assisted me into getting the car. I don’t want to question everything just yet. I want to live in this blissfully ignorant state that for now, Iain is mine and that he isn’t going back to New York soon because he hasn’t found Neil yet.

Neil. I almost blanch because I haven’t told Iain about me meeting his younger brother.

“He’s a good man, Quinn.” Anton interrupts my thoughts as he looks at me briefly at the review mirror as he easily changes gears. I’m a bit puzzled as to why he would say this so brazenly. I barely know the guy, but he seems to know Iain and I don’t know what Iain’s been telling him about me. Not that I care.

Once we reach the grounds of McKinley High, people look at disbelief at the sight of the silver four door Bentley. I ease out before Anton rushes over to open the door for me.

“Thank you for the ride and for the chocolates, Anton. They’re my favorite. Please thank Iain for me too.” I tell him and he looks shocked. He blushes for a moment and nods quickly before he heads off.

“Sweet ride, Fabray.” I hear one of the jocks from the hockey team give that praise. I resolutely ignore him and walk on.

We start the God Squad meeting. I’m being joined by Mercedes, Sam, and this new guy Joe Hart who looks like a teen hippy with his dreadlocks, beat-up sandals, and slightly unkempt clothing that hangs loosely around his reed-thin frame. He sort of came around as a surprise when he asked about the group and I thought it was because he was high from smoking too much weed. It turns out that he was serious and I actually mistook his earthy smell as marijuana from the organic softener he uses on his clothes. I was just as surprised to find out that Joe was formerly homeschooled before his parents decided to let him enjoy life as a regular teenager as a sophomore.

Our session is about to begin when I see Neil poke his head.

“Am I late?” My spirits lift and I see that Neil is dressed in a blue plaid shirt, well worn soft jeans that are strategically ripped at one knee and a pair of beat up Nikes. He looks every bit as handsome and masculine that I tell myself it’s because I’ve missed Iain this morning. Neil is just channeling my frustration with his older brother. I almost I could have imagined Iain if he was younger and much more reckless with bigger biceps.

“No, please join us.” I motion him to sit beside me and Mercedes has this “who is this piece of hunk?” look on her face. Sam looks displeased. We’re still good friends, by the way, and I could tell that he’s pining after Mercedes by the murderous glances he’s giving Neil. Joe seems unaffected by the underlying tension and gives Iain’s brother a welcoming smile.

“Everyone this is Neil. I invited him to join us.”

Everyone murmurs their hellos.

“Neil Sheridan, right?” Sam looks at the newcomer with an air of hostility. He doesn’t carry his father’s surname, I reflect as I watch Neil saunter over to us.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Neil replies, completely looking bored. I’m starting to think that this is a famous Hargreave “I don’t give an eff what you think” counter stance. It works effectively as Mercedes gives Sam a warning look which he relents.

“So tell us, brother Neil why you have come to join our group of praise?” Mercedes asks sweetly, as if giving out amends for Sam’s antagonistic behavior.

Despite of himself, Neil chuckles. “Well, I know it’s hard to believe that someone like me has faith. My family’s originally Catholic and raised me to believe in God. And I do believe in God. I’ve been going through some tough times. Me and my aunt moved around especially in the last couple of months since my mother’s death.”

Mercedes makes an automatic sign of the cross as an act of giving a silent condolence for Neil’s loss. I pray that Iain’s mother didn’t suffer that badly. I knew she died from cancer.

“I’ve been a bit of a jerk too. I didn’t make things easier for my Aunt Luna. She’s already had a lot to deal with, raising me as her own. She has a son from a previous relationship, Julian. He’s autistic, so yeah, it’s been hard for all of us.”

“Don’t you have any other family?”

I already knew that answer, but because Sam asked this, his eyes full of compassion for Neil’s plight. I’ve been given so many graces by God that sometimes I find it so compelling that there are people far worse off than me. After meeting Iain, I realized that there’s this irony that there are those who despite having everything, there are painful tragedies like this that even no amount of money in the world could afford to compensate.

Neil’s eyes harden as he simply answers “No, I don’t.” I feel a chill creep my spine. Did his mother tell him about the divorce? I wonder silently as I listen to him continue.

He shakes his head and lets out a long sigh. “I never knew my father. My mom says that he was a good man and when I was old enough to ask more, she didn’t give me sufficient answers. I don’t even have a picture. I even doubted my mother was telling me the truth; she got knocked up by some complete stranger and was just shielding me from the truth. Then, when I couldn’t ask her, I tried going to Aunt Luna and she wasn’t that much helpful either. I know it’s been really....frustrating not being able to know something about that other half of you. I don’t look anything like my mother. I sure don’t act like any of my other relatives and every time I try to find answers, I get nothing. Add that up with high school drama and teenage angst that is one dodgy mix.” He gives off a lazy half smile and I’m almost tempted to hug him. He clears his throat and cites a passage from a Bible. I’m amazed that he sites this out of memory.

“There’s a reading off Matthew from the New Testament that says: ‘Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.’

So I’ve been doing that, taking things a step at a time. I’ve found myself being much closer to the good Lord who has given me strength when my mom was dying with cancer. I’ve read the Bible to her whenever I got the chance to visit her at the hospital.”

“Praise the word of the Lord for providing us comfort for the sick and our souls,” Joe says nodding with approval.

We all respond with praises.

“It’s like what was written in Psalms 37:5-6: Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him and He will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.” Sam responds, reading off a page from a dog-earned pocket Bible he carries with him all the time during our sessions.

“Commitment to our Lord and God our Father Almighty takes a lot of blind faith, especially during these dark times. But if we persevere we’ll find our way and our prayers will someday be answered. So with this, I pray that you someday will find peace, Neil.” I smile and take his hand.

He looks at me with this odd expression and says nothing.

I really have to find a way for the brothers to meet. I’ve been wondering that perhaps maybe all this time from the time that I had chanced upon Iain in New York and this time that I’ve met him and his brother could God have sent me to serve a purpose to reunite the brothers who have lost so much? I used to think of my faith as sometime routine, my Celibacy Club was, let’s face it, an utter sham so I wouldn’t have Finn sleeping off with some slut when I didn’t put out. But so much has changed after Beth. I had become more considerate and less selfish. And this time, I might have a chance to right the wrongdoings I’ve done in the past by reuniting Iain with his brother.

***

“Hey wait up!” Neil catches up with me in the hall after our God Squad session. I turn around and watch him jog, noting how graceful he is despite his massive size. Apparently klutz is not one of the words found in the Hargreave DNA.

“You were great in there, Neil. I’m really glad you came.”

“Yeah, it was good meeting everyone else. Even that weird guy with the Rastafarian hair is alright,” Neil nods towards Joe’s direction as he passes us by. We murmur our hellos and Neil rivets back his attention, his marble-like sunburst eyes glinting with purpose.

“I believe you owe me a date, Miss Fabray. I’ve come to collect in advance.” He says softly as I can feel him coming in closer. He stops until we’re almost head to head. Actually, it’s more like the top of my head is a little below his shoulders. My heart races nervously as I look again at him. He gives a half-smile and suddenly, I start thinking of Iain and how he does the exact same thing. I realize that when his brother does this, I get weak in the knees, but with Neil it’s different.

“Yes, I guess I do,” I swallow and nod.

“Well, you don’t have to act so nervous about it,” Neil laughs, but he doesn’t realize is that I was thinking about his brother and doing mental comparisons between both of them.

“I don’t do dates.”

He looks stunned. “Why is that?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I guess it has something to do with the fact that I had a pretty rough time in the last two years.” “Somebody hurt you?” Neil asks quietly. We both take a companionable walk together. School is over and because neither one of us brought a car, we decide to hike our way to the Lima Kahlua Bean Coffee Shop. I didn’t think Neil could afford to eat at Breadsticks, so going for coffee seemed like a good neutral ground. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings either because given from what I’ve known, he’s just as proud as his older brother.

I shake my head and let out a long sigh. I tell Neil the whole story of my teenage mommy drama. How I managed to fool my then ex-boyfriend into thinking he was the father. Of the time when my own dad threw me out of the house and that I have lived with three other people unlike Beth’s father while exiled. My parents’ divorce, my sister Fran driving me crazy after she found out her husband was bisexual, my transition from being the It Girl, captain of the Cheerios, to angry bewildered ex-girlfriend, then cutting my hair short and dying it pink, smoking cigarettes and getting a Ryan Seacrest tattoo. I even told him about the time I tried to steal Beth back as Neil listens attentively and quietly. I’ve been talking my head off and haven’t realized that we’ve already made it to our destination. I’m not one who easily shares anything because I have trust issues, but being around Neil made me feel so comfortable that I barely felt the need to draw up any barriers.

He finds us a seat near one of the nicer parts of the coffee shop. He takes off his jacket and places it on the couch.

“You know what you want?” He motions his head across the counter.

“I’ll have a Chai latte with skim milk, thanks.”

“Alright, beautiful. Just sit your pretty little ass there and I’ll go get us our order,” Neil winks at me, his eyes crinkling in amusement as I give him a scolding glance.

I sit back and reflect again on each of the brothers and how different, yet similar they can be. Neil is brash, but I get it that he can also be thoughtful, considerate, and a sensitive person. I recall the way he listened to me talk about my life. There was no pity in his eyes except when he looked furious as I relayed the news about me getting thrown out of the house. He’s quiet, thoughtful and a lot mature for his age, I almost forget that I’m two years older than he is.

His brother, Iain, on the other hand is cool, quiet, refined but also possesses a fiery temperament like a stallion held in check.

Both brothers are drop dead gorgeous, as I note with dismay on how the girls in line eyeball Neil with gusto as he gives his order to the barista, who is a petite blonde blushing furiously from the attention she’s getting from the tall, handsome broad-shouldered muscular god in front of her. With his bronze skin, black spiky hair and eyes which are a stunning myriad of gold and blue, Neil was in fact a gorgeous Greek god.

Zeus comes back juggling my order on one arm as he easily carries his own mug and balances a slice of cake on the other arm.

“Here, let me help you,” I insist as I take my mug as he grins in thanks. He then settles his cake. It’s a huge triple chocolate fudge cake. He plops himself on the couch across me, I smile thoughtfully thinking of the Hargreave boys’ ability to still retain that boyish quality despite their rakish appeal.

“I haven’t had one of these like for the longest time,” Neil starts digging in on his cake as he pops a slice into his mouth. He then closes his eyes and lets out a hum of appreciation, enjoying the fudgy goodness as he playfully licks his spoon and shudders in pure bliss.

“And why’s that?” I laugh and shake my head when he offers to share his cake.

“My Aunt Luna has this thing about organic food,” Neil explains as he takes a long sip of his decaffeinated coffee. “She’s against anything that’s processed, has sugar or preservatives, and all the other good stuff children like. She thinks it makes her son, Tom hyper so we don’t have it at home. Plus she’s a vegetarian, so meat is also definitely off the menu.”

“That must’ve been tough adjusting to a strict regime.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. He tilts his head side to side as he chews on another piece, playing with his cake. He looks like a little boy enjoying his birthday cake. “It wasn’t that bad, at least I never had to worry about getting fat because I eat. A. LOT.” He laughs, emphasizing on his huge insatiable appetite.

I give him an appreciative look over. “And it’s working.”

He lifts part of his shirt halfway to show me his well defined six pack abs.

Holy crap! I fervently remind myself that Neil is just 16 years old. I can’t even recall a time in my life when I had a classmate who was as well formed as he is. I wonder if he works out, I think of Neil inside a gym, but it’s unlikely that he spends his time there. I think to myself that the muscles on his body are related to the fact that he likes to indulge in sports and those rippling pectorals are from all the hard work that’s effortlessly paid off.

“You’re starting to drool, babe.” Neil throws his head back roaring in laughter as he quickly puts back his shirt. “I usually don’t like being ogled at, but for a stunningly beautiful woman, I’ll make a huge exception.”

Has Iain ever told you how beautiful you are? My subconscious sneers as she walks over to caress Neil’s forearm before settling herself beside him, sitting on the armchair as she wraps her arms around him possessively.

“Have you ever considered modeling?” I recover from my reverie as I take another long sip of my Chai latte. It’s cold and was mixed a bit too sweet. I don’t care, just as long as I don’t look at those tempting abs again.

“I used to, actually. We were always on the road before my mom died. I was born here in Ohio, but my Mom and I moved to Covington Louisiana when I was three. We moved out before Hurricane Katrina and lived in New Mexico for a while before settling in LA, which was great because the weather’s just as nice. I also did some modeling there to cover for some of the bills.” He raises an eyebrow when he notices my reaction. “Don’t feel so sorry for me, gorgeous. I can assure you that I was never molested by a creepy pedophile. My Mom and Aunt Luna did some modeling back in their day, so they knew the right people in the business. In fact, if my mom hadn’t been sick, I might have taken up that Ford contract and moved to New York. ”

“Did your Aunt Luna always accompany you and your mom?”

“Yeah, she and mom are twins so they were inseparable. I guess Aunt Luna just couldn’t for any reason leave her alone to fend for me. I guess she’s got some twin’s intuition because she insisted to always stay with us because she knew that there was something wrong with my mom. Mom had this habit of never telling anyone what she was thinking or how she was feeling but somehow Aunt Luna knew. She was there when my mom was diagnosed with Leukemia. That’s why we moved out of Covington because Aunt Luna got a job so we were able to afford the hospital bills and pay for Mom’s treatments. Then when we were living in LA, she ended up having an affair with some D-list celebrity, got knocked up, and had Tom.”

“It must have been really tough.”

“It still is,” Neil runs a hand through his hair and sighs with frustration. “I never had time to think about the superficial things people our age worry about, like what’s considered cool and popular. I had two women depending on me and a baby cousin who is sucked into his own private world. I did things I knew were necessary like providing money to pay the bills even though my mom was fully against it.” He then switches rapidly into another topic, which throws me off course but then again his brother also shares the same habit.

“Do you know that I haven’t eaten anything from a fast food restaurant in, like, almost forever?” he chuckles to himself divulging in a secret as he leans forward conspiratorially. “There was this one time in school when this classmate of mine wanted to go on a diet, so he traded my lunch with a Big Mac meal. I got sick after a few hours and had to go to the bathroom so many times that my teacher got pissed and sent me home. Since then, I’ve had an aversion to McDonald’s like the plague.”

“Did you ever think that it could have been indigestion or maybe it was just a bad burger?”

“It could have been,” Neil rubs his chin thoughtfully. “But I’d rather not take the risk. Aunt Luna’s methods have proven to be quite effective that my stomach is programmed like this for the rest of my life. I guess once you’re used to not having something good, it doesn’t bother you because you don’t know that it’s good. Although there are times where one can have regrets.” He looks at me thoughtfully and I get this weird feeling he’s talking about something other than food.

I look at the time and notice that two hours have already flown by. Oh my, I’ve forgotten about Iain! He must be so worried. I was having such a good time with Neil and I forgot that my phone was still on silent mode; I never even felt it vibrate in my bag. I check my iPhone and see that he’s left five messages and three missed calls and a voice mail. I quickly read them in order.

Quinn, I’ll pick you up at school. Be there in 5 minutes

I’m at the parking lot waiting. Where are you?

Quinn, I’m worried, please reply ASAP.

Your teacher said that you left an hour ago. WHERE ARE YOU?

LUCY QUINN LIZ FABRAY, YOU BETTER PICK UP YOUR DAMN PHONE!!!!

I pale considerably but I also have this urge to laugh hysterically because of his impudent behavior. He’s really worried. After reading his fifth message, I don’t even want to know what he’s left on my voice box. I send him a quick text saying that I’m with a friend and will be on my way home soon. I don’t need him to pick me up everyday like I’m a five year old child. I care take care of myself! But somehow the thought of Iain being angry because he’s worried doesn’t settle in quite well with me. With a resigned sigh, I look at Neil who seems mildly amused by my facial reaction.

“Boyfriend problems?”

“How can you tell that it was a guy?” I sputter and feel embarrassed realizing what I asked came out wrong. Neil starts biting his lip and his eyes are filled with mirth as he squelches the urge to laugh out loud.

“Well, first of all, you look like you’re going to go hysterical so I gather it’s someone who’s really gotten under your skin. Judging by the way you reacted from my stomach display earlier, I can easily deduce that it was a guy. Though I really wouldn’t mind if you liked girls too.” He teased giving me a wink while grinning evilly like some seductive Cheshire Cat. “’I’m open to dating brunettes, by the way.”

I glare at him. Neil suddenly bursts out laughing. His eyes turn misty from all the merriment. I start getting this feeling that I’ve just elected myself as the hired clown for the Hargreave brothers. In all my time at McKinley High, none of my boyfriends were caught laughing in stitches when they were around me. It’s an odd feeling in a good way that I find myself laughing along with Neil.

“For your information, I’m not into that. I was raised Christian and I believe in what the Bible says that God created man and woman because they were meant to fall in love with each other.”

“Relax, babe I was kidding. I just haven’t had the chance to have fun and flirt with someone as gorgeous as you that I was kind of enjoying myself a little too much. So I apologize for being a jerk.” Neil tilts his head and bows it a little as to atone for his quip.

I suddenly get this mental image of Iain entering my room, running the back of his hand against my cheek, apologizing for his rash behavior before tucking me into bed.

“I really should go,” I hastily return my phone and stand to pick up my bag. Neil gently grabs my hand and stops to look at me earnestly.

“Don’t,” he pleads softly. “I meant what I said. I really had fun being with you. I haven’t felt this way for a long time. Can’t you stay a little longer, please?”

I hate to admit that I’m a sucker for the plight of troubled, tormented, handsome alpha males. Including the one sitting across me. I realize that Neil, having had moved from different states most of his life, apart from losing his mother to cancer and juggling high school while taking care of his aunt and cousin with special needs must suffer from loneliness. “I guess we could have dinner at Breadsticks if you’re up for it. My treat too, please I insist. We can use the coupon vouchers I got online. I’ve been dying to try their buffet special and I have an extra coupon because it was a buy-one-take-one offer.” I cut him off quickly when I note that he’s about to object. Neil is a gentleman and would never allow a girl to pay for his meal, but I also know that he’s proud to admit that he couldn’t afford the food there either.

“Plus, they serve free unlimited breadsticks. I know there’s also an option to have them in organic whole wheat.” I added.

“First I get an offer to be with a beautiful woman, then she tells me that I don’t need to pay for the meal and now I can eat unlimited organic whole wheat products.” Neil looked staggered, gratified and impressed. “What kind of a man would I be to turn down such an offer?” He joked dryly.

* * *

Chapter 12

Iain

Where the hell was that damn girl? I pace anxiously around the parked Beetle at the parking lot of McKinley High. I already left her three messages. Quinn could have made five or six rounds around the entire school premises and I was sure to have seen her. I scan across the many faces of America’s future and find none of them satisfactory. I try calling her, but it ends up going to voice mail. I shrug and make my way inside and look for Mr. Schuster. I find myself entering down across the hall inside a room where I find a pert, redhead with huge brown eyes framing her delicate face. I remember her as the school guidance counselor during my short stint in McKinley. The Mousy Redhead. What was her name again?

“Emma,” I announce my presence as I knock on the door. Emma Pillsbury raises her head and gapes at me with those big brown eyes that look ready to pop out of their sockets. I quell the urge to roll my eyes; here we go again. I want to dispel that unbridled admiring look off her face because I have other things to worry that don’t concern her.

“M-m-mister Hargreave!” the mouse squeaks as she quickly stands to greet me. I raise my hand and shake my head, offering her to sit back again. She obeys dutifully and resumes looking at me with those huge saucers. “Can I help you with something?”

I note that the woman has a nervous tick and that this has nothing to do with me because I know that she suffers from an anxiety disorder and has obsessive compulsive tendencies. I remember my first lunch at the cafeteria when I saw her routinely open her lunchbox. It was methodic, strategic, and highly ritualistic. I know this because I’ve seen the same behavior from this rich sheik I met in Dubai with a severe case of msyophobia. That’s fear of germs in layman’s terms.

“Have you seen Will Schuster? I’ve been trying to contact Quinn on the phone and she’s not picking up. I assumed that maybe the New Directions have practice that I’m not aware of?”

It was common knowledge everyone knew I was Quinn’s acting legal guardian, hence I didn’t have to explain why finding her was imperative. I never needed to explain my actions to anyone and I really could fucking care less what everyone else thought

Emma shakes her head. “Will isn’t in school. He called in sick today so there’s another new teacher who’s taken over Spanish class.”

Wonderful. No glee club practice. Since Quinn is no longer a cheerleader where the fuck could she be? The girl doesn’t have a lot of other extracurricular activities except that she has been organizing a Bible study group, so maybe I could find her there.

“Do you know where she holds her Bible Study group with Mercedes and Sam?” I think about her discussing whatever it is Christian kids talk about. Maybe she’s enjoying her time praising God that she lost track of time.

“Yes, it’s just across my room on the other side, but Quinn already left an hour ago.”

I let out an expletive, ignoring Emma’s shocked reaction and quickly stride off the room. I swear a mouthful and pull out the Blackberry and give the angel with blonde hair and sea foam green eyes another call.

It goes back again to voicemail. This time I leave one and I go on full mean, dictatorial tyrant mode.

“Quinn, so help me God for saying this: But where the fuck are you? I’m coming to get you.” I hang up then quickly press a number on speed dial.

“Mister Hargreave?” A feminine voice inquires.

“Nat, I need a tracing on a phone with the following number.” I give out Quinn’s digits brusquely along with her iPhone serial number, one of the perks of possessing an eidetic memory. There’s a long pause for a moment and I can hear from the other line the IT specialist Natasha Chen typing madly against the keyboard. In less than 30 seconds, she relays to me the exact coordinates. “Stay on her and keep me informed.” I tell her curtly before ending the call.

I quickly get on the car and bring out Quinn’s GPS and type on the coordinates given. Turns out Quinn frequents this place a lot because it’s registered under the category: Food, Restaurant, and Dates. Not that I care if the girl was out on a date, but she could at least have been fucking considerate to tell me.

Then I think about all the clowns in school who could have possibly asked her out. The mere thought of makes me sick as I feel wrath pouring like acid on my flesh. I take a deep breath before I turn on the car engine. Then when I hear the beep from my phone, I quickly grab it and read the text message from her.

Sorry I was with a friend. We went out for coffee and I’ll be home soon.

I’ve been worried sick about you and all you can say is that you’re fucking sorry?! I angrily toss the phone to the passenger seat cursing the girl and myself having cared so much.

Already the task has gotten more complicated.

Focus, Hargreave. Don’t let her get the best out of you.

Maybe she really was having a good time with her friends. I try to think of Quinn and who she likes to hang out with while I’m driving and following the coordinates from the GPS. Maybe she went shopping with Mercedes after a God Squad meeting then they ran into Kurt and Blaine and lost track of time.

The phone rings again. I reach for the passenger seat and pick it up.

“Hargreave,” I bark imperiously.

“Mister Hargreave, it’s Natasha Chen. The subject hasn’t moved and is still presently at the same location. You’re fast approaching at a 5 miles radius. Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I dismiss her and return my phone back to the pocket of my blazer.

That’s right, I console myself, focusing on how to get there than worrying about my exasperating little charge.

She’s just having fun. Being a kid, because that’s who she is, my subconscious tells me though I refuse to listen as I pull up in a small bungalow type restaurant.

The place reminds me of a generic Olive Garden with its big wide windows and walls constructed by stone, obviously made of an average type concrete mixed with ablaster to make it look like stone with vines creeping at the sides on the walls painted in mute yellow and green. I’m not a food critic nor do I care about the exterior of the restaurant, it’s just an inherent observation that is a deep seated force of habit thing I do. Profiling things, people, and business ventures is something I commonly do when assessing something that I know is valuable and would produce profit.

But these past few days, I’ve been behaving irrationally like a mad jealous boyfriend all because I’ve been distracted by a beautiful, blonde teen angel with green eyes whom I should know better that she has no present value in engaging into a relationship with me because she is young, inexperienced and is now acting like a spoiled inconsiderate child in need of a good spanking.

I walk inside, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. It’s noisy, crowded, and there’s a large crowd lining across the buffet table. I quickly scan around the group and when I don’t find her, I turn my attention to the seated couple at the far right of the restaurant. Immediately, my heart stops beating for a second as I catch a glimpse of golden honey colored hair framing a beautiful face that’s haunted me during my days, and most especially my nights. She’s talking animatedly to a tall young man with dark hair who reminds me of that Frankenstein ex-boyfriend of hers. Frankenteen, I used to cleverly nickname Finn but right now I really don’t give a damn about him.

I approach slowly, determinedly, and as I grow closer, I see the shocked reaction on her lovely face as she turns ashen. Her eyes have gone wide and she looks about she’s just ready to cry. She mouths something like “oh my God” which I find ironic because I know it’s a sin for Christians to say the Lord’s name in vain.

“Hello Quinn,” I say with dead calm. I usually am good with hiding my thoughts and feelings and this time it’ll serve me good to do so because all I really want to do is grab her by the hair and take a big club and yell ‘ooga booga boo’ and hit her with it before dragging her back to my cave.

If I wasn’t so angry or resentful, I would have marveled at the capability that this girl has over me. I’ve barely been with her for less than two weeks and already I’ve turned into a paranoid, raving jealous Neanderthal.

“Iain,” she says softly. I can tell that she’s nervous but she looks into my eyes as if pleading me to forgive her.

I barely pay attention to the boy opposite her who looks at both of us in stunned silence. His eyes are speculative as he observes the display of fireworks between me and Quinn.

“You didn’t answer my calls so I tracked you down,” I look at her with disdain as I motion her to scoot over. I take my seat beside her and snake my arm around the seat we’re occupying, staking a claim, but my eyes never leave her face as I watch the emotions play on her delicate features.

“Y-y-you were stalking me?”

“You didn’t leave me any choice. I was worried and you weren’t picking up your phone or answering my messages,” I tell her accusingly, trying desperately to keep my emotions in check.

“Iain, this isn’t a good time.” She falters as I continue to stare her down.

The boy across the table clears his throat. I turn around to glare at Frankenteen.

When I do, I see a young man with similar features like mine. He looks just as shocked but covers it immediately with a mask of indifference which I raise an eyebrow in admiration. Just like Dad, I think. I quickly hide my astonishment as I stare into those familiar blue and golden multicolored striking eyes. They’re gray blue around the iris, like mine but with an orange yellow, almost golden concentric ring surrounding mid-peripheral zone of his eyes, giving it a sunburst appearance. It’s a rare form of central heterochromia, and it only runs in one particular line in my family.

Neil Jacob Hargreave looks calm as a dead winter’s night as he regards me in high amusement. The boy is a perfect carbon copy of our father, I note even by the derisive way he’s looking at me. It strikes me odd that I should still be surprised. I already know what Neil looks like from his records given by the hired private investigator and I know that he’s a spitting image of my dad, but seeing him in the flesh with his cat-like eyes glinting with mischief and his crooked smile unnerves me to the core.

“I’ve always imagined our meeting would have been profound or at least poignant to some degree,” Neil’s gritty voice is tinged with part amusement and sarcasm. “But never in my life had I imagined it would involve having to fight for the attention of a beautiful blonde. I’ve always thought redheads and brunettes were more of your type.”

I ignore the obnoxious jibe coming from the rough young arrogant pup. I turn my attention instead at Quinn who is staring at both of us wordlessly.

“How do you two know each other?”

Quinn for the first time is nonplussed. “I—we—“

Neil, though he may be a dickhead, takes mercy on her. “We met at Bible Study.” He explains smoothly.

Now this is shocking news. I turn my head and look again incredulously at my brother. I still haven’t removed my arm from Quinn’s side. She’s moved closer and is now leaning against me as if hoping to gain some inner strength. My dour mood improves slightly but I don’t feel like analyzing why I feel the way I do. I don’t even want to consider why I’m holding her close and unconsciously rubbing her shoulder back and forth with my thumb like I’m comforting her.

Hell, I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous.

Neil rolls his eyes. “Please try not to act so surprised. I maybe poor, proud and a whole bunch of other things, big brother, but our mother didn’t raise me to be an atheist.”

“I’ll let you catch up,” Quinn murmured as she uselessly pushes and tries to pry herself out of my arm.

“Yeah, big brother. Stop holding on to that pretty girl like you’ll never let her go.” Neil chides, but I can see that he enjoys rattling the hell out of me.

I won’t allow him to get the best of me, because I know that he’s been hurt from the after effects of our parents’ divorce, lonely, and he’s taking it out on me because I’m the only target of Hargreave heritage that’s in proximity. His method to shock and annoy all screams teenage angst.

I reluctantly let my arm go and stand so Quinn can move out of her chair. I give her the keys and tell her to stay in the car.

“We’ll talk later,” I promise giving her a stern look that I was serious and meant it. She nods mutely and scurries away.

I watch with dismay as Quinn makes a beeline for the bathroom. Then I turn my attention to my kid brother who’s watching the scene with amusement.

At this point, I’ve given up having to sugarcoat anything. He’s old enough to understand how life works and how to make decisions for himself so giving any nonsense voluntary conversation was moot at this point. It was also worthless to let an awkward silence pass by between two people who want to move forward but aren’t quite sure how to proceed.

Besides, I couldn’t keep Quinn waiting too long for me.

So instead, I try honesty for a change and ask him the first thing I think of.

“How did you know?”

Neil shrugs his massive shoulders nonchalantly. “Five years ago, I did a school project about central heterochromia. Turns out that I have a rare case and it only runs in a certain genetic line. You’re not the only computer hacking genius in the family, so I did my research. I went through several records and, boom. I found Dad who has eyes exactly like mine. Since I look a lot like him, it was easy to put two and two together.”

“Then why didn’t you come forward?”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffs. “What was I going to do? Walk into one of the Hargreave mansions and make a huge spectacle of myself? Sell my story to the tabloids? Who was going to believe me?”

“I would have.”

“Well it’s too late for that now. Besides, I knew it would’ve broken Mom’s heart.”

I agreed. “Mom would have never wanted you to resort to anything so low.” “I’m surprised that you aren’t angry with her for what you thought she did to Dad.”

“Neil, I’m not one to judge so quickly. I got my facts straight and have this theory of what really happened after the divorce.”

I recount to him the details of the proceedings. How our mother had serenely signed the papers and quietly left. How our father came back to get her, only to be filed a restraining order by the same woman he wronged.

“He was devastated,” I say quietly, my mouth forms a grim line. I shake my head at the memory of how my father grieved for her. “For a long time he was despondent and wouldn’t talk to anyone. I tried to cheer him up, but it was hopeless. He was sad and buried himself to work. Whenever he remarried, he’d find something wrong in the relationship and cut off ties.”

“He could’ve written a damn letter.”

“He tried, Neil,” I interjected. “It was the only form of communication he had left after the restraining order. Despite even that, it all came back as ‘return to sender’. He even knew about the times when you moved from Ohio to settle in Louisiana. When he died in that plane crash, he even knew about New Mexico.”

“Did he ever ask…..about me?” Neil asked dazedly, his expression guarded as he turns his attention to his water glass.

I let out a long sigh and shook my head. “I can imagine he knew about you.” I admitted. “Which explains why he went to Ohio because he wanted to, so to speak, bury the hatchet.”

“When was this?”

“Around a year after the divorce, before the restraining order.” I watch Neil as a myriad of emotions cross his face. I could tell that the emotional chain reaction was now beginning to settle in. He tries to keep an impassive mask, but I know he’s struggling. He’s as tough, but I’m sure as hell that he wasn’t going to cry either. It’s part of the Stuart trait, because being Scottish we’re too proud, arrogant and tough. I then try to soothe the young man by getting more to the point.

“Doesn’t it strike you odd that our own mother would file a restraining order against our father?”

“She was angry, that’s understandable.”

I shake my head. “Think about it, Neil. Think very hard. I may have been a child when this happened, but I remember her. She was kind and never liked to hurt anyone’s feelings. People who remember her loved her, others envied her because not only was she beautiful, but she had a heart of gold. I also know she would have done anything, given up everything to give you the best and make you happy. She loved our father very much which was why she never remarried either.”

I look directly at Neil and he ponders for a moment, considering the ramifications of everything I’ve told him.

“I know it must be hard for you. I know that Mom must have kept you in the dark and how much of a struggle it must have been for you to want to know the truth and to be the only one to take care of her before she passed on.” Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to say the words that our mother was dead.

“I’m telling you now that he did care and more importantly, he cared about you. There’s more that you need to hear, which was why I came to Ohio to find you. Before he died, he hired a lawyer to create an addendum to his will. Kind of an unforeseeable reason that he drew it up a few weeks before his death. You were included in it. All his assets, he bequeathed it to you. He kept it under tight wraps that you weren’t going to be contacted until you reached your 18th birthday. Nobody in our family knows about the will. I only found out last month after I began my search to find you when I saw Aunt Luna’s picture on the news.”

“He left everything to me?” Neil asked incredulously.

“He did,” I answered. “Neil, I don’t need his money. I have more than enough to last me ten reincarnations as a billionaire.”

“I heard about the profits you made out of Grandfather’s inheritance.”

I smile impishly. “It drove his financial officers crazy. But Pop trusted me to use it freely, under close supervision of a trusted adviser and miraculously, I thrived.” I nod as if stating the obvious. “Someday, you’re going to do the same thing too. Make something out of yourself. That was our father’s gift to you.”

Neil nods slowly, digesting the new information. His eyebrows furrow in deep thought, and I get this image of my father with the same expression on his face as his sits on his office table concentrating on one of his files.

“Aunt Luna,” Neil says after a long pause then shakes his head bitterly. “She filed the restraining order.”

That was the answer I hoped to hear. I nod my head.

“Now it all makes sense,” he says softly. I listen as he recounts to me the story when they moved to Ohio. How Aunt Luna had followed them around until my mother’s death. That she had been in a relationship with a married district attorney in Ohio and the possibility that she had acted with that lawyer to file the restraining order.

“Then when Mom was sick, she took care of her.” Neil laughs bitterly. “She felt fucking guilty after what she had done to us and took it on herself.” He looked thoughtful for a while. “She must have also returned the letters as well. She’s a damn good actress too and because she looks so much like her, anyone could have been fooled thinking it was Mom who filed the restraining order.”

“It would be so convenient to hate her,” I remark dryly as I squelch the bile that rose to my throat when I notice Neil go from ashen to furious. “But people are complicated. There’s good and bad. Then there are those in between—like Aunt Luna. Flawed, imperfect people who’ve made terrible mistakes.”

Neil exhales and collects himself. “What are we going to do?”

“Well, we’re just going have to plan things accordingly. I need to make sure that you’re ready to move out and live with us.”

“I’m more than ready,” Neil says determinedly. “I’ve been waiting for this all my life.”

“There’s one more thing you need to know: Derek and Lisa Hargreave were in love despite their differences. She was a beautiful small town girl and he was a wealthy sophisticated man. I wouldn’t be surprised if that made Aunt Luna jealous because we both know her history with the men in her life. When the scandal broke, she thought she was doing the ‘right thing’ by filing a restraining order, pretending to be Mom. I could imagine she thought she could have something to gain thinking if she could ‘seduce’ dad and have him for herself. Or maybe she truly wanted to protect her twin from Dad because he hurt her then when she realized it was a stupid error on her judgment, she tried to make amends by sticking around, hoping that she could contact our father. I don’t know Aunt Luna that well, but like again, what I said. Not everything’s written in black and white and it’s all in different shades of fucked up.”

“That would make sense,” Neil agreed. “She did try to get in touch with him, but was never able to. I remember seeing some long distance calls made to New York and London in one of our phonebills before Dad’s death.”

“And then what happened?” “Nothing. I guess he saw through her and told her off. Because, I remember plying her questions about the phone calls and who she was calling. She told me to forget it and called him a bastard.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Dad never liked her. I think he tolerated Luna because she was Mom’s sister.”

“Isn’t it odd that they’re twins and complete personalities apart?”

“Yeah, our mother was a saint and Luna is the spawn of Satan.”

That got a laugh from Neil. I find myself laughing at the hilarity of it all. Despite the pain and the grief our family endured, I realized that I didn’t have to play a stranger with Neil and form a bond, because it was already there.

“Look, we’ll discuss more tomorrow. I already sent word to Anton and he’ll bring you home.” “You brought along your bodyguard?”

“It’s mandatory,” I tell him. “It’s for safety precautions and all other accouterments that come along with being a Stuart Rolfe Hargreave. You’ll get used to it.”

“Didn’t you live in England for a while before Harvard? It’s amazing that you never acquired the accent.”

“I never forgot I was American,” I answer honestly.

“One more thing,” Neil interrupts as I am about to stand up.

I raise my eyebrow.

“About Quinn…” “Yes?” I ask testily.

Neil bursts out laughing. “Now, I may not have known you that long Big brother, but you’re not scaring me one bit. Your intimidation tactics might’ve worked well with those sissy high powered suits, but you don’t fool me. I’m so glad that we never grew up together because now that I’m bigger than you, you won’t be able to kick my ass with what I have to say.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try,” I growl as I resume back on my seat across my impertinent younger sibling. “But please, do go on.”

“I don’t like it one bit. She has no clue who you really are, does she?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, I think it should be,” Neil disagrees. “Because I happen to like her.”

“Well, you can’t have her.” I blurt out suddenly as my eyes draw into dangerous slits. Fury shoots up my nervous system before I have a chance to think that I might be overreacting.

“Now you’re acting possessive. You like her; she likes you, what’s holding you back?”

“She’s a child, Neil.”

“She was just as old as mom when she married Dad.” He points out dryly. “I remember him being around your age too.” He then scratches his chin thoughtfully. “You know, Quinn does kind of remind me of her. Sweet, blonde, tough on the outside, all sugary on the inside--“

“That’s enough,” I command harshly.

“It’s imperative that you’re going have to tell her sometime, big brother. I’m surprised that she hasn’t gone around asking questions about the whole thing, but maybe she doesn’t want to know either.” Neil scratches his head thoughtfully as if pondering on the possibility.

He quickly clears his throat and looks me in the eye, his voice dead serious.

“If ever you do come around confessing, it isn’t going to matter to her. She’s crazy about you, obviously. She won’t care about your annual net worth, she’ll probably even overlook the fact that you used to be a reckless playboy billionaire tycoon or maybe she’ll even give you hell about that which will probably be so much fun to witness. I hate to admit this but it’s a real trip watching the two of you. I take it you’ve noticed the fireworks whenever you two come in close contact? She’s jumpy when you’re around. She never acts like that, even around me. She keeps this mask on school like she’s the beautiful perfect untouchable teen queen, but I know it’s all a ruse because deep down inside, she is more than beautiful and perfect: she’s also sweet, sensitive, and damn funny when she wants to be.”

Neil pauses to catch his breath and continues.

“I’m sure as hell you’ve noticed too, given your record that you’ve dated the world’s hottest women on the planet. You could have had your pick of women and here you are, acting like you can’t get enough because you can’t keep your eyes and hands off her. Hell, you even dress alike which is by far the creepiest shit I’ve ever seen.” He nods at the red and black checkered shirt I’m wearing underneath my blazer. Quinn was wearing a similar patterned jacket over her cream dress. It was purely out of coincidence because I had left the house early for a meeting in Arizona. I had taken a plane flight and had just come back in time to pick up Quinn.

I didn’t want to admit to my brother that I do notice the fireworks. The same electric feeling whenever she’s near or that I can be so in tune with her thoughts even though she’s never vocalized them out loud. I’ve heard from various people that she’s difficult to read, but I find her reactions quite obvious and equally refreshing. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived in a more sophisticated, complex world where I’ve played the guessing game so many times, in many various forms that I’ve grown tired and despondent for the past few years. From the time I’ve met Quinn in a lobby and see her vulnerabilities; it draws me to her like never before. I lost her and find her again in less than a year, live with her for less than 4 days, have her play a vital role in building a broken relation that lasted for almost 17 years, and now this. For some inexplicable reason, I’ve come to this conclusion that Quinn was perhaps the best thing that’s ever happened to me for I’ve finally found a purpose in my life. That was to make someone’s life better.

Starting with my brother.

Who knows how many more lives I could help out? I’m on a roll at this point.

“Well?” Neil raises an eyebrow.

“Well, what?”

“Think about what I said. Quinn is a smart, beautiful, fine young woman who’s obviously in love with you. I know we’ve all got some shit baggage from our past but someday, you’re going have to figure out what’s stopping you from loving someone like that because she won’t be the kind that’ll hang around if you don’t love her back.”

“And your point now is?” because I just had a feeling that my brother was going to suggest something more.

“So is she fair game? Because if you don’t want her, I do.”

“Get over it.” I command arrogantly and my voice goes hard. I glare at my brother and Neil suddenly bursts out laughing, shaking his head in hilarity as pure gales of mirth eliminate the tense mood that enveloped us earlier. I surprisingly find some amusement in this and give him a smirk.

“Just so you know,” he says when he finally calms down. “I was the first one she asked out on a date.”

“I’m assuming this is one of those coupons vouchers she bought online? They’re useless. It was a scam.”

Neil’s eyes widen in astonishment. “Do you keep records of what she browses online?”

“Just the payments she’s made. The company has already given her a refund on her debit card. Please don’t tell her about it, because she’ll be mortified and go all melodramatic.”

“You’re acting like a stalker, Iain.” It’s the first time Neil addresses me with the nickname I’ve only reserved for my family to call me. To the rest of the world, I was Max Hargreave, CEO and multibillionaire.

“I haven’t been myself for these past few days either.” I admit.

“Heaven help me if I ever end up losing my balls over a beautiful woman.” Neil rolls his eyes. “You should have seen yourself earlier when you first saw her with me.” Neil snickers, savoring the memory as if divulging on a private joke where he’s the only person who knows the punch line. “You looked right about ready to kick my head in the trash bin. You might have even succeeded if I was somebody else.”

I don’t answer him. I’m through with this useless discussion. Neil raises an eyebrow and takes in a deep breath. I don’t even understand my own reaction to my brother’s admission that he wanted Quinn. I was furious, hell, I’m still pissed. So why do I care if my brother likes her just as much? He’s about the same age as she is, albeit a few years younger. Quinn always has this habit for dating naïve idiots anyway and given Neil’s age and inexperience, he’d be the perfect candidate. So why does this even matter to me? Because the mere thought of anyone---but myself---touching her sets my blood boiling.

I notice my brother looking at the bill the waiter leaves on the table. His brows furrow as he settles it on the table and before he reaches in his pocket for his wallet, I interrupt his thoughts.

“Relax, little brother, I got this covered.” I fish down the pocket of my blazer and pull out two hundred dollar bills and place it on the tab like spare change.

“But I didn’t get to pay—“ Neil stammered.

“You can keep the Bentley to compensate for your ‘loss’.”

Neil’s eyes suddenly glow in merriment when he turns around and sees the silver Mulsanne parked. “Really? That’s mine,” he blows out a long whistle. “I can definitely get used to that.”

“That’s not all you’re going to get used to.”

“Is Genevieve really that scary in person as they say?”

“She makes Genghis Khan look like a Golden Retriever,” I answer dryly.

“I heard there’s a sister too. Chelsea, right?”

“You’ll meet them soon.” I promised.

“Oh, and another thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Just remember that I was the bigger man to walk away from Quinn.”

“I should hate you.”

“But you don’t,” Neil points out merrily. “You can’t help yourself.”

I let a long sigh of exasperation as I run my hand through my hair. I was going to have to get used to having a younger brother. I wonder if there’s a manual out there in dealing with one.

* * *

Chapter 13

Quinn

“Well,” Iain said once we return to my house as we walk our way up the path to the front door. “That was interesting.”

We’ve driven inside the car in utter silence. I can’t believe he’s calm the entire time. I knew he was furious when he discovered me and Neil together, but now he acts like as if nothing’s happened. While waiting for him as I was told to do, I sat silently at the car, worrying about the confrontation and how he was going to manage with Neil around. I remember restraining myself from getting out of the car just to check how they were doing. Doesn’t anything ever faze him, I wonder sullenly. The man reunited with someone from his past and he’s acting like as if he just visited an old friend. Surely, somewhere inside him he has got to feel something….or remotely anything.

Suddenly, inexplicable rage pours out of me. I was never the confrontational person, or violent but something red-hot just snapped inside me and I needed a good venting.

Iain turns and was about to ask me something, but he never gets anything out as I launch myself at him, catching him with a headbutt to the stomach and he gives out a grunt. If he had anticipated this move, he would have definitely easily fought me off, but my inner queen bitch nods with satisfaction as I catch him by surprise, knocking him off balance. He trips and I follow, shoving at him until we’re both at the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asks as he winces, recovering from the pain of the impact as I’m sprawled on top of his lean, muscular body.

I barely take notice because I’m angry. “How could you be so cold, callous and uncaring?” I shriek.

“What are you talking about?”

“You just met your brother, whom you never knew existed until a few months ago. The only emotion you’ve shown was anger because you were worried where I have been, and here you are acting like you could care less that you’ve met Neil? Do you possess any feelings at all? Or is your heart made out of stone?”

I begin whacking him on the chest with my fist.

That felt good.

I do it again.

“Ow! Will you quit doing that,” Iain glares at me when he grabs my arm. I’m too pissed to notice that his grip is surprisingly gentle albeit firm.

I try doing it with my other free arm. “He was alone!” Whack. “He took care of your mother.” Whack. “Until the day she died, he was there with her.” Whack. Whack. “Don’t you miss her at all?” Whack. Whack. Whack. “How could you not feel anything after all that?” Whack. Whack. Whack.

He tries to catch the other swinging arm, but I’m too quick for him.

“Oh, so this is about Neil?” Iain asks flatly. His voice has taken a hard edge at the mention of his brother’s name. If I wasn’t so frustrated with him, I would have realized that Iain sounded jealous and was resentful that I was considering his brother’s feelings than his.

“No, you idiot!” I yell as I whack him again at the chest. “This has nothing to do with your brother.”

“Then would you mind telling me why you’re so angry? Stop hitting me, it’s not going to accomplish anything.”

He finally succeeds and grabs the other arm. I find myself flipped on my back with Iain on top of me. In this bizarre turn of events, Iain grins unexpectantly. It’s the look on his clean-shaven face that stops me momentarily. The expression transforms him. Before he had been handsome in a stern, intimidating way, but now he looks boyish and disheveled as a lock of black-brown hair now falls carelessly on his forehead. I bleakly think of how many women would voluntarily drop their panties over that grin.

I start to feel a bubble of panic rise, as I try to knock him off, but it’s completely futile as he has pulled my arms over my head, imprisoning my wrists with one hand, while the other supporting his weight. I’m acutely aware of this uncompromising position now that we’re face-to-face and I swallow hard upon the realization of our almost intimate posture. Even though I’m acutely aware that he’s heavy and half-squeezing the life out of me with his weight, my heart starts pounding crazily as I take in the smell of him mixed with that heady combination from his expensive after shave, the smell of fresh cut grass, and the blue sky floating dreamily above us.

“Let me up…..now!” I demand as I fight, struggle, writhe, and squirm, feeling the panic attack rising again when I notice his gaze intensifying, his pupils dilated. He isn’t breathing hard as he holds me helplessly in this position. When I realize that he isn’t going to do anything, I finally stop.

“You ready to talk?” He asked, but I could swear his voice sounds hoarse.

“Don’t you feel anything at all?” I ask softly. “If it were me, I’d be shouting my head off, with all this frustration and crazy that’s gone by for sixteen years. I’m mad, Iain. I’m angry for your behalf because I’m your friend and I…care about you.” I can’t bring myself to admit that I feel more than that. I add hastily, avoiding the topic. “I’m also hurt that you won’t let me in on what you’re thinking; I thought that’s what friends do, tell each other things about themselves because they trust each other. But here you are, acting cold, unfeeling like you don’t care and it’s….tearing me apart.” I turn my head because I don’t want him to see the tears welling up my face. “I’m not supposed to care, Iain but I do. I know that you aren’t willing to share everything that’s ever happened to you, because that’s who you are, but can’t you at least let me in?”

There’s a long sharp intake of his breath. I realize that I’m finally getting through to him. Sometimes, I swear for a remarkably smart man, Iain can be so obtuse. He’s probably been thinking that I was worried about Neil’s feelings, when it was him I worried about most. I couldn’t bring myself to admit that even while I spent time with his charismatic, charming brother, he was all I could think about from that time at the coffee shop to Breadsticks when he saw us.

“When I was few years younger than Neil, I got into a lot of brawls.” He said quietly. I barely notice that he’s let go of my wrist and moves slightly to adjust his weight despite not moving elsewhere as he stares down looking at me. There’s an contained expression on his handsome features as if he’s just analyzing his thoughts for the first time. “I was pretty pent-up all the time so I picked fights with anyone at anytime. I didn’t care if they were bigger or they were more in number than I could handle. I was angry and wanted to do serious harm. I’d come home with black eyes and a cut lip. It drove my father and great-grandmother crazy. I was almost expelled at one of my former schools.”

“When was this?” “Early teens. They immediately sent me to Scotland to deal with my drama.”

“How did you overcome it?”

He smiles bitterly at the memory of it. “I had a teacher, a former military man, who saw I had potential when it came to contact sports so he made me join the varsity football. Plus he made me do crazy army drills like as if it were juvenile boot camp; I also learned how to play rugby and martial arts during my stay there. I was a natural at soccer, but my great-grandmother would never allow me to play professionally.” He snickers at the memory. “You should see how the Scots play football. It can get pretty out of control sometimes that survival is a necessity than scoring a goal,” he jokes chuckling at the memory.

“Did you find some other way to vent your anger?”

“I did some target shooting too.” Iain added. “I think all the gun powder and deafening sounds made me lose my frustration all together.”

“Are you going to let me up now?” I’m now highly aware that we’re still lying on the ground. I want to move as far as possible away from him as I can. It’s hard to imagine that Iain was the brawling type. My heart goes out to the image of a young dark-haired pre-teen who was helpless, angry, and confused. Not to mention lonely, having to live a life without his mother who was a thousand miles away and a father who was barely there when he was hurt and needed him the most.

Plus, I was finding it harder to concentrate. With my anger dissipated, all I now feel is something close to yearning. To run my hand against that unruly lock of hair, to feel that hard, freshly shaven angled face on my hand. I felt a small ache running through my heart imagining Iain as a young boy coming home with a bruised eye and cut lip

“Depends if you’re going to hit me again.” He says dryly as he looks at my lip, which I know is quivering with something related to excitement. He reluctantly lets me up, but his eyes have a dark shimmer to them and I imagine for a second that he’s feeling the same surge of desire I felt earlier. I shake my wayward thoughts as he rolls away and sits up, offering me to do the same. We sit side by side together in silence as we look at the sun set on my front lawn.

“I was resentful for a long time,” Iain says quietly after a long companionable stillness. “I blamed my dad, my mom, and even myself for everything that happened. I blamed my dad for being too proud for not being able to get her back; I blamed my mother for being helpless and not doing anything to stop my great-grandmother from sending me to live with her in England. For a while, I even thought that maybe I was to blame for their divorce.”

“Iain, it wasn’t your fault. You were a child.”

“I know that now,” he agrees, his voice solemn. “It just got to a point that I was so tired of being angry that when I was old enough, I forced myself to stop with the nonsense. I did just that, accepted the things I couldn’t change and moved on. Since then, I haven’t shown any form of extreme emotion. So forgive me if you think I’m a cold, heartless clout.”

“I’m sorry,” I say honestly, putting my hand on his arm. He rewards me with a careless half smile and holds my hand by giving it a firm squeeze.

He shakes his head. I’m acutely aware that he has made no effort to retract his hand. “No, you were right to call me out on my bluff. I should have considered Neil’s feelings as well. He’s a remarkable kid. Mature for his age, bright, insightful, and a hell of a lot more selfless than I was when I was his age. He looks and reminds me a lot of my father. It’s a shame they never met. If there’s anything that I feel towards this….it’s regret.”

“What are you going to do about it? I mean, the whole thing with Neil and everything else?”

He lets a long exasperated sigh. “It’s going to be a shock. The rest of my family doesn’t know because my father kept his will and Neil’s identity a secret. He left a clause specifically not informing everyone that he wasn’t to be contacted until he reached 18 years old. I found an article about my mom’s twin some months ago and had I not been as persistent, I wouldn’t have known about him either.”

“So what happened to your father’ assets? Surely there would have been questions about father’s will?”

“He gave some to charity. He invested a company that was in mass producing spy cameras so that was a booming business, but he left a quarter to be handled by his trusted employees and financers, while the rest, he invested in other stock, which now Neil currently will inherit. So when he died, his company ran just as efficiently and managed to go on even without him.”

“Iain?”

“Yes?”

“There are things about you that I know you’re not ready to tell me. I understand why you hesitate in doing so, but I thank you for at least letting me in some part of your life.” I tell him quietly.

It’s the truth.

I already knew the minute Iain stepped in our house that he came from money. Actually, I knew it the minute I saw him at the lobby in the Intercontinental, looking like a handsome, worldly, young prince dressed in expensive designer clothes. For a while, I had been dying to ask him about who he was, but I realize that he’s already showing that side of him that I’ve never known which I find far more valuable than his money. This part of him is what I found most attractive and endeared him further to my heart. He’s sensitive, sometimes a bit moody and unpredictable, but that excites me like no other, he also has a kind heart, seeing how considerate he’s been with Neil. I noticed how his younger brother goaded him into a fight, but Iain remained composed and collected like a dignified diplomat. There were times when he allows himself to show me his vulnerability that I could catch that glimpse of the young boy who eagerly played the piano and the angry teenager who blamed himself for what transpired between his parents’ marriage.

Iain looks at me wordlessly. He looks nonplussed as he stares with this unreadable expression on his face. I excuse myself and go back to the house to collect my thoughts and give us some distance. When I’m inside, I glance at the window and look again at the front lawn where Iain and I tussled earlier. He was still sitting where I left him. He appears pensive and has the loneliest expression on his face. I would’ve comforted him, but right now I’m confused by my own emotions and the gravity of what transpired today that I leave him and march straight to bed.

The next two days pass by with a blur. I avoided Iain deliberately because I saddened by the idea that I knew the inevitable was coming to a close. He was everything I wanted, but I knew it was impossible to have him. It was because I knew I had a life ahead of me and pursuing a relationship with someone who obviously couldn’t commit either was fruitless. Plus, I didn’t want to miss him too much either.

My mother and Fran would be returning from their trip in less than three days so I busied myself with my scholarship application, doing more research about Yale, studying for my finals, devoting my time to God squad and Glee club. I even tried convincing Sue Sylvester for another try at Cheerios which she relented saying that she would consider it. I would only come down and eat breakfast, only to be driven by Anton, whom I already suspected worked for Iain. Anton would glance at me in silence with a questioning look on his face, which I ignored as well. Then, at dinnertime, I would carry a tray up to my bedroom and spend the rest of the evenings upstairs studying for my finals. Iain was pretty much MIA as well, because he was busy arranging what I was thinking was a reunion involving introducing Neil with the rest of his family.

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