#someone is obviously trying to relive her glory days from two years ago
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Rush Clovis was not, by any means, the injured party in his fight with Anakin Skywalker! He was forcing Padme to kiss him, and Anakin was just defending her! And, since you defend Clovis after he attempted such a heinous act of sexual violence against a woman, you donât deserve to call yourself a woman! You Kenobists disgust me to my very soul!
Oh wow. Gee whirlickers. I wonder which of Anakin Skywalkerâs anal suppositories inserted this in my mailbox. The writing style is sooooooo unidentifiable. Whatever shall I do.
In case you couldnât tell (and knowing you, DominaâŠyou canât), that last paragraph was blatant sarcasm.
The last I checked, it was more than two years ago that this particular argument ended, and there hasnât been hide nor hair of you seen in the Star Wars fandom since Rings of Power came out. Is the LotR fandom no longer responding to your incessant drama-mongering, Your Highness? Is that why youâre trudging up ancient history in a fandom so far beneath your standards as Star Wars?
Well, Your Worship, Iâll bite, just this one time. I have never, not even once, asserted that Rush Clovis was the injured party in that fight. I have only ever said that Anakin Skywalker is ALSO not the injured party.
The injured party is PadmĂ© Amidala. Who was nearly kissed against her will (and yes, that is tantamount to attempted sexual assault). Who was sure that her beloved husband would come to her defense and stop the assaultâŠonly to have Anakin look her in the eye with disgust and say, âYOU have NO say in this!â
Anakin was not fighting to protect Padmé. He was trying to punish her, for something that was not her fault.
He SHOULD have defended her, yes, but instead he treated her like a cheater and a traitor, AND put her mission in considerable jeopardy. If Anakin had kept his head and non-violently escorted Clovis out of the apartment after the kiss was broken, Clovis might have believed PadmĂ©âs argument that she and Anakin were just friends. Instead, he fell for Clovisâs obvious bait into a fight, which told Clovis all he needed to know: that PadmĂ© was in love with someone else, and that she was only dating Clovis to spy on him. And that forced Clovis to accelerate his plans against the Republic, leading to him desperately putting a gun to PadmĂ©âs head the very next episode.
Anakin did not defend PadmĂš. All he accomplished by beating the shit out of Clovis was putting PadmĂ© in more danger. And if I had been PadmĂ©, Iâd have dumped his ass permanently.
Thatâs my last word on the matter. Now fuck off and get a paying job, Domina, if you can.
#âAnonâ ask#tragicfantasy-girl#someone is obviously trying to relive her glory days from two years ago#good grief#get a life#get a hobby#get a boyfriend#go back to Twitter X#Anakin Skywalker#Rush Clovis#Padme Amidala#fandom wank#anti anidala
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This post contains my liveblogged thoughts about the prologue and first chapter of Rhythm of War that was released on Tor today. Spoilers, obviously.
Rip Navani
Minor Aesudan lore, yay
Boxes of spren? What the fuck?
Angerspren, like boiling blood, began to well up in a small pool at her feet. Calm, Navani, the rational side of her mind said.
Whatâs that theory that Navani is gonna be a Dustbringer because she finds order in chaos or something?
I wonder if the border dispute and misdrawn maps are relevant as anything other than a source of conflict.
Today, sheâd do her jobâthough a part of her felt like an impostor. However prestigious her ancient lineage might be, her anxiety whispered that she was really just a backwater country girl wearing someone elseâs clothing.
Inch resting....
âââŠBeing able to bring them back and forth from Braize doesnât mean anything,â one said. âItâs too close to be a relevant distance.â
âIt was impossible only a few short years ago,â said a deep, powerful voice. Gavilar. âThis is proof. The Connection is not severed, and the box allows for travel. Not yet as far as youâd like, but we must start the journey somewhere.â
A box again. Iâm guessing this is one of the âboxes of sprenâ from earlier, though why Kris would tell Aesudan is beyond me. And we know Gavilar captured a Voidspren, so Iâm guessing that âthemâ refers to Voidspren, which were trapped on Braize. But what the fuck? Braize is âtoo close to be a relevant distance,â if Iâm reading the antecedent correctly. Where the fuck are they trying to go???
The king was speaking with two men that Navani vaguely recognized. A tall Makabaki man with a birthmark on his cheek and a shorter Vorin man with a round face and a small nose.
So Gavilar was meeting with Nale and whoever the other guy is. Which means that Nale knew about the Voidspren, yet was killing nascent Surgebinders anyway?
The Vorin man wrung his hands, reminding Navani of the palace steward, though this man seemed much younger. Somewhere⊠in his twenties? Maybe his thirties? No, he could be older.
Interesting. Navani is having difficulty placing this man. Weâve seen this with I think both Vasher and Vivenna on Roshar, where people arenât sure exactly how old they are. I am not sure what to make of this.
Plus, you need to know that another of us is here tonight. I spotted her handiwork earlier.
Hmm. âOf usâ makes me think that he means of him and Nale, which means heâs a Herald. Has this been established yet? I canât remember. And Iâm betting the woman is Shalash.
âI want out. This is the only wayâŠâ
Okay, so this guy who is probably a Herald thinks that whatever Gavilar is doing is the only way out of being a Herald, Iâm guessing? I am starting to think that maybe my theory that Taln was murdered (not that he gave in) has some more merit...
âI believe I have managed to soothe Amaramâs pride. He might take [Jasnah] back, and her time is running out.â
HA HA GET FUCKED AMARAM
Also, Gavilarâs a fucking asshole to Navani. No wonder she was fine with marrying Dalinar. Heâs an absolute sweetheart compared to Gavilar, even as a drunk.
âI have discovered the entrance to the realm of gods and legends, and once I join them, my kingdom will never end.â
Cool so weâve got what, megalomania? And âthe realm of gods and legendsâ well that fucking narrows it down. Is he referring to Braize? The Cognitive Realm? The Spiritual Realm? What he thinks are the Tranquilline Halls?
What was she doing? Praying for her husbandâs death?
Holy fucking shit. Navani sure got what she wished for. I bet thatâs gonna eat at her.
Anyway, on to Chapter 1. Weâve got the five narrators listed. Kaladin (thank goodness), Shallan, Navani, Venli, and Lirin. An interesting mix. This narrows down the main narrator to be either Navani or Lirin. I guessed maybe Navani, but Lirin was never on my list. Darn. I guess this means Iâve lost the bet with myself that Lopen is the main narrator. Ah well. Ngl though, I am very intrigued to read from Lirinâs POV, especially when he interacts with Kaladin. Heâll be the first person weâve read from who knew Kaladin before he went off to war.
Also, probably wonât liveblog this chapter much, since Iâve already read it.
Lirin sensed a search for identity in the way Abiajan and the other parshmen acted. Their accents, their dress, their mannerismsâthey were all distinctly Alethi. But they grew transfixed whenever the Fused spoke of their ancestors, and they sought ways to emulate those long-dead parshmen.
I have the feeling this is going to be vital to Venliâs storyline. The singers only hold loyalty to the Fused, but I donât know how far that will go. And we know that Venli began to tell of the listeners at the end of Oathbringer - which is probably a closer identity to theirs than the ancient Fused, who are still probably reliving their glory days (the sane ones, at least).
Ah man. I canât wait for the next chapter to find out what happens.
#stormlight archive#stormlight spoilers#rhythm of war#anecdotes by peachdoxie#peachdoxie liveblogs stormlight
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Blast from the past
This is another @spngenrebingo fill and is the kinda, sorta sequel to black ink and little lies , though hopefully Iâve written this well enough that it makes sense as a stand-alone story :) this starts out from Deanâs POV and then switches to the readerâs.
Word count: 1,155
Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, Lucas (OMC), Michelle (OFC), Sandra (OFC - mentioned), Leah (OFC - mentioned)
Warnings: someoneâs a bit of a dick (not our Winchester boys though), mild swearing, mild description of previous injuries
Square filled: The Ex
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âOK, two beers, two shots. Kitchen closes in an hour, so if youâre hung- dammit, Sammy. What are you doing on that laptop now?â I mutter as Sam slowly drags his eyes away from the screen.
âGet this...â
âNo. Weâve done three cases in two weeks. I wanna get back home, eat pizza and work on my Baby. Thereâs plenty of other hunters who can take this job youâve found on.â
âBut itâs two towns over...â Sam tries, but I lean over the table and shut his laptop.
âNo. Now drink your beer.â
âFine. Cheers.â We clink bottles, Sam reaching for one of the menus while I glance round the bar. As my gaze gets to the bar, one of the barmaids drops what sheâs holding and darts into the kitchen, a flash of Y/H/C being all I see. Looking towards the entrance, all I see is a couple on what is obviously date night, the way theyâre pawing at one another. Taking another gulp of beer, I reach for my shot.
âHey, didnât we get our tattoos around here?â
âWhere are we again?â Sam tells me, and I try to remember. Itâs been over a decade since we got them, from another hunter no less. âThink so. If not here, nearby. Hey, what was that girlâs name again?â
âUmmmâŠ.Y/N? Yeah, Y/N. Wonder what happened to her?â
âHopefully, nothing bad....â I trail off, as a tray of drinks lands on our table.
âYou order those?â Sam asks, both of us looking where the barmaid went.
âI ordered them.â A female voice says, and we turn back to see a woman, who I recognize as the same woman that dashed into the kitchen earlier, standing a few steps away.
âWell, thatâs very nice of you, but I think youâve got the wrong table.â Sam says.
âThat hairâs a lot longer, but youâre still Sam Winchester. And Dean, you look like you havenât aged a day.â Mystery woman smirks.
âWho are you?â I growl, slowly reaching for my gun.
âHowâs the ink holding up?â
âY/N??â Me and Sam simultaneously say.
âHey fellas. Long time. Now very quickly, who am I kissing?â
âWha-?â I just manage to get out before Y/N grabs my face and kisses me. Iâm just recovering from the shock when she pulls away, leaving me with the taste of mint and lime.
âSorry. But I really needed to do that.â Y/N just manages to get out, before someone calls out her name, all three of us turning in that direction to see the groping guy from earlier storming towards us.
Y/Nâs POV
âLucas. Hi. Howâs Sandra?â You politely ask, ignoring the way Lucasâ fist is clenched, or the sound of the Winchesters standing up behind you.
âWho the hellâs this guy?!â
âThis guy...â you say, turning towards Dean and pleading to him with your eyes to play along, â...is my boyfriend.â
âBOYFRIEND! Since when?â Lucas yells.
âHi. Lucas, Right?â Dean says, his arm slipping round your waist and giving it a squeeze. âNice to meet you. Dean Bonham, Y/Nâs boyfriend of six months. Sadly Iâm quite busy with work, so we werenât going to tell anyone. How do you know Y/N?, anyway?â
âIâm her ex. Six months, eh? We only broke up nine months ago.â
âYes, but you had already been sleeping with my best friend for three months before that, hadnât you?â I smile sweetly at Lucas, not missing the way Deanâs arm tightens around me a bit more, or Sam chuckling behind me. âSpeaking off, you should get back over to her. She just fell off her stool.â All four of you turn towards the bar, a snort escaping you as Sandra flails around on the floor.
âHe met Leah yet?â Lucas growls.
âNo. Like Dean said, heâs been busy with work. He works for the FBI.â
âBut I am so excited to meet her soon. In fact, my schedule is clear for a couple of weeks, sweetheart.â Dean smiles at both me and Lucas.
âHow convenient.â
âIt seems so. Now if youâll excuse me, I should be getting back to worâŠâ
âLucas! Get your girlfriend and get out of my damn bar!!â Your boss stands cross armed, a look of disgust on her face. âI just washed these floors, I donât need them being dirtied by the trash you date.â
âFine. Good luck to you Dean. Youâre gonna need it.â
Silence rests over the three of you as you watch Lucas and Sandra walk out.
âY/N?â
âYeah Michelle?â
âTake your break darling.â Thereâs a twinkle in your bossâ eye as she turns back to the customers who were enjoying the show.
âSo....Sorry about that.â
âLooks like weâve a lot to catch up on.â Dean says, shuffling over in the booth so you can sit next to him.
âYeah. Um, cliff notes. Not a hunter anymore. Not dating that dickhead anymore.â
âAnd, Leah?â Sam asks.
âMy daughter.â
âAnd Lucas...â
âNot Leahâs dad. Me and Lucas only lasted a year or so. Leah is nearly four now. One night stand with a fellow hunter. He died a few weeks after our roll in the hay. Never even knew.â
âIs that why you stopped hunting?âÂ
âNo. Stopped hunting about two years before I got pregnant.â You answer Deanâs question, reaching for one of the drinks in front of you. âWerewolf hunt went sideways. And I have three glorious scars down my rib cage to show for it. Technically, I have died, and come back to life.â
âThatâs the Winchester way.â Sam clinks his bottle against mine.
âSo after that, stuck to just tattooing. And word got out that I was an ex-hunter, so I had a lot of people wanting sigils and the like. I may have helped myself in that matter by posting on my website a picture of my own tattoo. Thank God that wasnât on the side that wolf mauled. Then Leah came along, and so stopped tattooing. Iâll go back to it when Leahâs older. Luckily, Michelle offered me a job, day shifts, and my neighbor looks after Leah while Iâm here. But every so often I do an evening shift, double pay. When something expensive comes along. And Leah has her eye on a puppy for her birthday this year.â
âWow. Well, good for you Y/N. You got the apple pie life.â Dean murmurs.
âYeah. Look, I really should get back,â you say, taking the pen tucked behind your ear and grabbing one of the menus, âBut here is my address. Come round before you skip town? Itâd be nice to relive the glory days with someone whoâs been there and done that. Not that Leah doesnât appreciate my wild bedtime stories.â
âThatâd be nice.â Sam says, bending down to hug you.
âWeâll be there, sweetheart.â Dean whispers against your temple, his lips still pursed from the kiss heâd given you, hugging you tightly.
âOkay. See you around fellas.â
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Forevers and evers:
@like-a-bag-of-potatoes @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @jayankles @grace-for-sale @atc74 @mrsbatesmotel53 @gryffindorofcabin21 @dolphinpink310 @goldenolaf25 @kdfrqqg @ellen-reincarnated1967 @fictionalabyss @heyitscam99 @just-another-busyfangirl @amanda-teaches @tn-grayson @girl-next-door-writes @feelmyroarrrr @blacktithe7 @masksandtruths @maui137 @holyfuckloueh @tina8009 @polina-93 @emoryhemsworth @whimsicalrobots @x-waywardaf-x @be-amaziing @horsegirly99 @bitterstar88 @hunterswearingplaid @deangirl7695 @thisismysecrethappyplace @calaofnoldor @randomparanoid @flamencodiva @beththedemonhunter @hawaiianohana31
#spngenrebingo#winchesters x platonic reader#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural reader insert#dean winchester#sam winchester#roxy writes fanfiction#roxy writes supernatural#new writing
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Deep Love: Part Deux
You still with me? Iâm so happy you enjoyed Part One with itâs lengthy, detailed intro. Â Now if youâve noticed, my story is always written in the perspective of the two main protagonists, Quinn Fabray and my OC, Iain Hargreave. Â Same format follows, however, I was yet again, as I almost always have, not been able to come across the full ending. Â Itâs always bee a bad habit of mine, sorry. I do come around to write an ending and there are so many drafts Iâve written down on paper or whatever I could come up with during those long nights of pulling clinical rounds back in my heyday.Â
But donât worry, Iâve got some extra stuff about Iain Hargreave and his long-lost brother, Neil. Â Iâve 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.Â
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. Â
Ok, carry on!!! Click below
***
Chapter 7:
Quinn
 Friends.  He wants us to be âjust friendsâ. Â
 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. Â
 Wait!  Hang on a sec.
 Why on earth should I care so much for someone who obviously doesnât want to have anything to do with me but feels obligated to stick around because he feels sorry for me. Â
 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. Itâs like those days when I greeted Phil along the halls and he looked right through me.
 Iainâs 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.
 âWell, youâve been gone for three days.  Donât I at least deserve an explanation for that?  I mean, what if youâre 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 isnât tied down.â
 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.
 âI 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 Iâve got some girl waiting for me, but for now, Iâm single.â
 Was it me, or did he just emphasize on the word âfor nowâ?
 I avoid his piercing gaze because heâs giving me that look that makes me completely uncomfortable.  Itâs as if heâs trying to break the walls Iâve built up my whole life. These were the walls that have protected me from ever being disappointed, hurt, and heartbroken. Â
 With Finn, there really wasnât anything there.  I thought there was at first, but it turns out he wasnât what I wanted.  It was more like I had this urge to relive those âglory daysâ 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 didnât matter anymore.  Puck, on the other hand, was a disaster.  I admit that I care about him because he is after all, Bethâs father.  However, other than having a baby in common, we werenât right for each other.  Heâs 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 wasnât 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 wasnât careful, he was probably going to break all those walls in a heartbeat. Â
 All he ever had to do was ask.
 But for now, I sigh with relief despite feeling a stab of disappointment, when he doesnât.  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.  Donât let him get the best out of you.
 âOkay, that makes sense.  But why are you here?  You arenât from around these parts, I can tell.  So why Lima?â I ask instead.  I notice heâs still debating whether to tell me.  So I put on the pressure.  âI mean, you can tell me since weâre âfriendsâ after all.â Gosh, I didnât mean to sound so sarcastic on the weâre friends part, but I feel like after what weâve been through, he owes me some sort of explanation.
 âIf you must know, I have a younger brother who doesnât know I exist.â
 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. Â
 I wasnât 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 heâs showing a vulnerable side which he quickly squelches and resumes his impassive mask.
 âI 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 wasnât 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.â
 âSo youâre father never knew your mother was pregnant?â  I couldnât 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 Iainâs 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 couldnât understand or comprehend anything at the time.
 âYes.  Heâll never know since heâs also dead. He died in a plane crash before I graduated high school.â
 This just gets more depressing as he keeps going on about the details on his parentsâ divorce.
 âDo you still remember her?â
 âBarely.â 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. Â
 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 couldnât stay in a relationship because he either cheated on his wives and they eventually found out, or that he divorced them on grounds that âit wasnât workingâ.  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 didnât 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 fatherâs neckties and patiently teaches me how to tie it. Â
 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. Â
 He looked dapper in a tuxedo and smiled gently at my mother as he bowed gallantly and told her she was âmore beautiful than Grace Kellyâ. 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 âMoon Riverâ.  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 parentsâ date to the Opera when my great grandmother found out that I was a child prodigy with a genius level IQ. Â
 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. Â
 My transfer to England broke my motherâs 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. Â
 Genevieve didnât waste time making me wallow in self pity. She hired tutors, most were retired professors from the one of the worldâs 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 parentsâ 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 Quinnâs 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 didnât suffer from any emotional scars.  I then threw her a joke (okay itâs 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 havenât noticed the way she checks me out?!  Iâm not exactly one to toot my own horn, but I love the way she looks at me.  Like Iâm the only one who has the ability to affect her the same way she affects me.
 âSo were you able to track your brother?â
 âI havenât had much luck because I havenât spent as much time in McKinley High.â
 âWhatâs his name?â
 âNeil.â  Quinnâs shakes her head saying that she doesnât recall anyone with that name.
 âIf ever he does go to McKinley, heâs 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.â Â
 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.
 âWhat I meant was, I would notice him because he would look like you since heâs your brother.â 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, Iâm going to kill him with my bare hands.
 Whoa easy there, Hargreave. Â
 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 âThe Cave girlâ 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.
 âSo does that mean youâre going to help me?â
 âI can do the best I can.  But Glee club isnât the most attractive club for teenagers.  Iâm no longer a cheerleader, as you know so the other way is to form a Christian Praise group.  Iâm going to call it, the God Squad.â âWhat makes you think my brother is the Church going folk?â I try to smother a laugh as Quinn throws me a dark look.
 âIt isnât fun to make a joke out of religion and God.â
 I raise my hands in surrender.  âI didnât mean to offend you.  I respect the whole concept that people put their faith into God and all.â âBut...â She waits for me to respond because she just knows Iâm going to say more.
 âBut nothing.  Look, letâs just drop this Quinn.  I think itâs cool that youâre 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 isnât 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.â
 âTell me more about your mother,â Quinn implores.  I did my best to recount the information Iâve 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. Â
 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. Â
 I carefully omitted the word âPolo playerâ and replace it with something like a sleazy neighbor because I donât 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 motherâs.  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. Â
 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 didnât have to resort to anything for my mother hadnât 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.  Iâm 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 havenât been honest about a lot of things, but thereâs this tug at my conscience that wants me to give her some compensation for the other lies. Â
 Well, theyâre not technically lies. I just chose to omit some important details such as my net worth, my wealthy social background, you know those things.
 âDid your father ever remarry?â
 âHe remarried a couple of times, but they never worked out. I guess he wasnât completely over my mother.  I did gain a step-sister out of his attempts.  Sheâs thirteen and a real pain in the ass.â I roll my eyes laughing as I tell her about Chelsea.
 âDoes she know about Neil?â
 âI think she has an idea, Chelseaâs a pretty resourceful kid.â
 âWho raised you after?â
 âNo one and everyone.  My great grandmother acted as my legal guardian.â
 âThat sounds pretty harsh.â I shrug it off nonchalantly.  âItâs 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.â
 âIt sounds pretty lonely.â
 âDonât worry, I didnât 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.  Itâs Neil Iâm worried about.â
I breathe in and exhale deeply. Â âA few months ago, after I had found out about my brother I did a background check on my motherâs family.â Â I frown and shake my head. Â âThey arenât doing so well. Â My aunt...my motherâs twin sister, lives in one of the toughest neighborhoods and I canât imagine what life is like for my brother. Â I read from the reports that heâs a lot like me and it just eats my conscience knowing that Iâve been living in luxury and heâs been having it rough. Â He deserves much better, Quinn. Â He needs to know what really happened. Â I know it sounds cruel to break it down to him now that heâs much older, but Iâd be damned to just stand there and do nothing.â
 I look down at my hands.
 âIâm not going to leave him like my dad.  Iâm nothing like him at all.â I mutter despairingly, unaware if Quinn could hear the last part.  Iâve never in my entire life felt guilty for living the way I do.  I had earned whatever billions of dollars Iâve 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 wasnât going to start again, knowing that it was also the cause of my grandfatherâs demise.
Suddenly, Quinn reaches out her hand and I feel her dainty fingers try to cover mine. Â 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. Â
 Suddenly, Iâm feeling much better.
 Then it occurs to me that I am not a warm fuzzies kind of man.
 But Iâll make an exception whenever she touches me.
 ***
Chapter 9: Quinn
 The next day is a whirl of excitement. Â
 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. Â
 Iâm reeling from the news.
 I also realize that Iâve gone down from my room only to be told by my Mom while Iainâs sitting on the breakfast bar.  Heâs wearing a cream collared long sleeved pullover shirt, dark olive green cotton military trousers and dark gray Chelsea leather boots. Thereâs a hint of facial stubble as I notice how his five oâclock shadow looks amazing on him, making Iain look more mature, sophisticated with this âI-can-still-look-hot-even-if-I-donât-have-the-time-to-shaveâ attitude.  I usually prefer clean shaven men, but he pulls it off so well that Iâm more than willing to make an exception.  He gives me a knowing smile and I blush furiously because Iâm still in my nightgown. Itâs an oversized mint green shirt that reaches a little above my knees with the words âBear Hugâ emblazoned above. The shirt depicts a huge black bear that looks like itâs hugging me with its paws strategically placed on each of my butt cheeks.  At least Iâm not wearing my plush Unicorn slippers, which was my Christmas gift from Britney because I could have died right here and there.
 âThatâs nice, Mom.â I nod, as if without a care in the world. âGood morning, Iain.â
 âGood morning,â he murmurs not taking his eyes off the bear. I curse myself because Iâm not wearing a bra underneath.
 âYou better get dressed, Iain will take you to school.â My mother kisses my cheek quickly.  Iain steps off his stool and turns to help my mother with her bags.  Franâs outside waiting patiently.  They strode off in minutes and I make a beeline to the bathroom.
 I shower quickly and choose to wear something thatâll 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 Iainâs 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.  Heâs 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.   Â
 âAnd the accounts on Strasbourg?â he asks, still on the phone. âGreat.  Inform Miller and tell him to send me a copy through e-mail.â
 Thereâs 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.
 âYes.  Call the Washington office and relay to labor relations the news about Detroit. Theyâre bound to have the same problems as well.â  He says calmly on the phone.
 I donât feel comfortable listening in on his conversation so I go upstairs and pretend that Iâm going down for the first time.  His head jerks up suddenly and he mutters on the other line before he kills the call.
 âHi,â I say a little too brightly.
 âHi there,â he nods, completely oblivious to what Iâm wearing. Great plan impressing him Quinn, heâs completely stunned my Cheerio cheerleader sneers.  You should have worn the uniform.  Men just love cheerleaders.  Oh, which reminds me you arenât one anymore.  The inner bitch queen is laughing at the snide remark.
 He looks a bit nervous.  âDid you just get down?  Iâm really sorry I wasnât able to make you breakfast.  Itâs a little too early for school and your dadâs given me a bunch of errands to do, so do you want to grab something to eat? Itâs my treat.â He looks so adorable when heâs blabbering his head off I canât resist him. Â
 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 donât think the UPS stores my Dad works for had a branch beyond the United States, but then what did I know about delivery services?
 âSure.â I just say. He extends his arm and motions me for something.  âWhat is it?â I ask eyeing him dubiously.
 âYour bag, please Maâam,â Iain answers dryly.  He is offering to carry my bag. Â
 Aw, how sweet.
 âI can carry it, thanks.â
 âThen let me hold it for you while you put on your sweater.â He nods to the yellow mustard cardigan Iâm clutching on my other arm. âItâs nippy outside.  I wouldnât want you to get sick.â
 I roll my eyes and hand him my school bag as I wear my sweater. It doesnât 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 Iâm also a girl who knows when to appreciate a handsome sexy man with an amazing body and Iainâs is just perfect.  Heâs sinewy, lean and muscular all over and itâs 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. Â
 Itâs also ironic that the first song to be played on his iPod reflects on our mood.  Itâs a rock tune thatâs dominated by the sound of the piano and drums (how typical Iain) with a male singer, ostentatiously British, crooning about how Silence is Easy. Â
 âI guess my iPodâs not a morning person,â 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 âYou must think Iâm a boring stiff with a playlist filled with piano classics.â
 âActually, I also thought of the Beatles and other old music old people listen to.â
 Iain snorts and rolls his eyes as he hands me the iPod list. âGo pick a song.  Iâll have you know that I do possess an eclectic taste in music.â Â
 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. Iâve 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. Â
 âItâs getting pretty quiet on my end here, Quinn.â
 âHold on to your boxer shorts, Iâm still finding a good song.â I answer irritably.
âMighty feisty in the morning, arenât we?â Â He chuckles as he makes a U-turn when the car comes around a bend.
 âIâm hungry.â
 âSo am I.  But unlike you, at least I know when to curb my temper.  Here, let me try.â  He grabs the iPod from my hands and quickly scans the playlist.  Iâm amazed heâs able to do this while he keeps his eyes on the road. âTo atone for the earlier song selection,â 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; itâs a mezzo-soprano with a voice that resonates like sheâs 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. Sheâs like a goddess from outer space. Or an alien singing underwater like one of those Pilot whales I once saw in Discovery Channel.
 âItâs called Beautiful.â Iain throws me another sideways glance, as if reading my thoughts.
 âIt is beautiful,â I agree as I take the iPod and read the selection.  Itâs 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. Itâs 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. Theyâre pretty generic questions and I get this impression that heâs 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.  Heâs an attentive listener as he nods his head and smiles at some of the antics my crazy painter grandfather Fabray did during my familyâs 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. Â
 âSo tell me about your plan on how youâre going to find Neil?â
 He shrugs his shoulders.  âI havenât 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.â
 I quirk my eyebrow as I look at him. âAny reason why he would do such a thing?â
 Iain looks bewildered.  He obviously doesnât realize how attractive he is, how women stare at him and ogle. Doesnât he know the effect he has on women? Â
 More importantly, how he affects me? Â
 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.  Iâd cry like the Mandalay singer and get emotional too, if I had a voice like that.
 âItâs beyond me.â He shakes his head.  The song skips and moves into another livelier tune.  Itâs an upbeat remix of Empire of the Sunâs Walking on a Dream.  I loved the original, but Iâm amazed that Iainâs 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. âWhat?  You got something against IHOP?â He looks momentarily worried.  âWe can go somewhere else, if you like.â
 I shake my head.  âI just canât imagine you eating in IHop.â  Actually, what I was really thinking that was our first âsort of dateâ unofficial date and out of all the choices of where to dine, itâs at IHOP. Itâs 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.  Itâs a thrilling feeling, but I also feel like itâs 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.
âCome on, youâll be late for school at this rate.â
 We enter the restaurant with the smell of buttermilk pancakes and fried food wafting in the air.  My stomach grumbles in response.  I donât know if Iain possesses superhuman hearing, because he looks slightly peeved and motions me to sit on a booth near the window.
 âI used to come to IHOP when I was studying for my exams in Harvard,â he explains as he takes a seat across me.  âThere were times when I went with my roommates to Dennyâs but I like the food here better.â He shrugs as a waitress in her early thirties approaches us.  Her name is something I donât really pay attention to because sheâs looking at Iain like heâs the breakfast thatâs 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.
 âWeâll 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.â I answer her with daggers glistening from my eyes.
 âYeah, thatâll do. Thanks.â Iain agrees and Iâm 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.  Â
 âYou seem pissed about something.â Iain remarks as he leans back against his seat and looks at me speculatively.
 âThat girl was looking at you like you were the main course.â
 âQuinn Fabray, are you jealous?â  Iain teases as his face lights up in mock surprise.  I note how his blue eyes are dancing mischievously like heâs thrilled about the whole thing.
 âNo,â I snap angrily.  âStop laughing at me.  Iâm serious! Itâs the way you affect women.  Havenât you noticed? Or are you just completely blind?â
 âItâs just looks,â he answers exasperatedly as he throws both hands in the air in surrender because he canât help himself with that situation.  And heâs right, he canât. Â
 âPlease tell me you do notice.â
 âYes, I have.  But Iâve learned long ago that they donât matter.  Believe me, when you get to be around my age, youâll learn not to care.â
 âWhen you get to be around my age?  Wow, you sound old.â
 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 couldnât believe Iâve just made this beautiful man laugh his head off. After a few moments, he settles down.
 âYouâre very relaxing company, do you know that?â He gives me one of those signature panty-dropping smiles of his and itâs a good thing weâre sitting down because Iâm beginning to feel weak at the knees already.
 âAre you prevaricating?â
âNo, I meant every word.â He looks pensive for a while, reflecting on something. Â âI just didnât realize how tense I was until now. Â Your vocabulary is astounding, by the way.â
 I almost shake myself from the rapid switch of topics and his compliment.  I compose myself before I get another absence episode.
âWell, I do like to read.â Jane is back with our food. Â 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. Â He appears as if my jealous rage gives him some perverse joy. Â He barely notices Jane waiting anxiously for him to acknowledge her. Â He just smiles at me, his eyes never leaving my face and mutters his thanks to her with a wave of dismissal when sheâs finally done placing down my order. Â Jane obviously looks disappointed as she strolls back to the counter.
 âWhat books do you like to read?â
 âJust about anything. When I was younger I didnât have a lot of friends because I looked studious so I took comfort in books. When I was a kid, I found myself reading Franâs assignment books.  But what I enjoy nowadays are world legends and fairy tales.  Iâve always thought there was something romantic about the Japanese Feudalism too. The story about Samurais and Geishas always gets to me.  Lately, Iâve been reading Indian mythology.â  I hesitate when Iain regards me in silence while he eats.
 âIâm sorry, am I boring you?â I turn my attention to my plate and start scarfing down my pancakes. Â
 Iain shakes his head.  âNot at all.  In fact, I find you to be the most interesting person Iâve been with for the longest time.  I canât even remember being this enthralled by anyone at all,â he looks surprised with himself as the words come out his mouth, like heâs just discovered this fact too.  He shakes his head suddenly, as if to cover himself with that remarkable discovery.  âSo the answer is no, you havenât bored me at all.  Why the fascination with Indian myth?  Iâm assuming this is the South Asian culture youâre talking about?â
 My heart slams into my rib cage at the impact of his confession of me being the most interesting person heâs met.
 âUhm, yes.â I almost choke at my pancake and take a long sip of orange juice while I continue. Â
 âI 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 didnât stand a chance of him noticing me.  I was chubby, wore glasses and had braces.â
 I exhale as Iain regards me in silence.  Heâs done with his food and sips his coffee as I continue. âBut he noticed me.  He approached me and reached his trunk out and took my peanut.  He didnât 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 wasnât eating well.  I never saw him again.â
 I wave my hand to shake off the gloomy mood.  âAnyway, going back to elephants in general. Theyâre my favorite animals in the world.  Other people like dogs and cats, but Iâve always thought that theyâre too clingy and being around them can be claustrophobic.  Elephants on the other hand are independent.  Theyâre big enough to take care of themselves.  Theyâve 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.â
 âOr maybe itâs the human that ends up being tamed?â Iain suggests softly, his tender smile tells me that he wholeheartedly understands. Â
 I sagely nod in agreement, ignoring the rapid beating of my heart.  âMaybe.â
 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 parentsâ 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 Chelseaâs mother, who was a flighty thing that never cared about her daughterâs welfare and that soon after their divorce, Iainâs 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 Iâm 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.
 âIâm really sorry about that.â He looks sheepish and nervous when he puts the car on neutral.  âIt wonât happen again.â Are you kidding me?  I wouldnât exchange that moment for anything in the world.
 âI had fun.â I tell him, rewarding him with a shy smile.  I donât know what it is about him.  Heâs 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 itâs because of this that it cuts out all the bullshit and the only thing we have left is honestly.
 âYeah, me too.â 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 heâs reluctant to leave. I also donât 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.
 âListen, do you have anything to do after youâre done running errands for my dad?  I have this brilliant idea on how you can get back to school and find Neil.â
 Iain raises his eyebrows.  âOkay,â he says slowly.  âWhatâs your plan?  I could go along with it tomorrow.â Â
I tell him.
 * **
 âSo this is your good idea of a cover-up?â 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. Â
 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 thatâs 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 heâs 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 doesnât notice a thing and his attention is focused on me while he waits for me to answer him.
 Heâs mine, bitches, all mine!!! My inner queen bitch is chanting gaily while doing the cabbage patch.
 âDo 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.â  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 itâs not just Mr. Schue whoâs feeling the brunt. Finn has been non-stop confrontational since Blaine moved out of his old school.  Rachel is, well, Rachel Berry as usual. Â
 I note Tina and Sugar gaping at Iain as he, unmindful that he has an audience, ruffles through some of this weekâs 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 Iainâs capability to keep up with her talent when a gritty voice breaks my thoughts.
 âIs it me, or are you threatened that someone might steal away your boyfriend?â 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 Iainâs handsome face as I lean against my chair.
 âI donât know what youâre talking about,â 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 isnât 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 Finnâs glowering gaze and turns his attention to Puck. Neither men are backing down from the stare down that itâs so immature, I almost roll my eyes.
 âOh, really? â 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 isnât. 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 didnât have to worry because Iain responds to Puckâs menacing appraisal by looking bored, almost unaffected.
 âThen tell me why is he looking at me like heâs about to beat the crap out of me?â
 âI didnât know you were so scared.â
 âIâd watch it if I were you,â Puck looks at me seriously. âI know guys like him.  The ones that think theyâre Godâs gift to women, being so perfect on the outside but rotten to the core.  At least with me, Iâm all what you get.â
 âAnd youâll never get that chance ever again, so please drop it.â
 âFine, whatever you say, your Highness.â
 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 80âs beat.  I remember this song blasting from Iainâs iPod when he dropped me off earlier.  âYouâre going to snap your neck doing that,â Iain teased, almost gently, when he noticed me bobbing my head to the music.  If ever I had doubts that Iain couldnât play a pop song, they dissipate as he looks capable and even sings along to it.  Heâs 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 donât 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. Â
 I compare him to the other guys in the room and find that he is unlike anyone Iâve ever met.  Heâs 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 isnât gay.
 I wouldnât 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, Iainâs 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. Â
 It wasnât 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.
 âSo that was Iain.â
 âWhat about it?â 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, Iainâs 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. Â
 Since that incident when he found me doing night school, heâs also volunteered to drive me to school and bring me home. I would have protested, but heâs persistent, saying that since my dad has given him a list of things to do, itâs convenient in his part.  I agree to meet him halfway at the Beanery, which was a few blocks from school, that way people wouldnât 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.
 âHeâs very handsome.â
 âYou plan on stealing him too like you did with Finn?â  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 werenât 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.
 âI meant to say that Iain is handsome but he isnât 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.  Heâs crazy about you.â
 âHe barely pays me any attention.â I try to look bored but my heart is racing like Iâve 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 doesnât mean I donât fantasize about him doing it.  I just didnât think that was.....possible.
 Iâve seen the way Iain reacts when Iâm around like he canât 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 doesnât act on it because he hesitates like he seriously believes that his profoundly lacking. Â
 In the short span of time Iâve 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 wasnât pretty enough, sophisticated or classy for this red-blooded handsome debonair modern day Disney prince, but I knew that wasnât true. Â
 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 Iâm thinking.  It isnât like that with Iain.  He scares, excites, thrills me more than any man Iâve ever met.  But there are things about him that he keeps to himself, just like me.  Weâve been so jaded from our past that thereâs this brick wall thatâs stopping us from ever revealing our feelings.  Itâs so frustrating sometimes that I think itâs impossible to pursue a relationship with anyone whoâs remotely like me.
 âThatâs because he knows youâre 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 ââ
âI appreciate your concern, Rachel, but I donât need your advice.â I frostily answer as I turn and leave the bathroom. Â As I make my way down the hall, I notice a tall young man with a shock of jet black hair walking past by. Â Heâs 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 Iainâs younger brother!
 It wasnât 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. Â
 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 wasnât just a student at McKinley High.
 Heâs 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 Iainâs imposing younger brother. After a few minutes, the car makes its quiet exit out of the school grounds. Â 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. Â From the time that Iâve 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 Iâm guessing heâs 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. Â
 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 âdonât mess with meâ vibe. Â
 I couldnât 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 itâs 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 Iâve 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.  Itâs a beautiful contrast against his dark almost midnight black hair and bronze skin.
 Neil notices that Iâm staring and stalling time that he initiates the conversation.  I duly note that heâs 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.
 âItâs called central heterochromia.  Itâs a rare genetic condition where both eyes share two different colors.  My nameâs Neil by the way.â He extends his hand as if to shake it. Â
 I take his hand and shake it.  âIâm Quinn. Quinn Fabrayâ
 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. Â
 âTo what do I owe this pleasure of meeting you on this fine afternoon, Miss Fabray?â 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 wouldnât be a wonder why their mother chose him over George Clooney.
 âI was wondering if youâre new here.  I havenât seen you around in school.  Are you a sophomore?â
 âJunior,â he corrected.  âI skipped a grade. And to answer your question yes, I did move in recently with my aunt so Iâve been in McKinley High for a month.â
 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.  âAre you worried about me adjusting to my status as the new kid?  Fear not, sweetheart.  Iâm pretty capable of taking care of myself.â
Iâm sure you are, I think to myself noting the rippled muscular arms. Â I also notice a few people looking curiously at us, wondering why a dethroned blonde high school cheerleader was talking to a junior. Â
 âAre you going to try out for any clubs? Because a couple of my friends and I are in the schoolâs glee club are weâre looking for new members. We won 12th place last year in Nationals and we could use some new blood.â
 âAs much as I would love to, Iâm tone deaf.â He says in a deadpan voice, but I know heâs joking as I gaze into those almond eyes that crinkle in amusement and I watch in wonder as the brown circles have turned golden. âThe only chance youâll ever hear me sing is in the shower.  Not unless you want to join me, I could definitely do a private audition.â He grins and winks suggestively as I roll my eyes and find myself chuckling at his humorous attempt to flirt.
 âNice try, Neil.  Iâm a staunch believer in sex after marriage.â
 Neil clucks apologetically and shrugs his massive shoulders.  âIt was worth a shot.  I can imagine a lot of guys whose hearts have been broken by the news.â
 My thoughts suddenly turn to Iain but I dismiss them quickly.
 âHow about you try joining me and my friends in Bible study group instead?â 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.
 âMy, you donât ever give up do you?  Alright, Iâll join you.  Iâve been going through plenty of shit these days I could probably need some Divine guidance.  But, on one condition.â he cuts me off before I even ask him more.
 âI take you out for dinner.â
 I found myself wondering if Iain was this persistent and as amorous when he was Neilâs age.  But then again, the only âdateâ 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.
 âHow about you meet me for coffee at the Beanery after Bible school?  Meetings are every Wednesdays at five.â
 âFine.  So Iâll see you tomorrow. Then after that, itâs a date.â Neil gives off another one of those lazy smiles.
 âItâs just coffee, Neil.â  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 canât 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.  Heâs nowhere to be seen.  I hear the lilting notes of the piano and saunter off to the living room where his back is turned.  Heâs just had a bath, I notice that his hair is still damp and I assume that heâs probably had his afternoon run, which he usually does before he picks me up from school.  Heâs 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.
 Heâs completely lost in the music heâs 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...
 âGood day at school?â 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?
 âUhm, yeah.  It was okay.â 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.
 âHi there,â he greets warmly, his voice soft and enticing.
 âHi,â I murmur shyly.  âWhat was the title of the song you played earlier?  Itâs very beautiful.â
 Iain tilts his head, mirroring my own.  âItâs called LiebestrĂ€ume No 3.â
 âDreams of Love by Franz Liszt.â I cite off recalling one of the famous classical songs I had once never paid any attention to at school until Iain.  Since then, Iâve been googling everything I could learn about classical music.  In some weird way, it was the closest thing Iâve 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.  âAh, I see that my classical music influence is rubbing on you.â 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.
 âDo you know how to play?â
 I nod my head and laugh despite myself.  âMy mom hired a teacher with hopes that Fran or I would learn, but alas, weâre a hopeless bunch.â  Iain chuckles and tinkers with a different tune, Polonaise in G minor by Chopin. Iainâs a huge fan of the Polish composer.  Iâm 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.
 âWhat was your teacher like?â Iain inquires mildy.
 I get a mental picture of Mrs. Largo.  âShe was a good friend of my mom.  I remember her being cuddly and smelling like buttermilk pancakes.â
 Iain smothers a laugh as he switches to G flat major, âCuddly?â
 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. âShe liked to eat a lot.  I just looked forward to having her around bringing us pastries.â
 âAh, what child could ever resist pancakes?â Iain agreed with mock gravity, he smiles knowingly remembering the time we spent at IHOP.
 âWhat was your piano teacher like?â
 Iain falters in his expression despite still remarkably not losing concentration as he keeps his eyes directed at his playing.  âMy grandfather taught me how to play when I was three.â  He plays something else and this time itâs Nocturne in C minor.  Chopin has a whole series of Polonaise, Nocturnes and Etudes that I have yet to remember.  Itâs a miracle that Iain has mastered most if not all of them to memory.
 âYou must have been very close.â 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.  âWe 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 wasnât 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, âcuddlyâ.â Ah, thereâs that impish smile again.  Â
 âSo can you play anything else?  Iâm beginning to worry that all you know is Chopin.â
 Iain throws me a mock horrified look and my shoulders shake with mirth.  He looks pensive and stops what heâs 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.
 âAre we playing âName that Tuneâ?â 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.
 âIs it Piano Concerto No.2 in C Minor by Rachmaninoff?â
 Iain pouts at me sexily.  âI thought we were playing âName that Tuneâ, not Jeopardy.  But yes it is.â  He looks impressed, my Cheerio cheerleader self is doing cartwheels and splits. Â
 âHow did you know?â
 I shrug my shoulders.  âItâs from the movie Brief Encounter.  I must have seen that movie like a couple of times on cable.â
 âWho knew Quinn Fabray likes to watch movies in black and white?â
 âJust because Iâm blonde and I used to be a cheerleader, it doesnât mean Iâm dumb, Iain.â
 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.  Heâs so sitting so close to me, I realize this is the nearest proximity weâve 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 âTwinkle Twinkle Little Starâ.  I hold the sudden urge to wrap him around my arms and hug him tight.
 âYou do surprise me, Quinn.  It seems like Iâm not the only one who has layers.â
 What does he mean by that?
 He clears his throat.  âWhat I meant to say was that Iâve got a few tricks up my sleeve too. Take for example; doesnât it seem odd that this particular song sounds familiar?  Like as if it were from a pop song or ballad.â
 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 âAll By Myselfâ.
 He looks so ridiculous and lovable, I burst out laughing.
 âYouâre cute when you laugh.â He says dryly with mock sham gravity but heâs grinning ear to ear.
 âYou put Rachel Berry to shame.â I answer tartly, enjoying our banter, deeply thrilled that heâs thrown me a compliment.
 âSounds like a rip-off doesnât it?â  Heâs talking about the classic songâs riff used in the power ballad. Â
 âYour singing wasnât that bad either.â I answer in a deadpan voice. He chuckles at my quip. Â
 This day couldnât get any more pleasant.  I didnât 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.  Iâll do it tomorrow, I promise myself.
 âSomething bothering you?â
 Drat!  Damn Iain and his mindreading abilities.
 âUhm, no.â I lie.  Iain throws me a meaningful look that says âtell me.â
 âYou sure?â
 âItâs just...I was worried about that scholarship grant at Yale.  I mean, what if I donât get it?â There. It was half the truth anyway; I do worry about that too. Â
 Iainâs expression softens and he rewards me with a half-smile. âLeave that part for me to worry about, ok?  Iâm sure youâll get a grant from some rich benefactors with so much money to spend.â
 He straightens up.  He looks determined and I note that his blue eyes blaze with purpose and excitement.
 âOkay,â he says as Iâm further dragged into those unfathomable blue orbs.  âClose your eyes.â He instructs as I give him a puzzled look. Â
 âIâm giving you a musical appreciation course.  Itâs all part of the Iain Hargreave tutorial package. Not only can I improve SAT scores and guarantee a scholarship into one of the countryâs finest universities, but I also give my favorite students a good sense of taste in the arts.â He breaks in a mock serious voice.
He looks so lighthearted, cheerful, and young; I actually forget that heâs much older than me. Â I dismiss this thought immediately and enjoy the moment. Â 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.
 âListen to the sound and tell me what youâre thinking,â when I try to open one eye to look at him dubiously, I hear him clucking his tongue âUh-uh, donât open them yet, just tell me.â He implores as he plays a little louder as if the song were meant to go through that. Â
 âIâm not going to laugh,â he adds quietly.  âTrust me.â
 Trust me, he says.  Do I even trust myself when Iâm around him?
 âItâs like being stuck in an old Hollywood film noir crime drama. Iâm thinking of a scene where thereâs this lonely detective whoâs down on his luck during the twenties who smokes way too much cigars in his office.â I listen in further as the somber sound breaks in again.  âThen thereâs 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 sheâs wearing red leather high heels.â  I open my eyes and my mouth goes dry as Iain smiles almost as if in admirable wonder at what I had just said.
 âThat was amazing,â he murmurs not taking his eyes off me.  I hardly noticed that heâs 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.
 âThe title of the song is called High Heels.  Itâs by a modern Japanese composer, Ryuichi Sakamoto.â 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, Iâm 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 heâs mirroring the same thing Iâm 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 Iâve just bitten him.  He then quickly withdraws his arm as if touching me repulses him.
 âQuinn, I think this lesson is over.â He smiles sadly, I am pulled harshly back into reality, so hurt and embarrassed that I donât notice the unmistakable regret in his voice.
 âYou were spot on to guess the title.  I imagined the same thing too when I first listened to it.â He switches topic so quickly that I give myself a mental shake.  I donât even notice that he stands up a little too abruptly as he eases his way off the piano giving us distance.
 Wait? What? Youâre 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 wouldnât be bored playing something that didnât have any meaning to me.  I even taught it to Becky once and so far, Iâm glad at the progress sheâs made with her piano lessons.  Why in Godâs name do I even want to make Quinn care about the stuff I like?  I donât 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 whoâs gotten under my skin; the only woman I want is too young and inexperienced for her own good.
 Iâve 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 wasnât new. I already knew about her history with that Mohawk punk; that theyâve 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 Berryâs biological mother.  I wasnât going to destroy her life like that other moron did. Â
 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 donât know which is worse, wanting to kiss her or feeling guilty for not kissing her when she looks so forlorn from rejection.
 âYouâre hungry.â I find myself frowning as I murmur that thought aloud.  âYou need to eat.â
 Itâs 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 doesnât 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. Â
 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 tonightâs dinner.  I chuckle at the memory of Mrs. Taylor painstakingly patient efforts.  So far the salad Iâve prepared isnât 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 Iâve managed to cook a rather decent dinner despite my limited, if non-existent domestic skills.  Iâm going to have to buy a cookbook at this rate.
 Dear Lord, sheâs already got me cooking.....literally.
 âGreat Moussakas.â Quinn smiles slightly as she takes in another helping.
 âYouâre welcome.â I give a half sided smile as I finish off my plate.
 âNot our usual take-out, but this will do.â
âWhat kind of food do you like?â âJust about anything. Â Iâve got an adventurous gastronomical streak after watching Anthony Bourdainâs show. Â My mom cooks the really boring healthy stuff,â she rolls her eyes with disgust. âItâs not that bad, but I could use a bit of variety once in a while. Â Iâve got a fast metabolism anyway so getting fat is the least of my worries.â
 âI wouldnât care if you were fat.â
 She flushes a little.  I wonder bleakly if Iâm I ever going to tire of her looking this way? Â
 Probably never. Â
 She takes a long sip of water. âReally?  I used to be that.  You know, fat...â
 âI know,â I say softly.  âI saw the picture your father keeps in his office.â
 âGuess it must have been a surprise to you when you found out what I look like now, huh?â I throw her a bewildered look.  There are times when I donât know what sheâs thinking exactly, but I can somehow tune in to what sheâs feeling. Â
 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, theyâre cut from the same cloth. I find myself thinking that when Quinn lets her guard down, you could see that sad vulnerable dowdy girl.
 âWhy do you do this to yourself, Quinn?  Please donât.â I say quietly.  âYou donât have to be ashamed of your past; itâs what defines you as who youâve become.  And you are the most extraordinary girl Iâve ever met.  Donât ever forget that.â  She nods, as if the words penetrate through her.  I had to emphasize on the word girl than woman because hell, I didnât want to scare her thinking that she is without doubt the most fucking amazing woman Iâve ever met and Iâve never been intimate with her to even to know that.
 And, as an afterthought even I slept with her, I wouldâve 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 didnât 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 wasnât going to ponder on my wayward thoughts. Â
 Now she looks about just in need of an ego patting.  My thoughts go out immediately on how lacking Russell and Franâs parental skills were that theyâve never made their own daughter feel loved and secure.
 âWhen I saw you, it didnât matter.  It was a shock initially, of course.  But it was never an issue.â
 She looks at me trying to decipher if Iâm 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. Â
 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 doesnât make sense at all. Â
 And from that moment I knew that I wanted Quinn. Imperfections and all fucking seven shades of her love.
 âThat....was a very nice thing for you to say, Iain.â She thanks me. Â
 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 Iâm her grandmother who just read her a bedtime story?!
 I am never going to understand women.
 âI didnât say it to be nice,â I snap, regretting immediately when I see her involuntarily wince.  I donât 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 Iâm not.  In fact, Iâm drawn to her more than ever.  Itâll be a few more days until Judy gets back and I donât know whether to dread or look forward to that day.  I admit it, Iâm attracted to her.  What unsettles me, however, is the fact that she feels the exact same way and I donât know jack shit what to do about it. Â
 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 Iâve 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 havenât been doing business deals for almost two weeks now and people are starting to wonder if Iâm stuck in a mental asylum. Â
 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 Iâll 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 wasnât 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 fatherâs 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. Â
 My thoughts are rudely interrupted by the sound of my Blackberry.  I pick up and answer.
 âHargreave.â âIain!!!â A shrill youthful female voice shrieks at the other end as I wince and move my head away from my phone. Â
 âHow come you havenât been answering my e-mails? Constance is worried sick about you and thinks youâre having a mental breakdown or something and I donât know how much longer I can cover for you.â
 âWhat have you been telling her?â I inquire mildly.
 âWell, I told her that youâve been dealing with some crazy South American druglords on your ship.â
 âChelsea...â I growl menacingly.  If I could strangle my kid sister right here and now I probably would have done so.
 âI 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.  Iâm a terribly great actress.â âYou should be, Iâm paying for your acting lessons.â Not to mention Iâve doubled her shopping allowance for the next two months so she could keep the end of her bargain.
 âSo have you met him?  Your brother?â
âHeâs our brother, Chelsea.â
 âYes he is.  But what I meant is that heâs your blood. Iâm adopted so I donât share your DNA.â Chelsea simpers a bit and says quietly.  âDo me a favor and please go easy on him, ok?  I know what youâre 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.  Heâs going to rebel and act out.â
 âLike you do?â
 âYou know exactly what I mean, Iain!â
 âSometimes I forget youâre just thirteen.â
âIâm wise beyond my years is all.â
 âIs there anything else?â
 âWhereâs Anton?â 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. Â
 âAt his usual post.â
 âArenât you going to ever tell her?â
 âTell who?â
âThe girl youâve been babysitting! Â She must be really pretty because youâve been hanging around their house for more than a week now. Â Knowing you the way I do, you would have been in New York days ago, dragging your new found brother alongside in tow.â
 âItâs none of your business.â I ignore the tugging feeling that my sister is spot on.
 âIâm going to meet her one day.â Chelsea makes it sound like sheâs made her ultimatum.  âI canât wait to see the girl whoâs gotten my billionaire brother in such a tizzy.â
 âGoodnight Chelsea.â  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 doesnât make me feel better that Chelsea has this idea that thereâs something going on between me and Quinn.
 Speaking of the blonde girl, I havenât heard anything from her in the past few hours.
 I look up at the clock and think that sheâs in her bedroom probably reading the Bible, praying, or doing something utterly boring.  Sheâs 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.  Sheâs in a deep slumber that she doesnât notice Iâm inside her bedroom.  I lean against the door and sigh contently taking in the sight of her in a sheer lilac nightgown thatâs short enough to slow her long legs and pale flawless skin. Â
 Iâm a guy who likes his women in expensive lingerie like Agent Provocateur or Victoriaâs Secret (hell, Iâve 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.  Sheâs 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 alienâs 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 itâs 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. Â
 I approach the side of her bed and find out that it isnât 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 isnât diary but a journal.
 Itâs a mixed collection of short stories, anecdotes made by from artists, poets and authors.  Iâm 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? Sheâs not only got perspective but she even makes the most mundane thing seem extraordinary. Sheâs absolutely brilliant!  I stifle a giggle as she recounts an antic Brittany does where thereâs a photographic evidence of the unaware cheerleader as she tries to feed a piece of melted cheese to her obese cat. Â
 I read through, noting that she too loves Chopin and has learned to adore Sakamoto.  I thumb along and come across a page thatâs splotchy that thereâs an sketch of a woman opening her arms to surrender to the embrace of a winged man. I realize that itâs 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 otherâs embrace with a thought that resonates exactly what Iâm feeling.
 âThe mind can calculate, but the spirit yearns, and the heart knows what the heart knowsâ
â Stephen King
 âIf 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?â
-- Q
 I look quickly checking if sheâs 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 sheâs been crying because I can hear her sniffles and that thereâs 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 Iâm 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 doesnât fight me. Â
 I run another glance at her sleeping form and mutter âIâm sorry for acting like a jerk, baby.â 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. Â
 Instead of pondering such thoughts, instead of complying to her request while sheâs 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 Iainâs mercurial mood swings and my confused feelings for him.  Since that time where I thought he was about to kiss me, heâs 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. Itâs that feeling one gets when theyâre 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 wasnât so sure.  But what I was certain of was that I wasnât 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.  Heâs waiting outside so please donât take too long and waste his time.
 Iain.
 How thoughtful of him, I dismiss the sad feeling gnawing at my nerves thinking that I wasnât going to see him.  With all the confusion, I havenât told him about Neil. But then I figured I had to earn his brotherâs trust first before telling him the news.  It could wait till later, I tell myself as I quickly devour the breakfast heâs prepared.  I have this feeling Iain isnât keen on domestic skills, but at least he makes a decent egg and bacon omelet. Â
 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? Â
  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?  Heâs tough and fairly intimidating, but I relax the minute I notice his eyes, they had a kindness about them and looks to be smiling.
 âGood morning, Miss Fabray.  Iâm Anton.â He nods curtly as he opens the back passenger door of the silver luxury car.
 âItâs Quinn, please.â I say.  No need to be formal, mister.  Who the hell is this guy?  Sometimes I donât know Iain well enough to know what heâs been up to and who his friends are and what theyâre like.
Perhaps this could be his way of letting me catch a glimpse of his life. Â He isnât very good expressing his feelings verbally, so I guess demonstration will have to do for now. Â 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.
 âI didnât know Iain had friends here in Lima.  How do you know each other?â
 âWe 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.â He mentions one of the few three star hotels in town.  In fact, we donât even own anything five star here.  Though Anton says this to me straight-faced, I get the feeling itâs 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. Â
 I guess he doesnât like to lie either. Â
 There are things about Iain that donât add up.  First of all, heâs too cultured and educated to be just some musically inclined guy from New York, plus heâs way too arrogant to take orders from anyone that itâs 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 donât mean to sound snobbish because I canât imagine anyone in this town would own a car like this, I mean, who in Lima Ohio drives a car thatâs 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. Thereâs 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, Antonâs 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.  Iâm crazy about those things and itâs 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 doesnât make sense. Â
 Like when I met Anton, heâs formal to the hilt that I get the feeling Iâm his employer than just a friend of his friend.  Plus, he doesnât look like the chauffer type either but thereâs something about him that can make anyone feel safe when heâs around. Like a bodyguard.  And yeah, like I didnât notice that he wore a gun holster that was barely concealed from his blazer when he assisted me into getting the car.  I donât want to question everything just yet.  I want to live in this blissfully ignorant state that for now, Iain is mine and that he isnât going back to New York soon because he hasnât found Neil yet.
 Neil.  I almost blanch because I havenât told Iain about me meeting his younger brother.
 âHeâs a good man, Quinn.â Anton interrupts my thoughts as he looks at me briefly at the review mirror as he easily changes gears.  Iâm 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 donât know what Iainâs been telling him about me.  Not that I care. Â
 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.
 âThank you for the ride and for the chocolates, Anton. Theyâre my favorite.  Please thank Iain for me too.â I tell him and he looks shocked.  He blushes for a moment and nods quickly before he heads off. Â
 âSweet ride, Fabray.â 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. Iâm 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. Â
 Our session is about to begin when I see Neil poke his head.
 âAm I late?â 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 itâs because Iâve 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.
 âNo, please join us.â  I motion him to sit beside me and Mercedes has this âwho is this piece of hunk?â look on her face.  Sam looks displeased.  Weâre still good friends, by the way, and I could tell that heâs pining after Mercedes by the murderous glances heâs giving Neil.  Joe seems unaffected by the underlying tension and gives Iainâs brother a welcoming smile.
 âEveryone this is Neil.  I invited him to join us.â
 Everyone murmurs their hellos. Â
 âNeil Sheridan, right?â Sam looks at the newcomer with an air of hostility.  He doesnât carry his fatherâs surname, I reflect as I watch Neil saunter over to us.
 âYeah, thatâs right.â Neil replies, completely looking bored. Iâm starting to think that this is a famous Hargreave âI donât give an eff what you thinkâ counter stance.  It works effectively as Mercedes gives Sam a warning look which he relents.
 âSo tell us, brother Neil why you have come to join our group of praise?â Mercedes asks sweetly, as if giving out amends for Samâs antagonistic behavior.
 Despite of himself, Neil chuckles.  âWell, I know itâs hard to believe that someone like me has faith. My familyâs originally Catholic and raised me to believe in God.  And I do believe in God.  Iâve been going through some tough times.  Me and my aunt moved around especially in the last couple of months since my motherâs death.â
 Mercedes makes an automatic sign of the cross as an act of giving a silent condolence for Neilâs loss.  I pray that Iainâs mother didnât suffer that badly.  I knew she died from cancer.
 âIâve been a bit of a jerk too.  I didnât make things easier for my Aunt Luna.  Sheâs already had a lot to deal with, raising me as her own. She has a son from a previous relationship, Julian.  Heâs autistic, so yeah, itâs been hard for all of us.â
 âDonât you have any other family?â
 I already knew that answer, but because Sam asked this, his eyes full of compassion for Neilâs plight.  Iâve 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 thereâs 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.
 Neilâs eyes harden as he simply answers âNo, I donât.â  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.  âI never knew my father.  My mom says that he was a good man and when I was old enough to ask more, she didnât give me sufficient answers.  I donât 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 couldnât ask her, I tried going to Aunt Luna and she wasnât that much helpful either. I know itâs been really....frustrating not being able to know something about that other half of you.  I donât look anything like my mother.  I sure donât 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.â He gives off a lazy half smile and Iâm almost tempted to hug him. He clears his throat and cites a passage from a Bible.  Iâm amazed that he sites this out of memory.
 âThereâs a reading off Matthew from the New Testament that says: âTherefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.â Â
So Iâve been doing that, taking things a step at a time. Iâve found myself being much closer to the good Lord who has given me strength when my mom was dying with cancer. Iâve read the Bible to her whenever I got the chance to visit her at the hospital.â
 âPraise the word of the Lord for providing us comfort for the sick and our souls,â Joe says nodding with approval.
 We all respond with praises.
 âItâs 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.â Sam responds, reading off a page from a dog-earned pocket Bible he carries with him all the time during our sessions.
 âCommitment to our Lord and God our Father Almighty takes a lot of blind faith, especially during these dark times.  But if we persevere weâll find our way and our prayers will someday be answered.  So with this, I pray that you someday will find peace, Neil.â I smile and take his hand.
 He looks at me with this odd expression and says nothing. Â
 I really have to find a way for the brothers to meet. Iâve been wondering that perhaps maybe all this time from the time that I had chanced upon Iain in New York and this time that Iâve 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, letâs face it, an utter sham so I wouldnât have Finn sleeping off with some slut when I didnât 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 Iâve done in the past by reuniting Iain with his brother.
 ***
âHey wait up!â Neil catches up with me in the hall after our God Squad session. Â 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.
 âYou were great in there, Neil.  Iâm really glad you came.â
 âYeah, it was good meeting everyone else.  Even that weird guy with the Rastafarian hair is alright,â Neil nods towards Joeâs direction as he passes us by.  We murmur our hellos and Neil rivets back his attention, his marble-like sunburst eyes glinting with purpose.
 âI believe you owe me a date, Miss Fabray.  Iâve come to collect in advance.â He says softly as I can feel him coming in closer.  He stops until weâre almost head to head.  Actually, itâs 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 itâs different.
 âYes, I guess I do,â I swallow and nod.
 âWell, you donât have to act so nervous about it,â Neil laughs, but he doesnât realize is that I was thinking about his brother and doing mental comparisons between both of them.
 âI donât do dates.â
 He looks stunned. âWhy is that?â
 I shrug my shoulders.  âI guess it has something to do with the fact that I had a pretty rough time in the last two years.â âSomebody hurt you?â 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 didnât think Neil could afford to eat at Breadsticks, so going for coffee seemed like a good neutral ground.  I didnât want to hurt his feelings either because given from what Iâve known, heâs 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 Bethâs father while exiled.  My parentsâ 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.  Iâve been talking my head off and havenât realized that weâve already made it to our destination.  Iâm 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.
 âYou know what you want?â He motions his head across the counter.
 âIâll have a Chai latte with skim milk, thanks.â
 âAlright, beautiful. Just sit your pretty little ass there and Iâll go get us our order,â Neil winks at me, his eyes crinkling in amusement as I give him a scolding glance. Â
 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.  Heâs quiet, thoughtful and a lot mature for his age, I almost forget that Iâm two years older than he is. Â
 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 sheâs 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.
 âHere, let me help you,â I insist as I take my mug as he grins in thanks.  He then settles his cake.  Itâs a huge triple chocolate fudge cake.  He plops himself on the couch across me, I smile thoughtfully thinking of the Hargreave boysâ ability to still retain that boyish quality despite their rakish appeal.
 âI havenât had one of these like for the longest time,â 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.
 âAnd whyâs that?â  I laugh and shake my head when he offers to share his cake.
 âMy Aunt Luna has this thing about organic food,â Neil explains as he takes a long sip of his decaffeinated coffee.  âSheâs against anything thatâs processed, has sugar or preservatives, and all the other good stuff children like.  She thinks it makes her son, Tom hyper so we donât have it at home.  Plus sheâs a vegetarian, so meat is also definitely off the menu.â
 âThat mustâve been tough adjusting to a strict regime.â
 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. âIt wasnât that bad, at least I never had to worry about getting fat because  I eat. A. LOT.â He laughs, emphasizing on his huge insatiable appetite.
 I give him an appreciative look over.  âAnd itâs working.â
He lifts part of his shirt halfway to show me his well defined six pack abs. Â Â Â Â
 Holy crap!  I fervently remind myself that Neil is just 16 years old.  I canât 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 itâs 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 thatâs effortlessly paid off.
 âYouâre starting to drool, babe.â Neil throws his head back roaring in laughter as he quickly puts back his shirt.  âI usually donât like being ogled at, but for a stunningly beautiful woman, Iâll make a huge exception.â
 Has Iain ever told you how beautiful you are? My subconscious sneers as she walks over to caress Neilâs forearm before settling herself beside him, sitting on the armchair as she wraps her arms around him possessively.
 âHave you ever considered modeling?â  I recover from my reverie as I take another long sip of my Chai latte.  Itâs cold and was mixed a bit too sweet.  I donât care, just as long as I donât look at those tempting abs again.
 âI 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 weatherâs just as nice.  I also did some modeling there to cover for some of the bills.â  He raises an eyebrow when he notices my reaction.  âDonât 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 hadnât been sick, I might have taken up that Ford contract and moved to New York. â
 âDid your Aunt Luna always accompany you and your mom?â
 âYeah, she and mom are twins so they were inseparable.  I guess Aunt Luna just couldnât for any reason leave her alone to fend for me.  I guess sheâs got some twinâs 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. Thatâs why we moved out of Covington because Aunt Luna got a job so we were able to afford the hospital bills and pay for Momâs 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.â
 âIt must have been really tough.â
 âIt still is,â Neil runs a hand through his hair and sighs with frustration.  âI never had time to think about the superficial things people our age worry about, like whatâs 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.â  He then switches rapidly into another topic, which throws me off course but then again his brother also shares the same habit. Â
 âDo you know that I havenât eaten anything from a fast food restaurant in, like, almost forever?â he chuckles to himself divulging in a secret as he leans forward conspiratorially.  âThere 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, Iâve had an aversion to McDonaldâs like the plague.â Â
 âDid you ever think that it could have been indigestion or maybe it was just a bad burger?â
 âIt could have been,â Neil rubs his chin thoughtfully.  âBut Iâd rather not take the risk.  Aunt Lunaâs methods have proven to be quite effective that my stomach is programmed like this for the rest of my life.  I guess once youâre used to not having something good, it doesnât bother you because you donât know that itâs good. Although there are times where one can have regrets.â He looks at me thoughtfully and I get this weird feeling heâs talking about something other than food.
 I look at the time and notice that two hours have already flown by.  Oh my, Iâve 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 heâs left five messages and three missed calls and a voice mail. I quickly read them in order.
 Quinn, Iâll pick you up at school. Be there in 5 minutes
 Iâm at the parking lot waiting. Where are you?
 Quinn, Iâm 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.  Heâs really worried.  After reading his fifth message, I donât even want to know what heâs left on my voice box. I send him a quick text saying that Iâm with a friend and will be on my way home soon.  I donât need him to pick me up everyday like Iâm a five year old child. I care take care of myself!  But somehow the thought of Iain being angry because heâs worried doesnât settle in quite well with me.  With a resigned sigh, I look at Neil who seems mildly amused by my facial reaction.
 âBoyfriend problems?â
 âHow can you tell that it was a guy?â 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.
 âWell, first of all, you look like youâre going to go hysterical so I gather itâs someone whoâs 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 wouldnât mind if you liked girls too.â He teased giving me a wink while grinning evilly like some seductive Cheshire Cat. ââIâm open to dating brunettes, by the way.â
 I glare at him.  Neil suddenly bursts out laughing. His eyes turn misty from all the merriment. I start getting this feeling that Iâve 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.  Itâs an odd feeling in a good way that I find myself laughing along with Neil.
 âFor your information, Iâm 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.â
 âRelax, babe I was kidding.  I just havenât 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.â 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.
âI really should go,â I hastily return my phone and stand to pick up my bag. Â Neil gently grabs my hand and stops to look at me earnestly.
 âDonât,â he pleads softly.  âI meant what I said.  I really had fun being with you.  I havenât felt this way for a long time.  Canât you stay a little longer, please?â
 I hate to admit that Iâm 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. âI guess we could have dinner at Breadsticks if youâre up for it.  My treat too, please I insist.  We can use the coupon vouchers I got online. Iâve been dying to try their buffet special and I have an extra coupon because it was a buy-one-take-one offer.â I cut him off quickly when I note that heâs about to object.  Neil is a gentleman and would never allow a girl to pay for his meal, but I also know that heâs proud to admit that he couldnât afford the food there either.
 âPlus, they serve free unlimited breadsticks.  I know thereâs also an option to have them in organic whole wheat.â I added.
 âFirst I get an offer to be with a beautiful woman, then she tells me that I donât need to pay for the meal and now I can eat unlimited organic whole wheat products.â Neil looked staggered, gratified and impressed. âWhat kind of a man would I be to turn down such an offer?â 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 Americaâs 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?
 âEmma,â 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 donât concern her.
 âM-m-mister Hargreave!â 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.  âCan I help you with something?â Â
 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 Iâve seen the same behavior from this rich sheik I met in Dubai with a severe case of msyophobia.  Thatâs fear of germs in laymanâs terms.
 âHave you seen Will Schuster?  Iâve been trying to contact Quinn on the phone and sheâs not picking up. I assumed that maybe the New Directions have practice that Iâm not aware of?â
 It was common knowledge everyone knew I was Quinnâs acting legal guardian, hence I didnât 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.  âWill isnât in school.  He called in sick today so thereâs another new teacher whoâs taken over Spanish class.â
 Wonderful.  No glee club practice.  Since Quinn is no longer a cheerleader where the fuck could she be? The girl doesnât have a lot of other extracurricular activities except that she has been organizing a Bible study group, so maybe I could find her there.
 âDo you know where she holds her Bible Study group with Mercedes and Sam?â  I think about her discussing whatever it is Christian kids talk about.  Maybe sheâs enjoying her time praising God that she lost track of time.
 âYes, itâs just across my room on the other side, but Quinn already left an hour ago.â
 I let out an expletive, ignoring Emmaâs 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.
 âQuinn, so help me God for saying this: But where the fuck are you?  Iâm coming to get you.â I hang up then quickly press a number on speed dial.
 âMister Hargreave?â A feminine voice inquires.
 âNat, I need a tracing on a phone with the following number.â I give out Quinnâs digits brusquely along with her iPhone serial number, one of the perks of possessing an eidetic memory.  Thereâs 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.  âStay on her and keep me informed.â I tell her curtly before ending the call.
 I quickly get on the car and bring out Quinnâs GPS and type on the coordinates given.  Turns out Quinn frequents this place a lot because itâs 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. Â
 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. Â
 Sorry I was with a friend.  We went out for coffee and Iâll be home soon.
 Iâve been worried sick about you and all you can say is that youâre 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. Â
 Focus, Hargreave.  Donât let her get the best out of you. Â
 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 Iâm 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. Â
 The phone rings again.  I reach for the passenger seat and pick it up.
âHargreave,â I bark imperiously.
 âMister Hargreave, itâs Natasha Chen.  The subject hasnât moved and is still presently at the same location.  Youâre fast approaching at a 5 miles radius.  Will that be all, sir?â
 âYes. Thank you.â I dismiss her and return my phone back to the pocket of my blazer.
 Thatâs right, I console myself, focusing on how to get there than worrying about my exasperating little charge. Â
 Sheâs just having fun.  Being a kid, because thatâs who she is, my subconscious tells me though I refuse to listen as I pull up in a small bungalow type restaurant. Â
 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.  Iâm not a food critic nor do I care about the exterior of the restaurant, itâs 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. Â
 But these past few days, Iâve been behaving irrationally like a mad jealous boyfriend all because Iâve 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. Â
 I walk inside, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the restaurant.  Itâs noisy, crowded, and thereâs a large crowd lining across the buffet table.  I quickly scan around the group and when I donât 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 thatâs haunted me during my days, and most especially my nights.  Sheâs 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 donât 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 sheâs just ready to cry.  She mouths something like âoh my Godâ which I find ironic because I know itâs a sin for Christians to say the Lordâs name in vain.
 âHello Quinn,â I say with dead calm.  I usually am good with hiding my thoughts and feelings and this time itâll 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 âooga booga booâ and hit her with it before dragging her back to my cave.
 If I wasnât so angry or resentful, I would have marveled at the capability that this girl has over me.  Iâve barely been with her for less than two weeks and already Iâve turned into a paranoid, raving jealous Neanderthal. Â
 âIain,â she says softly.  I can tell that sheâs nervous but she looks into my eyes as if pleading me to forgive her. Â
 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.
âYou didnât answer my calls so I tracked you down,â I look at her with disdain as I motion her to scoot over. Â I take my seat beside her and snake my arm around the seat weâre occupying, staking a claim, but my eyes never leave her face as I watch the emotions play on her delicate features.
 âY-y-you were stalking me?â
 âYou didnât leave me any choice. I was worried and you werenât picking up your phone or answering my messages,â I tell her accusingly, trying desperately to keep my emotions in check.
 âIain, this isnât a good time.â 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.  Theyâre 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.  Itâs 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 winterâs night as he regards me in high amusement. Â The boy is a perfect carbon copy of our father, I note even by the derisive way heâs looking at me. It strikes me odd that I should still be surprised. Â I already know what Neil looks like from his records given by the hired private investigator and I know that heâs 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.
 âIâve always imagined our meeting would have been profound or at least poignant to some degree,â Neilâs gritty voice is tinged with part amusement and sarcasm. âBut never in my life had I imagined it would involve having to fight for the attention of a beautiful blonde. Iâve always thought redheads and brunettes were more of your type.â
 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.
 âHow do you two know each other?â
 Quinn for the first time is nonplussed.  âIâweââ
 Neil, though he may be a dickhead, takes mercy on her.  âWe met at Bible Study.â He explains smoothly.
 Now this is shocking news.  I turn my head and look again incredulously at my brother.  I still havenât removed my arm from Quinnâs side. Sheâs moved closer and is now leaning against me as if hoping to gain some inner strength.  My dour mood improves slightly but I donât feel like analyzing why I feel the way I do.  I donât even want to consider why Iâm holding her close and unconsciously rubbing her shoulder back and forth with my thumb like Iâm comforting her. Â
 Hell, Iâm the one whoâs supposed to be nervous. Â
 Neil rolls his eyes.  âPlease try not to act so surprised. I maybe poor, proud and a whole bunch of other things, big brother, but our mother didnât raise me to be an atheist.â
 âIâll let you catch up,â Quinn murmured as she uselessly pushes and tries to pry herself out of my arm.
 âYeah, big brother.  Stop holding on to that pretty girl like youâll never let her go.â Neil chides, but I can see that he enjoys rattling the hell out of me. Â
 I wonât allow him to get the best of me, because I know that heâs been hurt from the after effects of our parentsâ divorce, lonely, and heâs taking it out on me because Iâm the only target of Hargreave heritage thatâs 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. Â I give her the keys and tell her to stay in the car.
 âWeâll talk later,â 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 whoâs watching the scene with amusement.
 At this point, Iâve given up having to sugarcoat anything. Heâs 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 arenât quite sure how to proceed. Â
 Besides, I couldnât keep Quinn waiting too long for me.
 So instead, I try honesty for a change and ask him the first thing I think of.
 âHow did you know?â
 Neil shrugs his massive shoulders nonchalantly.  âFive 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.  Youâre 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.â
 âThen why didnât you come forward?â
 âYeah, right.â He scoffs.  âWhat 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?â
 âI would have.â
 âWell itâs too late for that now.  Besides, I knew it wouldâve broken Momâs heart.â
 I agreed.  âMom would have never wanted you to resort to anything so low.â âIâm surprised that you arenât angry with her for what you thought she did to Dad.â
 âNeil, Iâm not one to judge so quickly. I got my facts straight and have this theory of what really happened after the divorce.â
 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.
 âHe was devastated,â I say quietly, my mouth forms a grim line.  I shake my head at the memory of how my father grieved for her. âFor a long time he was despondent and wouldnât talk to anyone.  I tried to cheer him up, but it was hopeless.  He was sad and buried himself to work.  Whenever he remarried, heâd find something wrong in the relationship and cut off ties.â
 âHe couldâve written a damn letter.â
 âHe tried, Neil,â I interjected.  âIt was the only form of communication he had left after the restraining order.  Despite even that, it all came back as âreturn to senderâ.  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.â Â
 âDid he ever askâŠ..about me?â 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.  âI can imagine he knew about you.â I admitted.  âWhich explains why he went to Ohio because he wanted to, so to speak, bury the hatchet.â
 âWhen was this?â
 âAround a year after the divorce, before the restraining order.â  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 heâs struggling.  Heâs as tough, but Iâm sure as hell that he wasnât going to cry either.  Itâs part of the Stuart trait, because being Scottish weâre too proud, arrogant and tough.  I then try to soothe the young man by getting more to the point.
 âDoesnât it strike you odd that our own mother would file a restraining order against our father?â
 âShe was angry, thatâs understandable.â
 I shake my head.  âThink 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 anyoneâs 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.â
 I look directly at Neil and he ponders for a moment, considering the ramifications of everything Iâve told him.
 âI 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.â Somehow I couldnât bring myself to say the words that our mother was dead.  Â
 âIâm telling you now that he did care and more importantly, he cared about you.  Thereâs 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 werenât 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 Lunaâs picture on the news.â
 âHe left everything to me?â Neil asked incredulously.
 âHe did,â I answered.  âNeil, I donât need his money.  I have more than enough to last me ten reincarnations as a billionaire.â
 âI heard about the profits you made out of Grandfatherâs inheritance.â
 I smile impishly.  âIt drove his financial officers crazy.  But Pop trusted me to use it freely, under close supervision of a trusted adviser and miraculously, I thrived.â I nod as if stating the obvious. âSomeday, youâre going to do the same thing too.  Make something out of yourself.  That was our fatherâs gift to you.â
 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.
 âAunt Luna,â Neil says after a long pause then shakes his head bitterly.  âShe filed the restraining order.â
 That was the answer I hoped to hear.  I nod my head. Â
 âNow it all makes sense,â 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 motherâs 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.
 âThen when Mom was sick, she took care of her.â Neil laughs bitterly.  âShe felt fucking guilty after what she had done to us and took it on herself.â He looked thoughtful for a while.  âShe must have also returned the letters as well.  Sheâs 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.â
 âIt would be so convenient to hate her,â I remark dryly as I squelch the bile that rose to my throat when I notice Neil go from ashen to furious. âBut people are complicated.  Thereâs good and bad. Then there are those in betweenâlike Aunt Luna. Flawed, imperfect people whoâve made terrible mistakes.â
Neil exhales and collects himself. Â âWhat are we going to do?â
 âWell, weâre just going have to plan things accordingly.  I need to make sure that youâre ready to move out and live with us.â
 âIâm more than ready,â Neil says determinedly.  âIâve been waiting for this all my life.â
 âThereâs 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 wouldnât 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 âright thingâ by filing a restraining order, pretending to be Mom.  I could imagine she thought she could have something to gain thinking if she could âseduceâ 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 donât know Aunt Luna that well, but like again, what I said.  Not everythingâs written in black and white and itâs all in different shades of fucked up.â
 âThat would make sense,â Neil agreed.  âShe 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 Dadâs death.â
 âAnd then what happened?â âNothing.  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.â
 âI wouldnât be surprised, Dad never liked her.  I think he tolerated Luna because she was Momâs sister.â
 âIsnât it odd that theyâre twins and complete personalities apart?â
 âYeah, our mother was a saint and Luna is the spawn of Satan.â
 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 didnât have to play a stranger with Neil and form a bond, because it was already there.
 âLook, weâll discuss more tomorrow.  I already sent word to Anton and heâll bring you home.â âYou brought along your bodyguard?â
 âItâs mandatory,â I tell him.  âItâs for safety precautions and all other accouterments that come along with being a Stuart Rolfe Hargreave.  Youâll get used to it.â
 âDidnât you live in England for a while before Harvard? Itâs amazing that you never acquired the accent.â
 âI never forgot I was American,â I answer honestly.
 âOne more thing,â Neil interrupts as I am about to stand up.
 I raise my eyebrow.
 âAbout QuinnâŠâ âYes?â I ask testily.
 Neil bursts out laughing.  âNow, I may not have known you that long Big brother, but youâre not scaring me one bit.  Your intimidation tactics mightâve worked well with those sissy high powered suits, but you donât fool me.  Iâm so glad that we never grew up together because now that Iâm bigger than you, you wonât be able to kick my ass with what I have to say.â
 âDoesnât mean I canât try,â I growl as I resume back on my seat across my impertinent younger sibling.  âBut please, do go on.â
 âI donât like it one bit.  She has no clue who you really are, does she?â
 âThatâs none of your business.â
 âOh, I think it should be,â Neil disagrees.  âBecause I happen to like her.â
 âWell, you canât have her.â 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.
 âNow youâre acting possessive.  You like her; she likes you, whatâs holding you back?â
 âSheâs a child, Neil.â
 âShe was just as old as mom when she married Dad.â He points out dryly.  âI remember him being around your age too.â He then scratches his chin thoughtfully. âYou know, Quinn does kind of remind me of her.  Sweet, blonde, tough on the outside, all sugary on the inside--â
 âThatâs enough,â I command harshly.
 âItâs imperative that youâre going have to tell her sometime, big brother. Iâm surprised that she hasnât gone around asking questions about the whole thing, but maybe she doesnât want to know either.â Neil scratches his head thoughtfully as if pondering on the possibility. Â
 He quickly clears his throat and looks me in the eye, his voice dead serious. Â
 âIf ever you do come around confessing, it isnât going to matter to her.  Sheâs crazy about you, obviously. She wonât care about your annual net worth, sheâll probably even overlook the fact that you used to be a reckless playboy billionaire tycoon or maybe sheâll even give you hell about that which will probably be so much fun to witness.  I hate to admit this but itâs a real trip watching the two of you.  I take it youâve noticed the fireworks whenever you two come in close contact?  Sheâs jumpy when youâre around.  She never acts like that, even around me.  She keeps this mask on school like sheâs the beautiful perfect untouchable teen queen, but I know itâs all a ruse because deep down inside, she is more than beautiful and perfect: sheâs also sweet, sensitive, and damn funny when she wants to be.â Â
 Neil pauses to catch his breath and continues. Â
 âIâm sure as hell youâve noticed too, given your record that youâve dated the worldâs hottest women on the planet.  You could have had your pick of women and here you are, acting like you canât get enough because you canât keep your eyes and hands off her. Hell, you even dress alike which is by far the creepiest shit Iâve ever seen.â He nods at the red and black checkered shirt Iâm 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 didnât want to admit to my brother that I do notice the fireworks.  The same electric feeling whenever sheâs near or that I can be so in tune with her thoughts even though sheâs never vocalized them out loud.  Iâve heard from various people that sheâs difficult to read, but I find her reactions quite obvious and equally refreshing.  Maybe itâs because Iâve lived in a more sophisticated, complex world where Iâve played the guessing game so many times, in many various forms that Iâve grown tired and despondent for the past few years.  From the time Iâve 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, Iâve come to this conclusion that Quinn was perhaps the best thing thatâs ever happened to me for Iâve finally found a purpose in my life.  That was to make someoneâs life better. Â
 Starting with my brother.
 Who knows how many more lives I could help out?  Iâm on a roll at this point.
 âWell?â Neil raises an eyebrow.
 âWell, what?â
 âThink about what I said.  Quinn is a smart, beautiful, fine young woman whoâs obviously in love with you. I know weâve all got some shit baggage from our past but someday, youâre going have to figure out whatâs stopping you from loving someone like that because she wonât be the kind thatâll hang around if you donât love her back.â
 âAnd your point now is?â because I just had a feeling that my brother was going to suggest something more.
 âSo is she fair game? Because if you donât want her, I do.â
 âGet over it.â 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.
 âJust so you know,â he says when he finally calms down. âI was the first one she asked out on a date.â
 âIâm assuming this is one of those coupons vouchers she bought online?  Theyâre useless.  It was a scam.â
 Neilâs eyes widen in astonishment.  âDo you keep records of what she browses online?â
 âJust the payments sheâs made.  The company has already given her a refund on her debit card. Please donât tell her about it, because sheâll be mortified and go all melodramatic.â
 âYouâre acting like a stalker, Iain.â  Itâs the first time Neil addresses me with the nickname Iâve only reserved for my family to call me.  To the rest of the world, I was Max Hargreave, CEO and multibillionaire.
 âI havenât been myself for these past few days either.â I admit.
 âHeaven help me if I ever end up losing my balls over a beautiful woman.â Neil rolls his eyes.  âYou should have seen yourself earlier when you first saw her with me.â Neil snickers, savoring the memory as if divulging on a private joke where heâs the only person who knows the punch line.  âYou looked right about ready to kick my head in the trash bin.  You might have even succeeded if I was somebody else.â
 I donât answer him.  Iâm through with this useless discussion.  Neil raises an eyebrow and takes in a deep breath.  I donât even understand my own reaction to my brotherâs admission that he wanted Quinn.  I was furious, hell, Iâm still pissed.  So why do I care if my brother likes her just as much?  Heâs about the same age as she is, albeit a few years younger.  Quinn always has this habit for dating naĂŻve idiots anyway and given Neilâs age and inexperience, heâd 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.
 âRelax, little brother, I got this covered.â I fish down the pocket of my blazer and pull out two hundred dollar bills and place it on the tab like spare change.
 âBut I didnât get to payââ Neil stammered.
 âYou can keep the Bentley to compensate for your âlossâ.â
 Neilâs eyes suddenly glow in merriment when he turns around and sees the silver Mulsanne parked.  âReally? Thatâs mine,â he blows out a long whistle.  âI can definitely get used to that.â
 âThatâs not all youâre going to get used to.â
 âIs Genevieve really that scary in person as they say?â
 âShe makes Genghis Khan look like a Golden Retriever,â I answer dryly.
 âI heard thereâs a sister too.  Chelsea, right?â
 âYouâll meet them soon.â I promised.
 âOh, and another thing.â
 âYeah?â
âJust remember that I was the bigger man to walk away from Quinn.â
 âI should hate you.â
 âBut you donât,â Neil points out merrily.  âYou canât help yourself.â
 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 thereâs a manual out there in dealing with one. Â
   *         *         *
Chapter 13
Quinn
 âWell,â Iain said once we return to my house as we walk our way up the path to the front door.  âThat was interesting.â
 Weâve driven inside the car in utter silence.  I canât believe heâs calm the entire time.  I knew he was furious when he discovered me and Neil together, but now he acts like as if nothingâs 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. Doesnât anything ever faze him, I wonder sullenly.  The man reunited with someone from his past and heâs acting like as if he just visited an old friend.  Surely, somewhere inside him he has got to feel somethingâŠ.or remotely anything. Â
 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. Â
 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 weâre both at the ground.
 âWhat the hell are you doing?â He asks as he winces, recovering from the pain of the impact as Iâm sprawled on top of his lean, muscular body.
 I barely take notice because Iâm angry.  âHow could you be so cold, callous and uncaring?â I shriek.
 âWhat are you talking about?â
 âYou just met your brother, whom you never knew existed until a few months ago.  The only emotion youâve shown was anger because you were worried where I have been, and here you are acting like you could care less that youâve met Neil?  Do you possess any feelings at all?  Or is your heart made out of stone?â
 I begin whacking him on the chest with my fist.
 That felt good.
I do it again.
 âOw!  Will you quit doing that,â Iain glares at me when he grabs my arm.  Iâm too pissed to notice that his grip is surprisingly gentle albeit firm.
 I try doing it with my other free arm.  âHe was alone!â Whack.  âHe took care of your mother.â Whack.  âUntil the day she died, he was there with her.â Whack.  Whack. âDonât you miss her at all?â Whack. Whack. Whack. âHow could you not feel anything after all that?â  Whack. Whack. Whack.
 He tries to catch the other swinging arm, but Iâm too quick for him.
 âOh, so this is about Neil?â Iain asks flatly. His voice has taken a hard edge at the mention of his brotherâs name.  If I wasnât so frustrated with him, I would have realized that Iain sounded jealous and was resentful that I was considering his brotherâs feelings than his.
 âNo, you idiot!â I yell as I whack him again at the chest. âThis has nothing to do with your brother.â
 âThen would you mind telling me why youâre so angry?  Stop hitting me, itâs not going to accomplish anything.â
 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.  Itâs 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 itâs completely futile as he has pulled my arms over my head, imprisoning my wrists with one hand, while the other supporting his weight.  Iâm acutely aware of this uncompromising position now that weâre face-to-face and I swallow hard upon the realization of our almost intimate posture.  Even though Iâm acutely aware that heâs 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.
 âLet me upâŠ..now!â 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 isnât breathing hard as he holds me helplessly in this position.  When I realize that he isnât going to do anything, I finally stop.
 âYou ready to talk?â He asked, but I could swear his voice sounds hoarse.
 âDonât you feel anything at all?â I ask softly.  âIf it were me, Iâd be shouting my head off, with all this frustration and crazy thatâs gone by for sixteen years.  Iâm mad, Iain.  Iâm angry for your behalf because Iâm your friend and IâŠcare about you.â  I canât bring myself to admit that I feel more than that.  I add hastily, avoiding the topic.  âIâm also hurt that you wonât let me in on what youâre thinking; I thought thatâs what friends do, tell each other things about themselves because they trust each other. But here you are, acting cold, unfeeling like you donât care and itâsâŠ.tearing me apart.â  I turn my head because I donât want him to see the tears welling up my face.  âIâm not supposed to care, Iain but I do.  I know that you arenât willing to share everything thatâs ever happened to you, because thatâs who you are, but canât you at least let me in?â Â
 Thereâs a long sharp intake of his breath. I realize that Iâm finally getting through to him.  Sometimes, I swear for a remarkably smart man, Iain can be so obtuse.  Heâs probably been thinking that I was worried about Neilâs feelings, when it was him I worried about most.  I couldnât 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. Â
 âWhen I was few years younger than Neil, I got into a lot of brawls.â He said quietly.  I barely notice that heâs let go of my wrist and moves slightly to adjust his weight despite not moving elsewhere as he stares down looking at me.  Thereâs an contained expression on his handsome features as if heâs just analyzing his thoughts for the first time.  âI was pretty pent-up all the time so I picked fights with anyone at anytime.  I didnât care if they were bigger or they were more in number than I could handle. I was angry and wanted to do serious harm.  Iâd 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.â
 âWhen was this?â âEarly teens. They immediately sent me to Scotland to deal with my drama.â
 âHow did you overcome it?â
He smiles bitterly at the memory of it. Â âI 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. Â I was a natural at soccer, but my great-grandmother would never allow me to play professionally.â He snickers at the memory. Â âYou should see how the Scots play football. Â It can get pretty out of control sometimes that survival is a necessity than scoring a goal,â he jokes chuckling at the memory.
 âDid you find some other way to vent your anger?â
 âI did some target shooting too.â  Iain added.  âI think all the gun powder and deafening sounds made me lose my frustration all together.â
 âAre you going to let me up now?â  Iâm now highly aware that weâre still lying on the ground.  I want to move as far as possible away from him as I can.  Itâs 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 Â
 âDepends if youâre going to hit me again.â  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 heâs 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.
 âI was resentful for a long time,â Iain says quietly after a long companionable stillness.  âI 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.â
 âIain, it wasnât your fault.  You were a child.â
 âI know that now,â he agrees, his voice solemn.  âIt 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 couldnât change and moved on.  Since then, I havenât shown any form of extreme emotion.  So forgive me if you think Iâm a cold, heartless clout.â
 âIâm sorry,â 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.  Iâm acutely aware that he has made no effort to retract his hand.  âNo, you were right to call me out on my bluff.  I should have considered Neilâs feelings as well. Heâs 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.  Itâs a shame they never met.  If thereâs anything that I feel towards thisâŠ.itâs regret.â
 âWhat are you going to do about it?  I mean, the whole thing with Neil and everything else?â
 He lets a long exasperated sigh.  âItâs going to be a shock.  The rest of my family doesnât know because my father kept his will and Neilâs identity a secret.  He left a clause specifically not informing everyone that he wasnât to be contacted until he reached 18 years old.  I found an article about my momâs twin some months ago and had I not been as persistent, I wouldnât have known about him either.â
 âSo what happened to your fatherâ assets?  Surely there would have been questions about fatherâs will?â
 âHe 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.â
 âIain?â
âYes?â
 âThere are things about you that I know youâre 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.â I tell him quietly. Â
 Itâs 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 heâs already showing that side of him that Iâve 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.  Heâs sensitive, sometimes a bit moody and unpredictable, but that excites me like no other, he also has a kind heart, seeing how considerate heâs 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 parentsâ 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 Iâm 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 wouldâve comforted him, but right now Iâm 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 couldnât commit either was fruitless.  Plus, I didnât 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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#Glee#glee fanfiction#quinn fabray#rachel berry#noah puckerman#finn hudson#kurt hummel#mike chang#tina cohen chang rp#fanfiction#fan fiction#fanfic#romance
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could you give a description of all Brandon's characters in the new Killers music video?
Lmao okay so I did my best here. BUT this is definitely subjective andother people might be reading different things from them. This turned out waylonger than anybody wants or needs it to be but oh well. See below the cut if you want to listen to me bullshitting.
Okay so the first character is some kind of washed upsinger-turned-Vegas cabaret performer. Someone who once had a pretty sparklingcareer but now that heâs older and over the hill, his popularity declined tothe point that the only gig he could land was one where heâs performing to double-digitaudiences who yawn and sigh through this forgotten legendâs performance. Thefact that Brandon is wearing a suit that he wore over 10 years ago when heplays this character is what brings me to the conclusion that this dude hadonce made a name for himself, but his popularity declined and performing aspart of some kind of dated residency is the only gig he could land. Heâs stillwearing the suit he used to wear because it reminds him of a time where he felthe was doing what he was destined to do. You can tell that the performer in thevideo is pretty unhappy because of his facial expressions and just the lack ofgusto in his performance. He smiles at one point but itâs such a sad smile.Heâs kind of hyped up backstage, probably because it reminds him of the oldendays before heâd step out step out to crowds of thousands of screaming fans, butthen when he does go onstage, he steps out to a modest crowd of people whocouldnât care less if heâd turned up or not. Heâs depressed because he remembers how good he used to be and knows he wonât ever be that guy again.
The second character is an ex-motorcycle stunt riderwhose career seems to have come to an abrupt end after he crashed out on acourse and seriously injured himself. He relives his glory days bywatching tape after tape of old recordings of himself in action during theheight of his career. He has video cassettes stacked around his TV labelledwith things like âHoover Dam,â and âEuro Tourâ so it seemslike he had a pretty accomplished career going for himself until he had his accident.One of the tapes has ââ01â as the date on it, so on the basis thatthe MV is set in 2017, itâs obviously been a while since he was in his heyday.Whether it was because he was scared to get back into stunting or if hisphysical condition following the accident didnât permit it, he crashed out ofhis career and seems to have been unable to move on from it. Heâs obsessed withthe life he used to have and is trying to hold on to some semblance of the person he usedto be. I think itâs also important to note that of all of the characters, thisone is the only one (as far as I can tell) to wear a wedding band. This leadsme to believe that his obsession with his cut-too-short career caused hismarriage to fail too. Re-watching these old tapes brings a brief moment ofnostalgic happiness back to the character, but he breaks when footage of theaccident reminds him of the reality of his situation, of all thecould-have-beens, and of all that heâs lost. For me, this guy and the first guyare the two characters that are easiest to sympathise with.
Next we have a gambling addict who seems to actricher than he actually is, showing off by wearing ridiculous clothes that areas loud as his ego and flashing materialistic possessions like his fancy watch,his rings, and his classic car. He walks through the casino as though heâs somekind of renowned casino/gambling mogul but nobody seems to take any notice ofhim at all and he simply takes a seat at a casino table with everyone else.Heâs dressed like an archetypal bigshot cowboy, but he soon gambles away whatlittle money he has, and when he runs out of chips, he gambles his jewelleryand then finally his car because heâs an addict and he literally canât stophimself. Iâm personally drawing a link between this character and the oneportrayed in âWelcome to Fabulous Las Vegasâ from Brandonâs firstsolo album.
Next we have a guy whoâs dressed up to the nines,suited and booted and very clearly wealthy in terms of money and in terms ofhis sense of self. The character is seen flirting with a group of women who, tohis face, flirt back, but behind his back they all seem to be saying what acomplete asshole he is. Clearly his only appeal to them is the fact that heâswealthy. They fawn over him long enough to temporarily boost his ego, but noneof them seem to actually like him. The fact that one of the girls looks at herwatch at one point in the video and they all leave without him to me suggests thathe paid for their company. He winds up alone, and the message here seems to bethat money canât buy happiness or friendships or relationships. No matter howmuch money you have: If youâre an asshole, nobodyâs gonna give a shit.
Last we have a self-obsessed, narcissistic bachelorwho seems to think he runs any joint he walks into. Heâs very egotistical andarchetypically masculine/âmachoâ, and acts like a bigshot even though he livesalone in a beat up old trailer with a beat up old car to match. Everything hedoes seems to be to add to that male bravado: The weight lifting; Shooting tincans that he could just as easily knock over with the barrel of his gun andspare himself a bullet with how close heâs standing; The fact that the hood of hiscar is open and there are tools left out. Heâs supposed to embody masculinitybut of course we see that this gets him nowhere. Alone, he goes to a karaoke bar andperforms what seems to be a well-practiced routine that he clearly gives on thereg (only after necking a couple of shots for Dutch courage) and he takes itway too seriously. He thinks he can go around doing as he pleases and havethere be no repercussions, but he learns the hard way that this isnât the casewhen he hits on a chick whoâs watching him sing. Her partner squares up to himand beats him up, and heâs left battered and bruised. Nonetheless, he seems toget off on it somehow.
I think the main things that tie these five guystogether are loneliness, and the fact that the character of âThe Manâis for each of them exactly that: A character. A suit that they put on. They each seem to be soself-obsessed and have such an inflated sense of self that theyâve wound upalone and unhappy because they donât listen to other peopleâs advice, theythink they know it all. They think that anything they hear that contradictstheir opinion is intended to hinder them rather than help them, and in turnthis has isolated them from pretty much everyone. Each character embodies thesemasculine stereotypes, but the video really highlights the fragility of thatmasculinity, mocking what it means to be stereotypically masculine. These guysare over-obsessed with what it means to be âThe Manâ, and it winds up ruiningtheir lives. The video really compliments the self-deprecating message of thesong: Even though its lyrics appear to be full of pomp and apparentself-importance, combined with the video it becomes clear that the songâsactually warning you not to turn out like those guys.
I also canât helpbut feel like those guys are emblematic of different aspects of Brandonâspersonality, only hyperbolised to the point of ridiculousness. I think thecharacters play on Brandonâs fears and on all the ways he could have turned out.They represent things that maybe were important to him when he was younger, butgrowing up has made him realise how little materialisms actually mean in thegrand scheme of things. The karaoke guy needing a drink before he can go up onstage, these guysâ need for validation, a fear of becoming irrelevant andwashed up. Brandon is definitely acting in this video, heâs definitely playinga bunch of characters, but for sure thereâs more of him in them thaninitially meets the eye. And thatâs why I think it needed to be Brandon whoplayed all these characters, as disappointing as it is that the other guys arenâtin the video. These are five wildly different characters who have somepersonality traits in common, and thatâs because those personality traits stem fromthe same person.
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Cover Reveal & Excerpt: Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune
https://ift.tt/eA8V8J
We are very excited to have a proper first look at Lambda Literary award-winning author TJ Kluneâs upcoming adult fantasy novel, Under the Whispering Door, which Klune has described as âa queer romantic comedy about ghosts in a tea shop.â So⊠thatâs a place on our Most Anticipated Books of 2021 list secured. Set to hit bookshelves in March of next year, Under the Whispering Door is the story of âa ghost who refuses to cross over and the ferryman he falls in love with.â Check out the full synopsis below:
When a reaper comes to collect Wallace Price from his own funeral, Wallace suspects he really might be dead. Instead of leading him directly to the afterlife, the reaper takes him to a small village. On the outskirts, off the path through the woods, tucked between mountains, is a particular tea shop, owned by a man named Hugo, who is just a regular tea shop owner to locals and the ferryman to souls who need to cross over. But Wallace isnât ready to abandon the life he barely lived. With Hugoâs help, he finally starts to learn about all the things he missed in life. By turns heartwarming and heartbreaking, this absorbing tale of grief and hope is told with Kluneâs signature warmth, humor, and extraordinary empathy.Â
And here is a first look at the beautiful cover (from Red Nose Studio) for Under the Whispering DoorâŠ
As promised, a sneak peek inside Under the Whispering DoorâŠ
Chapter 1
Mrs. Ryan was crying.
Wallace hated it when people cried.
âHow did you know?â she said, her cheeks wet as she reached for the Kleenex box on his desk. She didnât see him grimacing.Â
âHow could I not?â he said. He folded his hands on his oak desk, his Arper Aston chair squeaking as he settled in for what he was sure was going to be a case of unfortunate histrionics, all while trying to keep his nostrils from flaring at the stench of bleach and Windex. One of the night staff must have spilled something in his office, the scent thick and cloying. He made a mental note to send out a memo to remind everyone that he had a sensitive nose, and he shouldnât be expected to work in such conditions. It was positively barbaric.
 The shades on the windows to his office were pulled shut against the afternoon sun, the air conditioning blasting harshly, keeping him alert. Three years ago, someone had asked if they could move the dial up to seventy degrees. Heâd laughed. Warmth led to laziness. When one was cold, one kept moving.Â
Outside his office, the firm moved like a well-oiled machine, busy and self-sufficient without the need for significant input, just as Wallace liked. He wouldnât have made it as far as he had if heâd had to micro-managing every employee. Of course, he still kept a watchful eye, those in his employ knowing they needed to be working as if their lives depended on it. Their clients were the most important people on earth.Â
Which brought him back to Mrs. Ryan. The machine had broken down, and though no one was infallible, Wallace needed to switch out this part for a new one. Heâd worked too hard to let the system fail now. Last year had been their most profitable in the firmâs history. This year was shaping up to be even better. No matter what condition the world was in, something always needed to be sued.
Mrs. Ryan blew her nose. âI didnât think you cared.â
He stared at her. âWhy on earth would you think that?â
âYouâre not exactly the type.â
 âOf course Iââ
âItâs just that things have been so hard lately,â she said, as if he hadnât spoken at all. âIâve tried to keep it bottled in, but I should have known youâd see right through it.â
âExactly,â he said, trying to steer the conversation back on course. The quicker he got through this, the better off theyâd both be. Mrs. Ryan would realize that, eventually. âI saw right through it. Now, if you could justââ
âAnd you do care,â she said. âI know you do. After all, you left a floral arrangement on my desk for my birthday last month. Yes, it didnât have a card, but a man of your importance is far too busy for personalizing a gift that could have ostensibly come from anyone. I didnât need a card. I knew what you were trying to say. You appreciate me. And I so appreciate you, Mr. Price.â
He didnât know what the hell she was talking about. He hadnât given her a single thing. It must have been his secretary. He was going to have to have a word with her. Flowers were pointless. They always died, leaving behind a rotting mess that caused Wallace to sneeze ferociously. With this in mind, he picked up his ridiculously expensive Montblac pen, jotting down a note (IDEA FOR MEMO: PLANTS ARE TERRIBLE AND NO ONE SHOULD HAVE THEM). Without looking up, he said, âI wasnât trying toââ
âKyle was laid off two months ago,â she said, and about it took him a beat or three to remember who she was talking about. Kyle was her husband, which made him Kyle Ryan, a man with two first names, and therefore, not to be trusted. Wallace had met the man at a firm function (âCall me Kyle, bro. I insist! Itâs great to meet you!â). Kyle had been intoxicated, obviously enjoying the champagne Moore, Price, Hernandez & Worthington had provided after yet another successful year. Face flushed, Kyle had held them all hostage with a ridiculously loud and embellished story, the details of which Wallace didnât care to remember. He despised loud anything, much less loud men attempting to relive their glory days in a public setting.
âOh no,â he said. âHow tragic. Now that thatâs out of the way, we should turn our attention to the matter atââ
âHeâs having trouble finding work,â Mrs. Ryan said, crumpling up her tissue before reaching for another. She wiped her eyes, her makeup smearing. âAnd it couldnât come at a worse time. Our son is getting married this summer, and weâre supposed to pay for half the wedding. I donât know how weâll manage, but weâll find a way. We always do. Itâs just a bump in the road.â âMazel tov,â Wallace said. He didnât even know she had children.Â
Mrs. Ryan honked again into her tissue, a long and terribly wet noise that made his skin crawl. âAnd then thereâs our daughter. I thought she was directionless and going to end up hoarding ferrets, but then the firm graciously awarded her a scholarship, and she finally found her way. Business school, of all things. Isnât that wonderful?â
He squinted at her. Heâd need to speak to the partners. He wasnât aware they offered scholarships. They donated to charities, yes, but the tax breaks more than made up for it. He didnât know what sort of return theyâd see on giving money away for something as ridiculous as business school, even if it too could be written off. The daughter would probably want to do something as asinine as open a restaurant or start a non-profit. âI think you and I have a different definition of wonderful.â
She nodded, but he doubted immensely she actually heard him. âThis job is so important to me, now more than ever. The people here are like family. We all support each other, and I donât know how Iâd have made it this far without them. And while Iâd rather not have been found crying in the supply closet, at least I knowââ
âThatâs what that was?â Wallace asked with a grimace. âI thought you were taking inventory and the dust was affecting your allergies.â Heâd need to remind his employees the supply closet was not a place to have an emotional breakdown. They should save that for when they werenât on the clock and far away from the office.
She chuckled and sniffled at the same time, a feat Wallace did not want to see repeated. âIt means more to me than youâll ever know asking after my wellbeing. I donât care what anyone else says, Mr. Price. Youâre a good man.â
What was that supposed to mean? âWhat is everyone saying about me?â
She blanched. âOh, nothing bad. You know how it is. You started this firm. Your name is on the letterhead. ItâsâŠintimidating.â
Wallace relaxed. He felt better. âYes, well, I suppose thatâsââ
âI mean, yes, people talk about how you can be cold and calculating and if something doesnât get done the moment you want it to, you raise your voice to frightening levels, but they donât see you like I do. I know itâs a front for the caring man underneath the expensive suits.â
âA front,â he repeated, though he was pleased she admired his sense of style. His suits were luxurious. Only the best, after all. It was why part of the package welcoming those new to the firm listed in detailed bullet-points what was acceptable attire. While he didnât demand designer labels for all (he could appreciate student debt), if anyone wore something obviously bought off a discount rack, theyâd be given a stern talking to about taking pride in their appearance.
âYouâre hard on the outside but inside youâre a marshmallow,â she said.
Heâd never been more offended in his life. âMrs. Ryanââ
âPatricia, please. Iâve told you that before many times.â
She had. âMrs. Ryan,â he said firmly. âWhile I appreciate your enthusiasm, I believe we have other matters to discuss.â
âRight,â she said hastily. âOf course. I know you donât like when people compliment you. I promise it wonât happen again. Weâre not here to talk about you, after all.â
He was relieved. âExactly.â
Her lip trembled. âWeâre here to talk about me and how difficult things have become lately.â
Wallace could only blame himself for the apparent miscommunication. Well, himself and Mrs. Ryan. Mostly her. âWe need to refocusââ
âKyle wonât touch me,â she whispered. âItâs been years since Iâve felt his hands on me.â
He flinched. âI donât know if this is appropriate, especially when youââ
âI know!â she cried. âHow inappropriate can he be? I know Iâve been working seventy hours a week, but is it too much to ask for my husband to perform his matrimonial duties? It was in our vows.â
What an awful wedding that must have been. Theyâd probably held the reception at a Holiday Inn. No. A Holiday Inn Express. He had no doubt karaoke had been involved.Â
âBut I donât mind the long hours,â she continued. âItâs part of the job. I knew that when you hired me.â
Ah! An opening! âSpeaking of hiringââ
âMy daughter pierced her septum,â Mrs. Ryan said forlornly. âShe looks like a bull. My little girl, wanting a matador to chase her down and stick things in her.â
âMy god,â Wallace muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He didnât have time for this. He had a meeting in half an hour that he needed to prepare for.Â
âI know!â Mrs. Ryan exclaimed. âThe only reason I can even get up in the morning is knowing I can come here and justâŠescape from it all.â
He felt a strange twist in his chest. He rubbed at his sternum. Most likely heartburn. He should have skipped the chili. âIâm glad we can be a refuge from your existence, but thatâs not why I asked you for this meeting.â
She sniffled. âOh?â She smiled again. It was stronger this time. âThen what is it, Mr. Price?â
He said, âYouâre fired.â
She blinked.
He waited. Surely now sheâd leave, and he could get back to work.Â
She looked around, a confused smile on her face. âIs this one of those reality shows?â She laughed, a ghost of her former exuberance heâd thought had long since been banished. âAre you filming me? Is someone going to jump out and shout surprise? Whatâs that show called? Youâre Fired, But Not Really?âÂ
âI highly doubt it,â Wallace said. âI havenât given authorization to be filmed.â He looked down at her purse in her lap. âOr recorded.â
Her smile faded. âI donât understand. What do you mean?â
âI donât know how to make it any clearer, Mrs. Ryan. As of today, you are no longer employed by Moore, Price, Hernandez & Worthington. When you leave here, security will allow you to gather up your belongings and then youâll be escorted from the building. Human Resources will be in touch shortly regarding any final paperwork youâll need in case you need to sign up forâŠoh, what was it called?â He flipped through the papers on the desk. âAh, yes. Unemployment benefits. Because apparently, even if youâre unemployed, you can still suckle from the teat of the government in the form of my tax dollars. So, in a way, itâs like Iâm still paying you. Just not as much. Or while working here. Because you donât.â
She wasnât smiling any longer. âIâŠwhat?â
âYouâre fired,â he said slowly.Â
âWhy?â she demanded.
Now they were talking. They why of things was Wallaceâs specialty. Nothing but the facts. âBecause of the amicus brief in the Cortaro matter. You filed it two hours past the deadline. The only reason it was pushed through was because Judge Smith owed me a favor, and even that almost didnât work. I had to remind him that Iâd seen him and his au pair-turned-mistress at theâit doesnât matter. You couldâve cost the firm thousands of dollars, and that doesnât even begin to cover the harm it wouldâve caused our client. That sort of mistake wonât be tolerated. I thank you for your years of dedication to Moore, Price, Hernandez & Worthington, but Iâm afraid your services will no longer be required.â
She stood abruptly, the chair scraping along the hardwood floors. âI didnât file it late.â
âYou did,â Wallace said evenly. âI have the timestamp from the clerkâs office here if youâd like to see it.â He tapped his fingers against the folder sitting on his desk.
Her eyes narrowed. At least she wasnât crying any longer. Wallace could handle anger. On his first day in law school, he was told that lawyers, while a necessity in a functioning society, were always going to be the focal point of ire. âEven if I did file it late, Iâve never done anything like that before. It was one time.â
âAnd you can rest easy knowing you wonât do anything like it again,â Wallace said. âBecause you no longer work here.â
âButâŠbut my husband. And my son. And my daughter!â
âRight,â Wallace said. âIâm glad you brought that up. Obviously, if your daughter was receiving any sort of scholarship from us, itâs now rescinded.â He reached for his desk phone, hand knocking against his coffee mug (WORLDâS BEST BOSS, a gift from a former employee who died in a skiing accident or something equally as ludicrous; what was their name? Todd? Lisa?), causing it to slosh and splatter his desk. Mrs. Ryan started to rise as if she wanted to help, but he waved her off as he moved the files out of the way. The phone beeped when he pressed the green button at the base. âShirley? Can you please make a note for HR that Mrs. Ryanâs daughter no longer has a scholarship through us? I donât know what it entails, but Iâm sure they have some form they have to fill out that I need to sign. See to it immediately.â
His secretaryâs voice crackled through the speaker. âYes, Mr. Price.â
He looked up at his former paralegal. âThere. See? All taken care of. Now, before you go, Iâd ask that you remember weâre professionals. Thereâs no need for screaming or throwing things or making threats that will undoubtedly be considered a felony. And, if you could, please make sure when you clear out your desk that you donât take anything that belongs to the firm. Your replacement will be starting on Monday, and Iâd hate to think what it will be like for her if she was missing a stapler or tape dispenser. Whatever knickknacks you have accumulated are yours, of course.â He picked the stress ball on his desk with the firmâs logo on it. âThese are wonderful, arenât they? I seem to remember you getting one to celebrate seven years at the firm. Take it, with my blessing. I have a feeling it will come in handy.â
âYouâre serious,â she whispered.
âAs a heart attack,â he said. âNow, if youâll excuse me, I have toââ
âYouâŠyouâŠyou monster!â she shouted. âI demand an apology!â
Of course she would. âAn apology would imply Iâve done something wrong. I havenât. If anything, you should be apologizing to me.â
Her answering screech did not contain an apology.
Wallace kept his cool as he pressed the button on his phone again. âShirley? Has security arrived?â
âYes, Mr. Price.â
âGood. Send them in before something gets thrown at my head.â
The last Wallace Price saw of Patricia Ryan was when a man named Geraldoâlarge and ominous, perfectly suited for such tasks, which is why Wallace had hired him in the first placeâdragged her away, kicking and screaming, apparently ignoring Wallaceâs warning about felonious threats.
The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off her outrage.
âAh,â Wallace said. âThatâs more like it. Back to work, people! Just because itâs Friday doesnât mean you get to slack off.â
Everyone began moving as if a fire had been lit under them.
Perfect. The machine ran smooth once again.
He went back into his office, closing the door behind him.
He thought of Mrs. Ryan only once more that afternoon when he received an email from the head of Human Resources telling him that she would take care of the scholarship. That twinge in his chest returned, but it was all right. Heâd stop for a bottle of Tums on his way home. He didnât give itâor Patricia Ryanâanother thought. Ever forward, he told himself as he moved the email to a folder marked EMPLOYEE GRIEVENCES.
Ever forward.
He began to whistle a jaunty tune as he got back to work.
*****
Two days later, Wallace Price died.
Used with permission from Tor Books, an imprint of Tom Doherty Associates; a trade division of Macmillan Publishers. Copyright TJ Klune (c) 2021.Â
TJ Klune is a USA Today best-selling and Lambda Literary award-winning author and an ex-claims examiner for an insurance company. His novels include The House in the Cerulean Sea, and The Extraordinaries. Being queer himself, Klune believes itâs importantânow more than everâto have accurate, positive, queer representation in stories.Â
Under the Whispering Door will hit bookshelves on March 2, 2021. It is now available for pre-order.
The post Cover Reveal & Excerpt: Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune appeared first on Den of Geek.
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