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He swallows loudly enough I can hear it, even with the monitors. "Well, we ran your blood work with your mother’s, and your father's even, to look for compatibility. The transplant."
"And?" I say since I've been reduced to one-syllable words.
"You weren't a match to either of them. Neither of them is your biological parent."
The room seems to go silent around me as all the air is sucked out of the room. All the abuse, the verbal jabs, the indifference, all on my so-called father's part, was it because he knew all along?
If they aren't my parents, who the hell is?
I can't wrap my head around what he's told me. Everything seems to tilt sideways. Nothing is lining up. There's no axis on which to orient myself.
I stand, and the doctor stands too, keeping his eyes locked on me. He braces his body like he's ready to rush forward at any moment.
I lay a hand on the back of the chair and turn my back to the man. Shit. Get ahold of yourself. He doesn't need to see you break down. No one can see that. I have to keep it together no matter what.
Without turning around, I shuffle toward the doorway, needing distance from him. From the truth, too. "I'll come back, Doctor. I need some time to think about this."
He says something, but I don't catch it as I rush out the door and down the hall, racing to the exit before I say or do something to draw attention to myself.
Don't let them see. It's a lesson my father taught me under the weight of his fist, and I've never in my life been grateful for that particular lesson until this very second.
I step out of the hospital's sliding glass doors and take a deep breath of the cold midday air. Then another, using the chill in my lungs to clear my head. I have so many more questions than answers, but at least I can breathe again.
Until that old familiar feeling rises up to choke me once more. The feeling that I can't quite grasp anything, that nothing, nothing is in my control.
I hate this goddamn feeling.
I open my phone and pull up the ride app. Since I'm downtown, it only takes minutes for a car to pull up, and there's only one person I need to see right now. Only one person can make this feeling go away.
Bel. My little wallflower.
It hits me like another punch to the face when I’m already fucking down. We can’t be related. If he’s her father, but not mine...she’s not my sister.
It’s not like that knowledge would keep me away from her, but a wave of relief washes through me, and suddenly, the urge to see her is even stronger, a driving force pushing me to get to her.
It takes a little while to get to the Arturo estate, and I rush to the gate, punch the intercom, and wait.
"Can I help you?" a male voice says, but it's not Sebastian.
"I'm here to see Maybel."
There's a pause, then... "Ms. Arturo isn't available, especially to you, ever." It's Seb this time for sure. The venom in his voice reaches me even through the tinny intercom line.
"Fucking let me in, Seb. I just want to talk to her," I grit out, balling my fists to keep from grasping the intercom box and shaking it from its base.
"Go away, Drew. You aren't getting near her. I explained that before, and I'll keep saying it. Go away before I send security out to make you go away."
Fuck him. He's not going to keep me from my flower. I spin and stare at the fence line as a security guard marches down from the gatehouse on the other side.
He looks pressed and polished in a security uniform, so he doesn't travel with the family. Fucking good.
I paste on my good ole boy smile and wave him over. "Hey, man," I call out.
His shoulders relax, and he steps up to the gate, my disarming smile doing its usual work. "You have to leave, sir."
I smile again and swagger toward the gate until I'm within reaching distance. I shoot my hand through the wrought iron, grab his shirt front, and slam him into the gate hard enough to stun him.
"Look," I snarl with enough menace in my tone to ensure he doesn't mistake a single word I speak. "I want nothing to do with you or your boss. I want to know where Bel is, that's all. I’m asking nicely, but here in a few moments, I won’t be, and then I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you after that. So what’s it going to be? Are you going to tell me what I want to know, or are we going to see if I can pull your head through these fucking bars?” My grip is tight as I tug him against the iron, adding just enough pressure to press his cheeks against the bars.
