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Then he shifts around so he’s facing me and stands.
“I’m...I’m fine, I guess. Where’s my mom?” he asks, fidgeting in his seat.
“Still at the hospital,” I say, digging my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “Do you want to get something to eat? I’ll take you anywhere. Well, anywhere that’s open at this hour.”
“I’m not hungry. When will I see my mom?” he asks, a sharpness in his tone.
Who can blame him? He’s only been here overnight and he’s already had it.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
I plan on giving him more, eventually. Being in the loop with what’s going on might help him feel less upset, but I can’t answer questions I don’t have answers to.
“You can’t just keep me here. Take me to my mom!” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, his blue eyes seething, just a shade paler than mine.
The boy has the Heron stubbornness, that’s for sure.
“Let’s get some food in you, first, and then we’ll talk about it. It’s easier on a full stomach,” I tell him.
“Dude, I don’t want your food. Your fucking money doesn’t give you the right to hold me captive, you know. I don’t even get why I’m here. Who are you? Take me to my mom!” Jordan snarls, circling me without taking his eyes off me.
Damn.
I’ve tried to be nice, but this isn’t working.
“Visiting hours don’t start before nine. The hospital’s rules, not mine,” I tell him, my voice getting stern. “Your mother needs her rest. I’ve flown in the best surgeon in the country to take care of her. She’s got a first-class medical team with consultants from Johns Hopkins. She’ll be—”
“Oh my God.” Jordan puts his hands on his head and turns away from me. “I can’t believe this shit. You’re him, aren’t you?”
Him.
One word like a shotgun blast to the face.
Who does he mean? I have one good sickening guess.
“Young man, who do you think I am?” I ask softly.
He spins around so he’s facing me again. His eyes are like the bottom of two Bean Bar cups, but wide and full of hot fury.
“My mom told me all about you. The stalker weirdo who shows up a couple of times every year and always with stupid gifts. Mom freaks out whenever you do it. You should just stop, jackass.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think you—”
“You’re my fucking dad, aren’t you?” he growls, shaking his head “You have a kid and never see him. Mom gets all weird about it...but because you feel guilty, you throw me these crumbs in secret instead of manning up and talking to me face-to-face. You’re a loser.”
My jaw tightens.
Note to self: he’s scared, he’s not thinking, and he’s truly clueless about his real father.
Goddamn. I’m trying to be patient, but comparing me to Baxter Heron makes me lose my shit.
“You’re wrong.” I slap my head into my hand, trying not to snap and just breathe. “Listen to me, Jordan. I promise you, I’m not your father. I’m...I’m your brother.”
My hand slides down my face.
For a second, we just stare at each other.
The hatred boiling in his eyes fades, replaced with confusion.
“B-brother?” he whispers, like a foreign word he doesn’t grasp.
Christ, I need to sit down. Saying it out loud makes me dizzy.
“Your half brother, to be precise. Can we get breakfast, now? You might not need food, but I do.”
He crosses his arms. “I’m not taking a bus if I don’t have to today. It’s cold as balls out there.”
I smile. Can’t blame the kid for that.
“Lucky for you, I don’t take buses.”
“Yeah, no reason to deal with the riffraff if you don’t have to, huh?” he snipes.
Dear God. He makes me sound like my dad.
“The stops take too long and time is—”
“Money,” he finishes. “Gotta love rich pricks.”
“What do you like for breakfast?” I ask, ignoring his sledgehammer sarcasm.
“To see my mom.” He meets my glare with a hard one of his own, folding his arms.
I get it.
He’s upset about his mom, his life, and secrets he was never meant to know.
I felt the same way once, but I’ve already told him visiting hours start at nine.
“We’ve got four hours before we can see Marissa. If you want to go at nine, I’ll take you.”
He stares at me, his face hard.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Fair enough.
“Well, what do you like to eat? There’s food here, probably, even if I can’t remember the last time Armstrong made a grocery run...” I rack my brain, trying to figure out what I can make, but I’m no cook unless it involves eggs.
Jordan shrugs and lets out a heavy sigh.
“If you’re my brother...why did she never tell me?”
I wish I could say, but the full truth would destroy him on the spot.
“I wasn’t sure what you knew about me, if your mother told you anything,” I say slowly.
