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“Damn,” Patrick said. “That poor guy.”
“Nic’s mother was a drug addict and didn’t give a damn about him. Child Protective Services took him away from her and placed him in foster care, which ended up not being much better. His first foster parents were alcoholics and abused him.”
Sam and Patrick didn’t say a word but he could see on their faces the rage at the idea of anyone harming an innocent child. The O’Leary brothers were good men.
“Nic’s second home was filled with warmth and love. Unfortunately, that couple died in a car crash on the way to pick him up from school. Nic still carries a picture of them in his wallet. After he lost them, Nic shut everyone out.”
“How old was he when that accident happened?” Patrick asked.
“He just turned nine. The only thing he found solace in after they died was his studies, which he excelled at. Nic didn’t act out, but no one could reach him. Because of that he was moved from foster home to foster home, in the hopes that one might be able to connect with him.” Sylas took a sip of coffee as his mind traveled back to when he first met Nic. “He enrolled in my high school the middle of our sophomore year. Nic kept to himself and had no friends. We bumped into each other at the public library in the section where the law books were shelved. We struck up a conversation and found we both had the same dream of becoming a lawyer. His foster dad who had died in the car crash had been a lawyer, and my mom worked as a court reporter, which had got me interested in the law. We became very close. And the rest is history.”
“I can understand where your friend, your brother, is coming from now,” Sam said.
As if on cue, Nic walked into the diner.
“He’s here,” Sylas told them, “and heading this way.”
“Hi, Sylas.” Nic was visibly upset, though he was holding it in fairly well.
“Nic, this is Patrick and Sam O’Leary.”
They shook hands.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Nic said.
“No problem,” Patrick said. “Looks like you two have something important to discuss.”
Sam stood. “Patrick and I need to warm up our coffee anyway. So we’ll give you some privacy.”
He and Patrick excused themselves, taking their coffee cups and moving to the diner’s long counter.
“Sit down, Nic. What’s up?”
Nic took the seat across from him. “I came to congratulate you.”
“For what?”
“For winning.” Nic’s face darkened.
Sylas saw sadness in his eyes. Nic looked like he’d lost twelve rounds in the boxing ring. “What the hell are you talking about, Nic?”
“I’m talking about Ashley, Sylas. What else? It’s over. You win, Sylas. She’s all yours.”
“All mine? You still don’t get it, do you? She made it clear back in Chicago what she wanted, and I believe what she still wants and needs.” Sylas could see that he was about to lose his friend again, but this time it would be forever if he didn’t do, say something that would turn Nic around. He leaned forward. “That’s both of us, Nic. Can’t you see that?”
“You sound just like her.”
“Nic, what do you mean by that?”
“I went to her apartment last night, after our date.”
“You what?”
“You heard me. I knocked on her door offering to help her with her studies for the bar exam. But I had other things in mind that I wanted to happen. I thought if we made love again that I could once and for all get you out of her mind. But it didn’t work.”
Anger welled up inside him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Everything, apparently.”
