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A small gasp leaves my lips as the implication of her words hit me in the chest. I swallow, take the flower from her, and stare at her in astonishment. “Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.
This woman said exactly what I needed to hear at the exact moment I needed to.
Not everything is black and white.
Shades of gray make up the world.
Weeds are flowers, too.
I turn to walk away when she speaks once more. “Trent wasn’t always hateful like this, you know.”
Trent . . . ?
I never mentioned his name.
I turn and look back over my shoulder.
My heart begins to sink before it kicks into high gear as I remember her eyes. A crisp blue I’ve seen before.
That’s when it hits me.
She’s Trent’s mom.
Ronald’s wife.
“He was the sweetest boy,” she continues. “I loved the fact that he was too kind, too soft, but his father knew that wouldn’t do. He made it his goal to harden Trent. It’s not Trent’s fault that he goes about things the way he does now.”
And then, with a sad, small smile, she turns back to her plants.
I leave the little garden in a daze, stepping out a back door and edging myself to the waterline. A gust of wind hits me. The puffy, white seeds fly from the dandelion between my fingers, streaking across the air until they’re too far to track.
When I look back down, all that’s left is a stem.
Trent’s mom was right about the wrong thing.
Nothing in this world stays the same.
26
Trent
* * *
Today is a shit day.
I went for a run, but that didn’t help.
Ever since I saw Henry and his son together, I’ve been off.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them, but my own wounds are still fresh and making it hard for me to concentrate.
Now, I’m fucking around on my computer.
Story of my life.
Work. Work. Work.
The only time I play is when I’m giving Payton a hard time.
I lock my gaze on the screen in front of me, but I swear the words are blurry as I stare.
I’m not looking at the numbers. I’m looking past the numbers. Basically, I am one hundred percent useless today.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t clear my thoughts.
I should answer emails, but I’m just not in the mood for anyone’s bullshit.
Instead, I close out the screen and open a new one.
Solitaire.
Yep, it’s that kind of day.
If one of my clients saw me right now, they would probably put out a hit on me. I’m supposed to be making them money, not fucking around on my computer, passing the time, because I have the motivation of a five-year-old asked to read a math book.
Just as I’m about to start the game, the door to my office swings open.
It’s not hard to guess who it could be.
Not many have the balls to roll up on my place without an invitation, which leaves Cyrus, my mother, or a pissed-off, straight-outta-the-underworld victim.
At first, I can’t tell who’s walking in, but when I look up from my computer, I instantly know.
Ding, ding, ding.
I’ll take pissed-off victims for five hundred, Alex.
Although I have never seen him in person, I am well aware that the man standing in front of me is Paul, the most recent recipient of my shady practices on the stock market.
The first thing I can tell as his feet stomp on my marble floors is that he isn’t happy. But I guess I wouldn’t be either if I lost hundreds of millions of dollars in one day.
That’s the consequence of pissing off one of my clients. I refrain from smiling. That action will get me a bullet in my head. I have to assume the only reason I don’t have one already is because security cameras are all over this place, and Paul is trying desperately to go legit.
When he stops moving, I inspect him.
He’s an older man, probably close to my father’s age, had my father lived. I’d guess late fifties or early sixties. His hair is salt and pepper, and his forehead is creased with lines. Crow’s feet edge his eyes, but it’s what’s under them that gives him away.
He’s barely hanging on after my attack. The dark hollows tell the tale of many sleepless nights.
Probably my doing.
Yet I can’t seem to find it in me to care.
“Paul, good to see you.” I meet his eyes.
“Oh, so you do know who I am,” he responds tersely.
“Of course. Your name precedes you.” Adding a little flair is certainly going to piss him off, but I’m beyond caring right now.
The dick isn’t going to kill me in my office.
“Or it could be the fact that you’ve chosen me as your enemy.”
I shrug, pressing start on my solitaire game. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, no?” he challenges, his face serious, his brow lifted.
