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“Do you know why our parents have had this feud for so long?” From what I can gather so far, our families rivalry started years ago over some business. They blamed each other for trying to destroy the other’s business, sabotaging property deals, and taking away high-profile customers. It sounded horrible for everyone involved.
“Here is the thing…” Oliver places another pancake on Banks’ plate. “We always thought this was about business, that’s what our dad told us. When we had the private investigator look into your father, he dug some stuff up about his past… about both of our fathers’ pasts.” He gets a plate for himself and takes a seat, and I’m sitting there waiting with bated breath for him to finish his statement.
“What did he find?” I ask, trying not to sound overly eager.
Sullivan answers my question as Oliver starts to devour his pancakes. “Apparently our dads have known each other for much longer than they like to talk about. In fact, they grew up together and believe it or not, they even used to be friends.”
“Friends?” The way I heard my mom talking about the Bishops makes it hard to believe that there was ever anything besides hate between those two, but it makes sense. To hate someone, they have to have wronged you in a way that cuts deeper than the surface.
Tucking my hands under my chin, I ask, “What happened? What made them become enemies?”
“That, we don’t know.” Oliver answers this time, “But we’re going to find out. We’re done being our parents’ puppets, and we’re done letting your parents control you.”
Control me? Had my father asked me to plant those drugs on Sullivan? Was he using me, or did I make the choice to do it on my own? Looking at the big picture now, yes, but before I don’t know. I know my father is having an affair with someone, but does that mean he lied to me about everything else… or wants me dead? I can’t possibly think my own father would want me dead, but I don’t know what’s true and what’s a lie anymore. Even the few memories that have returned to me are blurred… like they’ve been run through a blender.
“I’m sorry about all the stuff that happened between our families. I don’t know if I apologized before, but…” My voice trails off as I get lost inside my own head.
“No apologizing. We’ve all done things we regret doing, things that were done for someone else. We aren’t those people anymore.” Sullivan soothes, and I want to lean into him, let him hold me in his arms but instead, I extend my hand out to him. He takes it, rubbing his thumb over the top of it, slowly soothing the ache in my chest.
“I wish I could remember everything. If I could then maybe I would be able to help more.”
Banks shakes his head, “It would be nice for you to remember, but you remembering wouldn’t change anything, I don’t think. You didn’t see who pushed you off the boat, and I doubt you would be able to recall who hit you with the car.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just feel so useless,” I mumble.
“It’s okay, the memories will come back eventually, or maybe they won’t. Either way, we will make new ones to replace the ones you lost,” Oliver says, his sculpted lips turning up into a dazzling smile.
“So, what now?” I ask.
“The same private investigator we hired back then is looking into the incident at school. Let’s wait it out here for two days, and if he can’t find anything, we’ll go from there. No matter what, our biggest priority is making sure that you’re protected.”
When I wake up the next day, everyone else is already up, so I take my time crawling out of bed. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon permeates the air, and my stomach, of course, has to growl to let me know that it approves.
“Look who’s finally awake?” Oliver teases, as he busy’s himself in the kitchen. My eyes catch on Banks who is sitting at the dining room table, his eyes glued to his cell phone. Sullivan isn’t anywhere in sight, so I assume he’s in the bathroom or maybe even outside.
As if he knew that I was thinking about him, the bathroom door opens, and Sullivan appears. I try to avert my gaze, but what’s the point? Instead, I let myself drink him in, my eyes roaming over his freshly showered, and sculpted body. Damn. I nearly swallow my tongue, the same tongue I would like to use to lick the remaining droplets of water off his skin. Jesus, I need to stop thinking with my vagina. But it’s so damn hard when besides the thin towel hanging low on his hips, he is entirely naked.
