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I nod. In for three, out for three. My head clears but I continue to struggle to focus on my breathing.
"That's it," he encourages while handing me a dry tissue. My face is dry a few seconds later and I crumple the wet tissue in my fist.
"I really need to talk to you about something. It's important."
"Now?" My brows furrow. I swallow nervously.
He just nods and watches me with a deep intensity that worms its way into my gut and yanks, making me curl into myself.
"About what?" I croak and cringe when I realize that I sound as mangled as I feel.
"Did your mom ever talk to you about your father? Your birth father?"
"No. She never brought it up. I assumed she didn't know who it was." I've come to peace with that.
He nods again, slower this time.
"Brooks? Why are you asking about him?"
"There's something that you should know, but I need you to promise me you won't react until I finish speaking."
I nearly spew chunks all over his living room. The silence is deafening, so much so that I fight the urge to place my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut so hard a deep ache pulses behind them.
"Do you know him or something? Don't fucking lie to me, Brooks."
He swallows so harshly his Adam's apple nearly bursts through his throat. He nods so subtly that I would have missed it had I not been staring so hard at him.
"Tell me what you know," I demand. There's a silent dare in my tone that makes it clear I won't tolerate being lied to. Not right now.
"I need you to know that I didn’t know," he pleads, voice wavering. "Not until a few hours ago."
I move my hands to my bent knees and squeeze so hard my fingertips turn white and the bones beneath them whimper. "Spit it out."
His mouth opens only to close again before a proper sentence can be spoken. The silence is strangling me with no type of restraint as I stare at him, my eyes full of a deep-rooted emotion that I can't quite pinpoint.
"Before I met my ex-wife, your mom and I . . . we dated for a while." He nearly chokes on the words and a familiar coldness forms in his eyes. "I had no idea that Nora was your mom until the night that you called me for help. When I saw her in that state I thought it was God's cruel way of punishing me for something that I've done in the past. As if losing her all those years ago wasn't punishment enough."
"I'm confused," I mumble. Brooks dated my mom? I'm surprised, yeah, but I don't get why it matters. Does he know my father? Did he meet him back then?
"I loved her," he coughs like he’s choking. "Your mom. I loved her more than I've ever loved another woman. But back then I was just a stupid kid. I didn't know how to be there the way that I should have been. She was still upset about River's dad leaving, and I knew I wasn't ready to raise that shit-disturbed kid with her." Brooks clears his throat before continuing, "I assumed that was why she left. She ran out of town without a goodbye or an explanation. Not even a damn note. She was just gone. I never heard from her again. Until a month ago when I saw her battered and bloody in that broken shell of a house."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I growl and push myself off of the floor so quickly that I nearly fall back on my ass. I need to put some space between us. Betrayal makes an ugly, unwanted appearance as I narrow my eyes and tighten my jaw.
"I thought it was just a coincidence! Maybe even the second chance that I always wanted. But she's not the same as she used to be. She wouldn't let me help her." He follows me. My face scrunches up as I reel back at his words.
There's no fucking way. Is there? Mom met none of my friends because she was never around or sober enough to. So how would she have known that I knew Brooks? Fuck.
"She told me something before she called your brother tonight."
"She fucking called him? She brought them both here?"
I see red. My knuckles burn with the urge to throw them into the wall behind me. But I suck in a sharp breath and clench my fists at my sides instead.
"She left me twenty-four years ago because she was pregnant with another son. With my son."
His words paralyze me. They blow through my mind and rattle against the sides of my skull. They make my head throb to the point that my eyes water from the pain beating behind them.
"But . . ." I blubber. "Braden and I . . . we're the same age," is the only coherent string of words that I can wrangle together.
