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Whitlock Manor. Our abnormally massive Regency Era Manor with expansive grounds has been standing strong since the year1793. It’s a Classic Revival style and one of the few manors still left in its natural structure since it was first constructed. Father never had the heart to leave it and it’s just us in this big old manor, but the moment Greg pulls up in the cobblestone drive, I notice the monstrous black motorbike parked next to my Father’s silver Aston Martin. It looks odd and
out of place. It doesn’t fit in with our dull, uncomplicatedly neat aesthetic.
We don’t have any extended family and Father never meets with any of his business associates at home so I can’t imagine who would show up here at this part of the evening. All our social encounters are always out of the house.
“Were we expecting any guests?” I ask Greg as I climb out of the car and shoulder my bag.
He grumbles something under his breath and I roll my eyes as I stroll along the grey cobblestones to the enormous, dark jade-green front door.
When I push the door open and step inside, I can hear loud, agitated voices coming from the drawing room. I quickly recognize Father’s voice, and the other voice, although it is familiar, younger, and deeper, I can’t seem to place it. Lowering my bag, I move through the foyer, my heels clicking on the dark chestnut floors.
When I step around the corner, I see my father first. He’s facing me and the other person is a dark-haired boy with his back toward me. I can see from his back that his muscles are tense under the thin navy blue t-shirt that he’s wearing. They’re both standing there, facing each other and immediately I can sense the apprehension permeating the air and bouncing off of them.
My father catches sight of me and his dark eyes widen for a second, his features are mixed with rage and confusion.
“Upstairs,” he says, his jaw rigid with annoyance. Just one word, but I can hear the anger and irritation in it. Before I can move or ask him what the hell, the boy turns around.
The second his dark grey eyes meet mine, my breath escapes my lips and I’m suddenly glued to where I am.No, it can’t be.
“Father,” I say even though I’m not even sure why I’m calling him.
Rhys. I never thought I’d ever see him again. This must have been why Father was in a shitty mood all week.It explains a lot.
“Pike.” My Father’s tone is a warning, but I ignore him.
The back of my eyes burns with tears as I stand there, facing my brother. Not just my brother, but my fraternal twin. I haven’t seen him in years after our parents…after their split.
“Pike,” Rhys says, his dark grey eyes, the same ashen grey as mine, watch me, watch as my chest rises and falls rapidly.
“The fact that you’re staying here doesn’t change anything,” my father says to Rhys, his voice is filled with so much bitterness and I haven’t heard him use that kind of tone in years.
“Yes, Sir,” Rhys says, as he continues to stare at me.
His jaw is hard, his expression unreadable.
What the fuck is going on?I want to speak, but my lips are sealed together and I can’t seem to find the right words or the right moment to say them. I think I’m going to pass out.
“Father.” My lips move again, but I can’t hear myself speaking.
My father’s dark eyes flicker to mine. “I’ll be back later.”
He leaves without another word. The front door slams shut and then it’s just us. It’s just him and I and a tightening sensation in my chest. Even though the drawing room is huge, the space in it is suddenly not adequate. The air in it is not enough.
Rhys takes a step forward and I stay glued to where I am, so he takes another step, and another, and another until he’s standing right in front of me.
I can hear him breathing now, that’s how close he is standing in front of me. I lift my gaze to meet his. His full lips part and I find myself studying his features.The new and the old. The fading scar that slashes through his left eyebrow next to his older scar is new. His sharp cheekbones now stand out in replacement of what were once baby cheeks. His inky black hair, the same inky black as mine, is cut roughly at the edges in no specific style. The beauty spot that I used to love so much is just above his top lip. It adds a softness to his dark features.
There’s something different about him though and it’s not just the broadness of his shoulders or the fact that he now towers over me. No, it’s something else. Something darker about him. I haven’t seen him in what feels like an eternity and even though we were once inseparable, it now feels as though I’m standing in front of a broken mirror. It doesn’t feel like how it used to feel before, where I knew him and he knew me. This feels cold and distant and I hate it. I hate the odd burning sensation climbing my chest and bubbling in my throat. His dark gaze rakes over me, taking in every inch of me, until his eyes are on mine once again. Without even saying any words to him or hearing his voice again, I can feel the energy rippling off of him.And it doesn’t feel good. It feels angry.
But against my better judgement, I reach out with both of my arms so that I can hug him, or at least feel him once again, but Rhys takes a quick step back as if he can’t bear the thought of me touching him or even being near me. His jaw is tight and his eyes are narrowed as he looks around the drawing room and then back at me. His expression is now a pure look of disdain.
“I never thought I’d ever see you again,” I say, dropping my arms pathetically to my sides.
Over the years I assumed we would at least try to keep in contact but my father didn’t want to have anything to do with them. With Mum and Rhys. A few weeks after they had left, I was told about her infidelity and how she and Rhys weren’t going to step foot into this house ever again. We severed all ties. But I didn’t care about all of that. I just needed to see Rhys, even if it was just going to be one last time.
“I’ve been here all week. Transferred to St. Charles to play for the hockey team,” he says thinly. “On a scholarship.”
So that’s who Tyler was talking about.
