Michael didn't even bother to check his desk, instead he pursued a close acquaintance with the view in front of him — and a bottle of properly aged whiskey.
If the old man was here, he would wince at the way he was treating good whiskey, but he was not here now and Michael had no stomach for a lecture.
He regarded the amber liquid as he swirled it around in the stone cut heavy tumblers.
Impressive, just like it the clients it was usually reserved for.
Too bad such window dressing didn't take the sting of the moment away. The drink wasn't better at it, but he was working up to it, slowly but surely.
After that stilled conversation in the kitchen where she had stated her stand he had shifted back. He had been fooled. He had worn his heart on his sleeve, even if he hadn’t come straight out and said the words he felt…I love you.
She was leaving anyway and he didn't know how to stop it. He didn’t know how to stop the pain that he felt in every inch of him.
It was a business deal to her, after all.He felt his heart break at the realization.
She was still here, and even though he went out of his way to avoid her, he couldn't deny that he missed her.
Dammit, I miss her!A sharp pain formed under his skin, waiting to erupt.
He didn't hear the door open, but he heard the clink of the crystal and the sound of liquid pouring. He didn’t see the figure until he moved his line of vision to just beside him, silently facing his grandfather.
"You know I still see the blood, spreading like so much water and there was nothing I could do," Michael stated conversationally, as if they were discussing something as mundane as the weather.
"I am sorry," his grandfather said, his voice low and brimming with regret.
"It was no one's fault but theirs, no one's," Michael answered.
"I should have taken you away sooner, and I always second-guessed myself."
Michael heard a tone of anguish for the first time, and he turned to look at his grandfather. “It’s not your fault. Nothing would have stopped that train wreck.”
“You have to forgive your mom in order to move on. She was a very sick woman. Forgive her, for your sake." He didn’t understand why his grandfather needed him to forgive his mom. The woman did kill his only son after all, leaving his grandson an orphan.
"Why?" he asked, desperate to know and understand.
"Because if you don't, you remain that helpless boy and she remains the monster."
He turned to the view, feeling tired and raw all of a sudden. “I get what you’re saying but it’s difficult—"
The older man drew breath to interject but clamped his mouth shut when his grandson continued.
"I can make sure it doesn't color everything I do, make sure it doesn't color the rest of my life."
"That is good enough for me, boy." With that, his grandfather downed the contents of his cup and dropped the crystal glass beside the decanter, exiting the room.
Michael swallowed his own drink in a single gulp, then returned to his chair and started to make plans.
She was still here, and there was still time to change her mind, to make her see that going their separate ways wasn’t for the best.
The chirp of his cell phone diverted his attention, and when he saw the caller ID, he scrambled to pick it up.
"Hello Trinity,” he sounded almost eager, anticipating their first real conversation in days.
"Miranda has gone missing, and they can’t find her at the school. The police have been called—"
"What the hell?" he asked, gripping the phone.
"The principal called a few minutes ago," she said, her voice sounding teary and heartbroken. He ached to comfort her, but it was impossible to do at the moment.
