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Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cohen
Jerking my arm free, I ignore my surroundings and rush to Scarlett’s side.
“Scarlett? Are you okay?” Crouching, I pull her trembling body into my arms. “Talk to me baby.”
“You lied,” she cries and the sound is like a knife to the heart. “You were here all along, and you mum, she’s, she—” Her breathing turns to panting as she struggles to get the words out. “Piers. You. Her.”
“Shhh. Slow down, take a breath.” I hold her against me until she quiets down, unsure what she’s trying to tell me. The longer I hold her, the louder my mum wails. For the first time, I look around to find several pairs of eyes on mine. Piers looking shocked, Willow with tears falling and my own mother seething with anger.
When my gaze connects with one pair in particular, I’m frozen on the spot. “James.”
“Hello, son.” He stands, leaning on the table for support. What is he doing here? He’s awake? How?
“You don’t get to call me that! You lost that right!” My voice thick with emotion thinks of all the things I want to say, but nothing else comes out. Silence.
“Tell him Cohen, he threw us away like rubbish.” My mum chimes in.
“You stay out of this.” I glare at my mother. “You knew he was awake didn’t you? That’s why you tricked me to come home.”
“I was trying to protect you, from him!” She throws her arms toward James. “And this little tramp!” She eyes down Scarlett.
“You better watch yourself lady!” Scarlett lunges for my mother, and I hold her back.
“You should know all about throwing people away like yesterday’s glossies, shouldn’t you, Lucille.” Piers steps forward, his jaw clenched.
“Well, well. You look just like him. And she,” her head nods towards Willow. “Looks just like Wendy. Bet that was hard to watch huh, James? Talk about history repeating itself.” Her laugh sounds almost sinister as it bounces off the ornate papered walls and a guard appears out of nowhere, taking her by the arm.
“I almost didn’t recognize you.” Piers continues, seeming quite calm except for the slight tremor in his voice. “Wish I could say the years have been kind to you. But that would be a lie. Something else it seems you’re quite familiar with.”
“Does someone want to tell me what’s going on here?” I demand, looking around the room.
“Cohen, meet your brother, Piers.” She offers from the chair she’s been forced into, in the back of the room, like she’s telling me what she had for lunch. Like she isn’t dropping a bomb on me that could blow my world apart.
“Hello, brother.” Piers offers with a sad smile.
“You lied! You like to me?” My throat hurts as the roar rips from inside my chest as I question my mum. Our mum. “How could you?” My arms fall from around Scarlett and fist my hands in my hair as I pace the room. A brother. I have a brother!
Not just any brother. Piers Nichols. The man she groomed me to hate, she told me he stole my dad, my life. Why does that? To their own son. SONS! This makes no sense.
“How could you? How?” I fall into a chair, my muscles aching from the exertion of holding all this anger in.
I’ve waited my whole life for this moment, a chance to confront my father and now that it’s here, I’m surrounded by a room full of witnesses and I can’t find a single thing to say, my throat closing up in emotion. My head falls into my arms and rests on the table as I find out that the past twenty five years have been a lie.
Scarlett comes to stand behind me, wrapping her arms tightly over mine. I focus on the smell of dark orchids, the sweet and the spice. I replace visons of running away on trains in the night, with riding shiny red buses with her. Threading my fingers in hers, I hold onto her like a life preserver.
“I think there are some things that need to be discussed.” James takes order of the room and everyone still standing finds a seat.
“Drew is fine,” Willow tells Piers, as he takes her place beside him. Drew. Their son. My nephew.
“Barrington, please have Miranda call the authorities.” James orders his attorney.
“No, please.” I plead with him. “She’s not well. She needs to get back to her Doctor.”
James nods to the guard, who stays beside my mum. “She never has been, son.”
I bristle at his use of the word son.
