Page 11 of From the Ashes

Why do I care so much that they’re judging me right now? So what if my life is on a different timetable or trajectory to theirs? I know it’s because that’s what my folks want for me, and I hate disappointing them so much. Whenever I do, I can feel their love slipping a little further away from me each time.

But there’s no doubt in my mind that if I’d given in and married a woman and she’d popped out a kid or two by now, we’d all be living a miserable lie.

I don’t think these guys’ offspring are doing much better, if I’m being honest. Perhaps it wasn’t Zahir I was thinking about when they were discussing sabotaging and manipulating their kids’ education and futures.

Man, it’s like since that incident on the beach I’ve been all over the place. It wasn’t just Zahir I came face-to-face with, but every life decision I’ve made since we parted ways. As I stand in the admittedly very nice break room of the very successful business my father and grandfather dedicated their lives to, I wonder who the hell I even am or what the hell I’m even doing.

Winston hums and Lynda chuckles like she’s embarrassed for me. “Oh, you’ll understand when you’re in our shoes,” Lynda says cheerfully,finallypouring some damn coffee and moving out of the way. “You’re only, what, twenty-five, right?”

“Yeah, basically,” I mutter, purposefully moving in front of the coffeemaker, which encourages them to shift over. I’m hoping the subtle hint will get them to forget about me again so they either leave or at least continue their inane conversation without me.

They do give me space to get my caffeine. But then my bagel pops from the toaster, black and crispy around the edges where I neglected to keep an eye on it. I sigh, wondering if I’m just not destined to have breakfast this morning.

Before anything else can happen, one of the only people I’ve actually formed a connection with in this place sticks his head around the door and looks directly at me.

“Colt,” Preston Windward says, flashing me a perfect smile.

He’s the kind of all-American guy my parents definitely wish I was. But rather than being an asshole, he’s pretty much the only person who’s treated me with respect since I arrived. He even went to far as to defend me when a frequent flier got uppity as we were informing him about the upcoming change in his representation due to my father’s health issues.

“There’s someone here to see you,” he says, glancing at Lynda and Winston, like he knows he’s saving me from the horrendous exchange we were just having.

I blanche as I realize what he’s saying to me. I didn’t think I had any appointments until noon. “A client?”

He shakes her head. “He said he was a paramedic following up on an incident you assisted with at the weekend?”

I can hear the curiosity in Preston’s voice as well as feel the stares from our other colleagues. I haven’t mentioned what happened at the beach to anyone. It seemed too personal to bring up in idle chatter, both with regards to mine and Zahir’s history, as well as on behalf of the little girl who almost drowned.

Not that many people are including me in idle chatter, as Lynda and Winston have just illustrated.

It is intriguing gossip, and I can’t blame them for wanting to know more. But right now, all I can do is hyper focus on the fact that aparamedicis here at my work. Zahir’s partner was a woman, so it can’t be her. I try and convince myself that Zahir might have a boss that needs to get a witness statement from meor something. Is that something fire stations do? Or just police officers?

Oh…god. What if it’s not a statement he needs? What if it’s taken this long because…what if there were complications for the girl after all and…and thosecomplicationshave only just happened?

No, no, no! She was okay! She woke up! If she’s taken a turn for the worst…

Ignoring everyone else, I dash out of the office into the main reception area of our small practice. I’m too panicked to even appreciate that it is indeed Zahir who’s standing there.

“Is she okay?” I blurt out without so much as a hello.

Zahir blinks at me. “Oh! Nevaeh? Yes, she’s absolutely fine. That’s why I’m here.” He sheepishly holds up a Ziploc bag with a couple of slightly squashed but very colorful cupcakes inside. “I’m sorry to disturb you at work. I was actually expecting to talk to your dad, but when I mentioned it was about you, they said you were in the building.”

Even though he doesn’t ask directly, I can here the question in his tone. “Uh, yeah,” I explain. “I moved back a few weeks ago.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, then he holds up the clear baggie again. “Well, I promised to pass on her mother’s number. And these if possible. They want to thank you.”

I pull absently at my tie as my heart rate slows. She—Nevaeh—is okay.

That means I now have to deal with the reality of Zahir being here. At my work. He knows where I work.

At myfamily’slaw firm.

Suddenly, both the fear of what my father might do and the need to protect Zahir from him come back as strong as when I was a teenager. I immediately move closer and place my hand onthe small of his back without thinking of what that might mean or how it might look.

“Let’s talk somewhere a little more private,” I say, steering him into an empty conference room. It’s one of the smaller ones where we usually hold our preliminary meetings with clients when we’re deciding if we’re the right fit for each other, so it’s not too big and awkward.

I mean, it’s still plenty awkward. But at least it doesn’t feel echoey.

“So she’s okay?” I repeat.

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