Page 3 of Finally Found You

“We’re not disappointed, but you should’ve trusted us,” they claim, but they should be thankful I protected them.

It wasn’t that simple.

It wasn’t.

The moment our father died, leaving five underage teenagers at the mercy of our cold-hearted mother, I was forced to make countless gut-wrenching decisions. I shielded them from the soul-crushing pain of despising their own mother, sacrificing pieces of myself in the process.

Aslan and Gatsby, my triplets, can say anything. But at the end of the day, I made the best decision for all of us.

“You’re welcome, fuckers,” I mutter under my breath, lifting my glass in a bitter toast. “To you, Mother. May you rot on this earth and never rest in peace.”

I tilt the glass to my lips, relishing the burn of the amber liquid.

“Bad night?” the woman sitting two barstools away from me inquires, her voice gentle yet laced with curiosity.

I shrug one shoulder, not looking at her. I’m not here to hook up with a stranger. I just need to have a drink or two and forget all about my family. Could I do it in my apartment? Nope. I live in the same complex as one of my younger brothers—Caspian. He’ll probably barge into my place, demanding I finally reveal all the secrets I’m harboring.

It’s not the time.

The buzz of a phone pierces the air, drawing my attention to the woman on my left. I shoot her a judgmental look as she answers it. Shouldn’t she excuse herself and go outside to take the call?

“Hey,” she mumbles, her voice soft and cautious. “Any news?”

She closes her eyes briefly, her body caught in a mixture of nods and shakes. The captivating aura she exudes strikes me suddenly. Her features are a fusion of classic beauty and modern sophistication. Long, delicate lashes that seem to dance with every blink frame her expressive, dark, and hypnotic eyes.

Those eyes hold within them an enigmatic depth, an endearing spark of wit, and a subtle hint of sadness that speaks to an inner vulnerability.

Her full lips curve into a half-smile, evoking the poised grace of a ballerina and the mischievous charm of a wicked witch. Yet beneath the surface, there’s a sense that her heart carries the weight of an untold story. Her chestnut hair cascades down her shoulders in soft, tousled waves, a rich shade that seems to catch the light and hold it captive.

“Thank you for the update. Tomorrow I’m heading there, unless you find out something different.” She speaks in a hushed tone, her words laced with apprehension.

“Bad night?” I echo her earlier question, curiosity gnawing at me.

She glances at me, her hazel eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Difficult,” she admits. “It’s been a difficult year.”

An inexplicable urge to erase her sadness washes over me, as if I could offer her solace. But what can I offer? I’m empty inside. Still, I can’t stand to see the sorrow that plagues her soul, a feeling all too familiar to me.

A sudden surge of empathy fills me, as if her pain is resonating within my own chest. I can’t help but want to reach out to her, to offer her a brief escape from her troubles. After all, we’re both here in search of solace. And maybe, just maybe, we could find it in each other’s company.

“Look,” I begin, my voice soft but earnest. “I can’t promise to fix anything or offer you any profound wisdom, but… would you like to try and forget, for at least one night? Together, we can find a momentary escape from our difficult lives.”

Her gaze meets mine, the guarded walls around her eyes beginning to lower. She searches my face, weighing her options, her trust hanging in the balance. The silence between us stretches, thick with anticipation.

Finally, she offers a small, tentative smile, and the faintest flicker of hope ignites within her.

“All right,” she agrees, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s forget together, even if it’s just for tonight.”

We raise our glasses in unison, sealing our unspoken pact. Tonight, we’ll forget our troubles, lose ourselves in conversation, and, for a fleeting moment, find solace in each other’s company.

* * *

“It’s casual,” I hear her mumble as we walk toward the elevator of her hotel room. “One-night stands are no big deal. You need this. Take a chance.”

Since she’s having a conversation with herself, I don’t interrupt, but as we step into the elevator and the doors slide closed, I say, “We don’t have to do it.”

“Guilt,” she says. “My grandmother used to guilt trip me about… well, everything. I’m in the middle of a crisis, and what am I doing?”

“Forgetting for one night,” I murmur, my heartbeat quickening as I step closer to her. Our eyes lock, an electric connection sparking between us. Heat radiates from her body, the warmth enveloping me like a comforting embrace.

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