“I know it’s not the most ideal turnaround time, but as you know, I’m a busy man.”
“I understand. I just didn’t expect to be onboarding so soon.”
He smirked. “Does that mean you’ll accept the position?”
“As long as you agree to the contract modifications.”
“I agree.”
We conversed for a few more minutes about minor details when he received an emergency work call.
“I’m sorry, but I must take this call in my office. Let me walk you out.”
“Go handle your call; I can walk myself out. Thanks again for this opportunity.”
“No, thank you. You’ll love being here with us so much that you’ll never want to leave.”
Chapter Thirty
Grant
I stared at my phone and willed it to do something—vibrate, chime, ring—something. But the longer I stared with no results, the more disappointed I became.
Seriously, what did I expect? I called her a baby killer and ruined one of her core childhood memories, amongst other things.
My guilt was eating me alive, and it began chomping at the bone when I realized that Kiyah hadn’t told our parents everything that had happened. There was no way on God’s green Earth they would visit me weekly with tender smiles, words of affection and affirmation, and care packages with my favorite toiletries, snacks, and a few books.
I asked about Kiyah every chance I got, but they were quick to shut me down and tell me she was fine and to focus on myself and my sobriety.
“Grant?” I looked up to find one of the aides hovering in my doorway. “You have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“He initially signed in as Little Bro but was told he needed to provide identification.”
Kieran.
“That’s my kid brother. I’ll be right—”
“This place is niiiiice!” I heard Kieran exclaim from down the hall as if he’d never been anywhere in his life.
The idiot has been riding in private jets and staying at luxury resorts before he could say his first word, but is impressed by a rehab facility.
The aide dismissed herself when he poked his head into the room. He whistled as he took in my room. “Damn, Big Bro, are you at rehab or a luxury spa retreat? I wonder how much Dad is shelling out for this place. It’s snazzy. I’m tempted to go on a bender so I can live in the lap of luxury for 60 days—no calls, no crying clients, no courtroom bullies—sign me up.”
“Can you not be a dick? Trust me, I’d rather be living my life instead of being stuck here,” I complained.
“Just say the word, and I’ll bust you out,” he boasted proudly, setting a box on my dresser.
“I’m here voluntarily.”
Kieran snorted and slid his hands into the pockets of his chinos. I hated him at the moment because he wore the same mocking grin our father would wear when he was about to burst our bubble and bring us back to reality.
“You and I both know Dad will nail you to the cross if you step outside this facility without his say-so. But it’s nice to know this place hasn’t crushed your hopeful spirit.”
“Fuck you.”
“You too, bro,” he mumbled, distracted by the geese in the pond outside my window.