Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 by J.K. Hogan Page A

designer suits custom-tailored for me. I pretty much wear them whenever I leave the house—except of course to work on the boat. I happen to know that Justice, Nic, and the others call me douchey suit guy behind my back.”
    Patrick smothered a laugh behind his hand, earning him a glare. He was glad to break the tension a little bit. One thing about the story was still bothering him—something seemed to be missing. “So where was your brother during all of this? And how did you get separated?”
    A stricken look crept back onto Rich’s face, and he wrapped his arms around himself as if to ward off a chill. “He was along for the ride. I did the best I could to bear the brunt of the shit—protected him from the bullies, distracted the idiot boyfriends when they got a little too handsy, kept his spirits up when we were living in the van.”
    “Handsy…they beat you?”
    “Sometimes. Not a lot. That kind of physical evidence made it hard for Mom to lie to herself. Mostly they’d try to…touch us.”
    “Are you fecking serious?”
    “Unfortunately. I never let them do it, mind, but a few tried. That’s what indirectly led to John-Michael and I being separated.”
    “How so?”
    “I caught one of the boyfriends trying to force J-M to touch him, so I threatened him with his own shotgun.”
    That surprised a bark of laughter out of Patrick. “There’s a lad!”
    “It was one of my finer moments, the result of which I’ve never quite forgiven myself for. Mom came out and saw what was happening. She didn’t believe me when I told her what the guy had tried to do…so I said either she had to call the police, or I would.
    “J-M and I became wards of the state that very night. Mom and her man went to jail, and DCFS eventually found us a foster home. We got bounced around a lot, but in January of ninety-eight, John-Michael got adopted.”
    “That’s great. What about you?”
    Rich shook his head sadly. “No one wants a grumpy teenager—too much damn trouble. I kept getting moved when new, younger kids came in…you know, because they needed the TLC more than the older brats. I eventually landed in a group home until I turned eighteen, then a halfway house until I’d earned enough money to get a decent place. And the rest is history,” he said with a sweeping gesture toward himself.
    “And you never tried to find him?”
    There was a pregnant pause, during which Patrick could hear Rich’s teeth grinding as his jaw clenched and unclenched. He began to think Rich wasn’t going to answer. “You don’t have to—”
    “I was afraid.”
    “Of what?”
    “I was afraid that he ended up with a shitty family and a shitty life, and he’d blame me for getting us taken away from our mother.”
    “I’m sure he wouldn’t…”
    “You don’t know that. If I found out he hated me, I’d lose it. I’ve survived a lot of things, but never that. Besides, I was also afraid he’d had a great life, and he wouldn’t want me around as some reminder of his horrible early childhood.”
    “Well, now you know that part’s not true at least. I mean, he’s tryin’ to find you, yeah?”
    “I guess. But there’s still the other thing. I just…” He swiped a hand across his face angrily as an errant tear escaped. “I’m just really scared. This is the one thing that could break me—I mean really destroy me. If he’s sought me out just to tell me how I ruined his life…I just can’t.”
    Rich buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook almost imperceptively. Wanting to give him a minute to pull himself together, Patrick rose and walked into the kitchen. Under the small bar there was a hidden cabinet where he kept his liquor. He opened it and pulled out his best whiskey. If there was ever a time for a seventy-dollar-a-bottle Tyrconnell ten year, it was this moment.
    Taking out a couple of crystal low-ball glasses, he poured them each a double and brought the lot of it over to the coffee table. He rubbed a