62 | All Roads Lead Back Home (Part Three)

SÁBADO

9:21 PM

Reid Harlow

Lucas Moretti is exactly how you would picture him: standing over six-feet with a radiating aura of arrogance, a well-tailored suit that he could afford off the salary of an executive position, a stubble beard that outlines the sharpness of his jaw—something Scott and I got from him—and dark, root-brown hair the same shade of my brother and me.

He's also the man that didn't recognize me.

Lucas stares at me with a frown, lines forming between his brows as his eyes travel down the rest of my body. He taps his leather shoe against the tiled floor, trying to comprehend who I am.

It's fair, he doesn't know me. From the limited knowledge I was exposed to, Lucas didn't show up at my birth nor was he there to see me before he left. Instead, he took the coward act of packing his shit and leaving at midnight—while my mom was at the hospital. When she came home, she found the house nearly vacant of everything, and she became a single mother overnight.

I'm sure he knew I existed, but not enough.

"Scott," my father calls for, which causes my brother to step out of the kitchen and enter into the hallway, his eyes directly ignoring me. "Is this your friend?"

God, I can't believe how pathetic I feel when his suggestion actually hurt me. It's one thing to not know of me, but it's another to be dumb enough to not connect the dots. We share similar features, for fuck sake. I have his eyes, his shade of hair, his height. I fucking look like Scott, saved for a few differences that makes us our own person, but nonetheless, still fucking presentable. Even Randy knew it.

"Dad," Scott lets out a breath. "I thought you had a business trip this weekend."

"Yeah, it got cancelled until next month," my father loosens his tie, still eyeing me cautiously—like I'm a fucking threat. "Who are you?"

This time, I let out a scoff of my own. If I'm putting the pieces together correctly—which I think I am—this means, Scott never wanted me to live with him. If our father didn't know of my arrival, nor recognize me, I doubt he wants me to stay here in this house.

I fucking left Presley and Nico for this.

I don't feel anything; my chest is void of emotions. I don't feel the surge of regret electrifying itself through my veins or the burden of hurt that normally hits center at my heart. I don't feel anything.

"Well, dad, this is, um—"

"Harlow," I answer for my brother, with a scowl and hardened jaw, "my name is Harlow."

"Harlow?" Lucas repeats, brows wrinkling together as he, himself, pulls together the connection. "As in—"

"Emilia Harlow," I nod in confirmation, my hands returning back into fists. "Your ex-wife."

The room grows tense, a stillness settles in the air as Lucas comprehends the matter of information being thrown at him. His second son, the mention of his ex-wife, the reason for his departure. I wonder, for a second, if he regretted it.

"What are you doing here?" My father asks me, his face unreadable.

I scoff, hurt trinkles into my system, igniting a lost sensation, "that's the first thing you ask me? After meeting your son for the first time?"

His expression stoic, "I asked it, didn't I?"

I don't know whether to laugh out of disbelief or cry, because I can feel the emotions rushing into me at this moment. I don't know what triggered it—to see my father here, standing, and still disregards me as a mistake or the fact that I have that attitude.

We've never met, never had a full conversation before, and yet—I still take after him.

Blood truly runs thicker than water.

I feel pricks in my eyes, tearing up at the sight of my father just standing there. I never, in my existence, have imagined a reunion with my father. I never wanted one. When I was old enough to comprehend that he left my mother, I didn't want anything to do with him. He was a deadbeat in my eyes, and standing here, he still marks up that title.

"If you're not going to answer me, you can get the hell out of my house—"

"Dad—" Scott tries to rationalize, only to be cut off.

"I'm being honest," Lucas says with a shrug, turning to my brother, "look at him. He can barely form words without getting emotional. I don't need that today."

A string of stability snaps inside of me, and my eyes sharpens. I stare at my father, and honestly—I have nothing to say to him. I don't care enough to talk to him. He wasn't at fault. He wasn't the person who gave me hope, who invited me, who wanted a relationship. Lucas Moretti gave up the rights since my birth, and if I had to give him credit for anything, it's his control to keep his promise.

Scott Moretti, on the other hand, didn't.

I turn to my brother and my chest constricts, "you fucking lied to me," I say to him, tears pooling under my eyes. "You said you wanted me here, you said you wanted me to live with you—"

"I never said that," Scott holds out both arms, playing the position of defense. "You asked to stay, I thought you meant the night. I didn't tell you to pack your bags and move in with me."

And that's my fault.

I don't say anything, my vision crowding with tears pricking my sight. My jaw clenched down, my face contorts into a look of pain—and I feel like if I blink, causing the tears to trail down my cheeks, I lose. I lose again, and for some fucking reason, it hurts so much more.

More than it did before.

"You gave me hope," my voice weak and measly, cracking with the delivery. "You wanted a relationship with me, Scott, you fucking gave me hope!"

I shove him first, knocking him a few steps back as he hits the wall separating the kitchen and the living room. I can hear Lucas shouting hey! like a father would've during a fight between his kids but he's not my father—and to him, I'm not his child.

But Scott remains unfazed, pushing himself right off the wall and straightening himself upright, returning my gaze. "I wanted a relationship with you, Reid, but I didn't say I wanted you to live with me." He explains, "you were living with that foster family and you were happy, and they still kept you after your eighteen—why would you want to move from that?"

"Because you're my brother." I answer simply, the ache in my chest intensifying. "You're my brother and I chose you over them. You're my blood!"

He doesn't respond, taking in this moment to study me: the way my chest is heaving with air, how I'm fighting to urge to remain in control and I'm this fucking close to aiming a fist at his face.

"You had them."

I fucking hate him.

"He didn't even want us!" I scream, pointing a finger down the foyer, where Lucas is standing, from the edge of my peripheral vision. My brother doesn't react. "Scott, do you fucking hear me? The social workers asked him to take us in after mom died and he declined—he didn't want us!"

"I didn't want you."

My body goes rigid and my attention fades away from my brother, turning to my father taking cautious steps towards me. "I wanted Scott, but I didn't want you. The social workers refuse to split up the two of you, so I just...I stepped back and let the system take you."

At first, I didn't react. I didn't think anyone could be that much of an asshole, and while I've met many assholes in my lifetime—with Clayton Gray taking the top spot—I didn't meet many assholes where I, stupidly, value their opinion.

And it hurts. It fucking hurts like a truck just slammed into me, shattering bones on bones, and tearing my organs—but it hurts in a way that can't heal. At least after a car accident, you can go to the hospital and repair the physical damage but with words, you can't mend a bruised mind with medicine.

That takes time, and energy, and love.

I didn't need to ask him if he regrets it, leaving me, leaving Scott, because I know he doesn't. He doesn't regret leaving his children to fend for themselves in the system because, at the end, he still got what he wanted—Scott, and Scott alone.

"You changed your name from Harlow to Moretti," I begin to list, staring at my father. "You live, and assumingly, have been living with our father for the past couple of years, am I right?"

Scott doesn't answer.

"And you've been telling me, reassuring me, that when you left, you left with the intent of finding yourself." I swallow hard, the tears streaming down my face in a matter of defeat, because at this moment, I'm done. "Am I right?"

"Reid,"

"My name is Harlow." I snap, turning my attention back to him. "I fucking hate the name Reid because you gave it to me and I fucking hate green lighters because they remind me of your eyes. Do you see how much..." My voice cracking, tears streaming down my face, "do you see how much you impacted me?"

Scott searches my face, seeing the look of pain and betrayal that fixes on my features and he drops his walls for a brief moment, a look of regret flashes through his eyes.

"You said you couldn't forgive him for leaving mom," I choke, "you told me that at the diner."

"We all..." He releases a deep sigh, "we all have our grudges."

"You knew." I shook my head, all hope I had for him slipping away, "you knew all of this; dad not wanting me, dad not picking us, dad leaving mom—and you still chose him? You chose him over me."

A look of hurt passes through him, "Reid—"

"Don't call me that." I cut him off, staring at him. "I...I don't want a relationship with you anymore. You're my blood, but you're not my brother."

I pick the bag off the floor and throw the strap over my shoulder, turning away from my brother and heading towards my father, standing a couple of feet away from me.

I stop before him, looking him dead straight in the eyes and keeping my voice steady. "You may be the Vice President of some fancy ass company, with your corner office overlooking the city and a nice fucking house—" I grab a handful of his shirt, pulling him down to my level, to hear every next word closely. In a whisper, "but deep down, you're still the same deadbeat dad that left mom, Scott, and me because you couldn't handle it. You're a fucking coward, Lucas Moretti, and when you're on your deathbed, realizing that you only have—if any—one person caring for you, you'll realize that you may have had luxury, fame, and reputation, but you'll never have love. I hope you fucking choke on that."

I release his shirt and shove him backwards, stepping towards the front door. With it half-open, I pause, turning back to my brother with one last question.

"Scott," I call for one last time. He turns to me, gaze expecting, "if I never had met you at the shop, were you ever going to come back for me?"

He answers with a settling silence.

Masking the expected hurt on my face with a look of impassiveness, I nod my head once, turning away from him, our father, and close the door behind me.

I could feel every inch of emotion unleashing itself on me the moment the door closed. From satisfaction, to sadness, to hurt, to anger—I could feel it channeling through my veins.

I begin my long walk towards the exit gate, dragging my feet against the concrete as I pull my phone from my back pocket.

I know I burned all my bridges before I got here, and I wouldn't be surprised if they don't want me back, but I dialed the number on my phone and I pulled the device to my ear, counting each ring as a symbol for how much they don't want me anymore.

She picks up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Nini?" I greet with a swallow, voice breaking. "I need you."

━━━━━

DOMINGO

12:01 AM

Reid Harlow

The ride home was quiet.

After giving my location, Nini picks me up at the front of the gated community, with me sitting on the curbside.

I don't say anything to her as I get into the passenger, or when she helps me lunge the duffle bag to the backseat and strap myself with the seatbelt. The ride was silent, the low hums of the tires trekking against the asphalt is the only thing I heard.

The events that happened in the past couple of hours still hold a haunt on me, with Scott's final answer burning a deep, charring hole in my chest. If it was any other day, any other time, I would've pushed it away and kept my emotions at bay—not bothering to move past this. But, this time, I don't. I don't hide it, or hold it in, or stop myself from feeling. I'm at a point in my life where I need to let things pass—to let myself feel all the way through. In order to grow, progress, and move on.

It fucking hurts.

Anger ripples through me like a pebble splashed into calm waters and I wanted badly to react with violence that could take my mind off of everything. Yet, I don't.

Regret pours into me like a hot kettle serving tea, trickling into my system with the presence to be acknowledged. It pools at the pit of my stomach, recognizable and uncomfortable, resisting the urge to burn me alive—but just barely.

Pain aches through each hollow of my bones, like the banging of drums in a rock concert, and each second intensifies with the memories of the event replaying in a loop, with no pause or stop button. Life doesn't give you a switch. I just...have to let it pass.

And it chokes me. My chest heaving with air, constricting inwards, and I fade into the knowledge that I burnt bridges to cross puddles. I hate the stringent air in the vehicle, thick with an unforeseeable future because I, fucked up.

"I'm sorry Nini," I heave with regret, leaning back against the seat, turning with my cheek presses against the headrest. "I'm so sorry."

Nini doesn't react at first, focusing on the road, before she looks at me, an expression of sympathy crosses her face. A sad smile brings her lips upwards, genuine, "it's okay."

I shake my head, "no, it's not."

"Claudia ran away when she was fourteen for eight days." My foster mother reveals, "we had to find her. At least you called us."

I know this is her attempt at lightening the mood, but it didn't help. Claudia didn't hurt the entire family—Ariah and Nico haven't been born, and I don't think Presley was adopted yet. She got to experience her trial and errors to Sebastian and Nini; I had to disappoint a mass of people.

"It's not the same."

"It's not," she confirms, with a shake of her head, her eyes set back on the road, "but we can't grow if we don't learn from our mistakes and life is too short without forgiveness."

"Is forgiveness...given?"

"Forgiveness is earned," Nini corrects, taking a sharp turn on the right, almost causing me to collide against the door. "Forgiveness is a choice, as are mistakes. We make our decisions and we live with them."

I swallow hard, "and regret?"

"A feeling," she nods at her answer, satisfied, "It's a careful analysis of a situation: did you make the right choice or the wrong one?"

I press my lips together in thought, taking in her wisdom. I thought about the countless times I asked my brother about his regrets, about me, and his answers would always hold a steady of hesitance. I thought about the final question I served him, his last chance of redemption, only to mark me with silence. I thought about it all—how everyone who've met me, doesn't want me, save for the exception of my girlfriend.

I fucked up several times in my life. I'll always own up to that. I make irrational decisions based from the heart, and never take a second to listen to my head. I thought I was making right choices when they're the complete opposites and I've been blindsided by the idea of my brother, I lost sight of the family before me. I've fucked up many times.

"Do you regret me?" I ask feebly, afraid of the answer she'll produce. I know, without a doubt, it could break me.

Without hesitation, she turns to me, "not one bit."

━━━━━

DOMINGO

1:22 AM

Reid Harlow

The living room lights are on.

Nini kills the engine while I sit in the car, making no effort to exit the vehicle. My foster mother does the same, sitting right beside me, patiently waiting for me to collect my thoughts and make my choice on how I would like to proceed.

"Does..." I clear my throat, lowering my gaze to my lap and twisting the band on my wrist. "Does the entire family know?"

"When Sebastian got home, I told him. Claudia and Ariah found out from Nico. I gathered everyone to wait in the living room as I picked you up."

I nod, head still hung, "and...Presley?"

She takes a second before answering. "He's in his room."

I knew out of the entire family, I hurt him the most. He's my brother, the guy I shared my room with for almost a year, the one who knows all of my darkest secrets and ambitions, and my best friend. My decision of leaving him—the entire family—was one of the worst calls I've ever made in my life, and I'll have to live with the knowledge that I chose a family that half-wants me over a family that loves me whole.

"Harlow?"

"I'm not surprised Presley is upset with me." I confess, eyes watering once more, stretching the hair-tie. "When I told him, I could hear the hurt in his voice. When we were arguing on the foyer, he said he was done with me. I...I hurt him the worse."

Nini listens. "In choosing Scott, I left behind people I love." I say, "I hurt Presley and Nico, and the way he chased after me when I left—that...that was me." I choke on my words, as the memories fade back into existence, a movie on a loop. "I hurt the people I love the same way Scott hurt me. How can I expect them to forgive me when I wouldn't even forgive myself?"

I release the band and it snaps against my skin, producing a sharp pinch. My jaw hisses in response, but it soon fades as the tears roll out. I don't want to let Nini see me like this, let her think this is an excuse to garner her forgiveness, so I look away—tilting my body towards the door, back facing her.

"Harlow." I don't turn. "Harlow, darling, look at me."

Reluctantly, I face her. I took the moment to gather myself and stop the tears from rolling, but I'm pretty fucking sure my eyes are bloodshot.

Nini looks at me warmly, like a mother would after examining her child's wound, and she cups the side of my cheeks—her cool palms brushing against my burning skin, and she uses them to hold me in her hands.

"You're eighteen, and you've been eighteen for the past couple of months now." She says, her voice cracking, "but you're still a child. You're my child, and I know I may not be your mother but—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence before I lean across the console and wrap my arms around her, my nose brushing against her shoulder. Nini takes a second to react.

"I don't remember my mother. I can barely remember her face and I can barely remember anything about her—but I remembered one thing." I say in chokes, "I remember the smell of lavender. The smell of lavender she wears on her clothes."

Nini wraps her arms around me, still unsure.

"It wasn't hers." I pull her closer, shaking my head. "It was yours."

My mother releases a gasp before she encloses the rest of the space, pulling me into her embrace. I don't know how long we hold it. I couldn't see her—but I'm pretty sure she let out a few tears of her own, sniffing and uneven breaths.

After god-knows-how-long in that car, I manage to pull enough courage to step out of the vehicle. Nini follows in suit, helping me take the bag from the backseat and travel up the steps, unlocking the door with a turn.

I held my breath as I stepped into the familiar, homey atmosphere of the foyer, hearing the sounds of laughter sounding from the living room. Nini drops the bag on the last step, and hooks her keys, closing the door behind us.

"Come on," she mumbles, stepping towards the narrow hallway leading towards the living room, when I grab a hold of her wrist. She stops in place, looking up to meet my eyes and a lack of confidence is easily traceable on my face.

"I'm not ready."

"You're never going to be ready."

"No, I'm..." I suck in a deep breath. "I'm scared of getting hurt."

Nini looks at me, eyes wide and examining the raw honesty on my face. She parts her lips, wanting to say something, before closing, swallowing hard.

"I forgive you." She reveals, unleashing something within me I didn't think was possible. "I can't speak for everyone else, but I forgive you. It's going to be hard, working up the courage to apologize, but I'm here. I'll be here. And I won't leave."

It takes a moment before I nod, once. Then another. Then another, and another until I gather enough within me to proceed down the living room, where echoes of conversations are being thrown back and forth and words are being traded with a fair share of laughs and giggles.

Stepping closer, I notice the outline of every single one of my family: sitting on the floor, on the armrest, or on the cushions, smiling warmly at each other. No one sees me yet, until a little brown girl, smiling ear-to-ear, catches my eyes and her grin begins to fade.

Fuck, can't run now.

It takes a few moments before the rest of the family catches on, lowering their volume, noting Ariah's unblinking stare, and follows her—seeing me at the ends of the hallway, with Nini trialing closely behind.

I see everyone. I see the blank expressions on Ariah, Claudia and Nico. I see the concerns from Sebastian, glancing towards his wife more so than me, and I feel the shift in energy in the room. I know it's because of me.

I didn't want to move behind this wall, covering half of my body, but with a nudge from Nini, I tripped out into the open, revealing my entire presence. I swallow hard, toes curling inside my shoes, and step closer and closer towards the living room, until I'm right before them, vulnerable and real.

Everyone is looking at me. The room is dead silence except for the cracks in the fireplace and low shuffles in positions. The nerves riding on my body is unwavering, and not being able to do anything to calm my ease—smoke a cigarette, read a book—I settle for clenching and unclenching my hands, just like Dahlia does.

"Hi," I let out a breath, moving my sight to catch everyone's line of vision. No one responds.

The air feels suffocatingly tense, and I don't blame them. Everyone is still on edge from my abruptive leave, and they're still trying to pick up the pieces I left for them to mend. I don't blame them for being hurt.

"I, um," I swallow, a bile tied to my throat, unmoving, "I'm sorry."

The first hard breath of air escapes me, and I continue. "I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for not saying goodbye. I'm sorry for...for...causing you all of this stress and hurt. I—" Tears well in my eyes, crowding my vision, but no one reacts. No one moves. "I'm so so sorry."

And the words don't stop.

"I can't think of any reasons to excuse it. I can't think of anything valid enough to. I just—I did. I did it. I can't take it back, I can't take back what I've said and done, and I can't expect you to forgive me. I don't." My chest is laboring and my tears are streaming down my face, hot and fast. "I left a family that loves me to find one that doesn't. I can't...I don't know how to excuse that. I'm not going to. I did it. I did it—and I'm so sorry that I hurt all of you."

No one says anything. The ache in my chest intensifies.

I choke on my breath and drop down to my knees, pulling my hands into fists and digging them against the carpet, knuckles bruising. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. You're the only family that truly accepted me in and out, and I left it. I'm sorry."

The room hangs in absolute silence. No one moves. No one talks. My head is hung low, not wanting to see how this turn of events is nothing like I wish, and I'm on the opposite spectrum of being given forgiveness. Instead, I'm being given the hard, cold shoulder. The hurt, the pain, the punishment.

They don't want me anymore.

I fucked up too much for them to want me.

I lost two families today.

"Mi hermano," my brother, I hear Nico's little voice declares, before something hits the ground and footsteps run towards me. I didn't have enough time to look up, nor enough courage, before something tackle me into a deep hug, almost knocking me back, with arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, pulling me into their chest. Nico. "Mi hermano regresó." My brother came back.

I burst out in more tears.

I look up to Nico, with tears streaming down my cheeks and my vision distorted by the glassiness, I smile. I grab a hold of his cheek, his small, squishable cheek and nod. "I'm back," I say, "I'm back and I'm not leaving again."

Nico grins. I don't know how he does it—even after everything, his cries, his wails, him calling after me. I don't know how he's able to forgive me so easily.

"Yay!" He cheers, closing in and burying his head into the crook of my neck, refusing to let go.

I smile, knowing, even if I don't have everyone's forgiveness, I have two. It's two more than I had ever wished for.

I hear more footsteps hitting the floor, stepping closer to me, and before long, I'm greeted with Claudia's face; the bob of her brown hair has grown significantly since the first time I met her, moving past her shoulders, and a delicate, tender stare in her brown eyes.

"I forgive you too, idiot," she says, with glassy eyes, before tackling me into a hug as well, knocking me back.

It took a second, before I laugh, because, fuck, do I deserve this? Do I deserve to be as loved as I am, right now, even after everything?

"Me too!" Ariah exclaims, before I hear her footsteps hitting the floor in quick sounds, before feeling the pile grow and Ariah tackles me into a hug, from the other side, causing a breath of air to escape from my lungs. "I forgive you, Harlow! I miss you!"

Sebastian, being the last one from the couch, stands from his spot. He walks on over—not running—and he takes a seat beside me, not embracing me into a hug.

"You're my son," Sebastian says with serene, "everyone makes mistakes, but for you, you're my son."

I didn't need to hear it to know what he meant.

I break out into a smile, even through the tears, even through the weight of three people crushing my lungs and embracing me with love and tenderness I haven't felt before, and I smile. I smile and I grin and I cry.

"I love you all so much," I say finally, just as excitement bubbles from Ariah and Claudia, with them cheering, without letting go.

The pity party I was going to throw myself would have to be postponed because—even if I didn't expect it—I got forgiveness from my family. I got understanding, I learned from my mistakes and decisions.

I can't say I regret it, regretting leaving, because in the end, I turn to find out that there came out something much more.

We're all huddled in this hug for as long as I can remember, and as everyone is doing their best, even through numbing limbs and fingers slipping off my body, my stare moves from the little pack to the hallway—finding one lonesome figure.

My brother, Presley Young, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

He doesn't move forward. He doesn't say anything. He just watches.

"I'm sorry," I mouth to him. "I'm truly sorry."

I know he knows what I said, but he doesn't react. He doesn't move a muscle, he doesn't try to get into this crowd. Instead, he watches me for a few more hard seconds, before he turns around and leaves.

A sadness buries inside of my heart, but it's okay.

Like I said, I didn't expect to gain any forgiveness—let alone five—so, one more, his, is not something I expect to be given so easily. Not like this.

I know I have to work for it, beg for it, show him. If you told Reid Harlow, ten months ago, he would be begging for the graces of his foster family, I would've yelled at you and told you to fuck off before I make you.

But, it's not ten month before. It's ten months after.

And this Reid Harlow, knowing how much shit I've put this family through and how much grief I've given them, despite all their love and comfort in return—is willing to do anything.

And that especially applies to Presley Young.

My brother.

a/n: the amount of tears i shed for this chapter, is unreasonable