Chapter Twenty

Baran

Baran groaned, his head heavy and his temples pounding as he stumbled out of bed. The cheap motel room was dim, lit only by the weak glow of a streetlamp seeping through the threadbare curtains. The pounding on the door had startled him awake, but it wasn’t the frantic rhythm of a stranger—it was someone determined, someone desperate.

As he reached the door, he paused, the muffled sound of labored breathing on the other side giving him pause. With a deep breath, he swung the door open.

Darien stood there, his face flushed, his chest heaving like he’d sprinted all the way from Manhattan. His tuxedo was wrinkled, his tie loosened and askew.

“Baran,” Darien breathed, his voice laced with urgency.

Baran’s stomach twisted. “What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped, gripping the edge of the door. His heart was racing, though whether from anger or something else, he couldn’t tell. How did this man find him? He barely knew where he was himself.

Darien winced, stepping inside before Baran could slam the door in his face. “We need to talk.”

Baran’s jaw clenched as he turned away, pacing the room. “You threatened my father and forced him to talk to me. Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”

“I didn’t mean—” Darien began, but Baran spun on his heel, cutting him off.

“You didn’t mean? The one person who’s spent my entire life messing with my head, and you just—what? Thought forcing him to talk to me would help?” Baran’s voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “I trusted you. I didn’t think you’d stoop that low.”

Darien’s shoulders slumped, his usual confidence crumbling under Baran’s glare. “I know I screwed up,” he whispered. “I thought—I thought if I could just make him listen, make him stop getting in your way, you’d finally be free of all that…pain.”

“Free? By turning into him? You really don’t get it.”

“I’m sorry.” Darien’s voice was barely a whisper, but it held weight. He stepped closer, hands raised like he was approaching a wounded animal. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—I wanted you to be happy, Baran. That’s all I wanted. I thought it would be the best Christmas present for you.”

Baran closed his eyes, his throat tightening. He hated how sincere Darien sounded, how much he wanted to believe him. But the anger was still there, raw and simmering just beneath the surface.

Darien reached out, hesitantly, and then dropped his hand. “Look, I get it. You’re not ready. But come home. Not…not to me. Just to the house. You can have your own space. No pressure, no strings. Just somewhere better than this,” he said, gesturing to the peeling wallpaper and sagging mattress.

Baran crossed his arms, staring hard at the stained carpet. He wanted to tell Darien to leave, to never come back, but the offer lingered in the air like a lifeline he wasn’t ready to grab.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered finally, not looking up.

“I can’t leave you here.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe. I want you to come home. Miss Charlotte is worried about you. Come home for her, if not for me.”

His eyes welled up, and tears spilled down his cheeks. He longed to go back to the comfort of home with Daddy Darien and Miss Charlotte. He was upset with himself for running away and not confronting what had happened and why. He believed Daddy Darien meant to make his life easier, but he wasn’t fully aware of his relationship with his father. It had never been good.

Daddy Darien scooped Baran into his arms, holding his head against his chest. “Daddies make mistakes too.”

Baran nodded, knowing very well Daddy Darien was right. Baran wasn’t perfect, and expecting Daddy Darien to be perfect was unrealistic.

“I want to go home,” Baran whispered.

“Where are your things?”

Baran pointed to the big bag with his tuxedo in it. “That’s all I have.”

Daddy Darien made a phone call for a driver to pick them up. Once they were notified the car was parked out front, Baran checked out of the hotel.

Baran shuffled his feet on the cobblestones, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans as he trailed alongside Darien. The city lights reflected off the damp pavement, casting an amber glow that flickered in and out of his peripheral vision. He wasn’t sure how Darien had talked him into leaving the hotel—or talking to him at all.

“You were brilliant tonight,” Darien said.

“Brilliant? I barely said a word to half the people there.”

“And yet, every one of them left singing your praises and leaving checks. You don’t give yourself enough credit, Baran. Your work spoke louder than you ever could.”

They got inside the car and continued talking.

Baran’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but he shook his head. “I don’t know why you bothered looking for me. It’s not like—”

“I bothered,” Daddy Darien interrupted gently, “because I love you. Because I know what you’re capable of, even if you don’t. And because you deserve someone to remind you of that, no matter how much you try to push them away.”

Baran’s breath hitched. He felt the weight of Daddy Darien’s words settle on his chest, not heavy in a crushing way, but heavy like something sturdy, something real. “You love me,” he murmured, almost disbelieving.

“I do,” Daddy Darien said simply. “And I want the best for you. You’re worth it, even if you don’t see it yet.”

They sat in silence the rest of the way, side by side in the back of the car, Baran stealing glances at Daddy Darien every now and then, unsure of what to say—or feel. He wasn’t used to this, to someone caring this much. It was unsettling, but also…comforting.

When they reached home, the door opened before they got out of the car. Miss Charlotte stood there, her silver hair tied in a neat bun and her shawl draped over her shoulders. Her face lit up as soon as she saw them.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of relief and scolding. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten where home was.”

Daddy Darien laughed softly, stepping aside to let Baran enter first.

Miss Charlotte’s sharp eyes turned to Baran, who stiffened under her gaze. But instead of the reproach he expected, her expression softened. “You must be exhausted, my boy. Come, sit down. I’ll make you both some hot chocolate.”

Baran hesitated, unsure of how to respond. “You…don’t have to do that,” he mumbled.

“Nonsense,” Miss Charlotte replied, already bustling toward the kitchen. “You’ve had a long night, and it’s the least I can do. Besides, I stayed up waiting. You’re not getting off that easily.”

Darien gave Baran an encouraging nudge toward the sofa. “Better not argue with her. You won’t win.”

Baran sat stiffly, his hands clasped between his knees as Miss Charlotte returned with two steaming mugs. She handed one to him, her wrinkled hands steady despite the late hour. “Here,” she said, her tone gentle now. “Drink up. You’ve earned it.”

Baran took the mug, staring down at the frothy surface. “Thanks,” he said quietly, unsure how else to express the unfamiliar warmth spreading in his chest.

Miss Charlotte sat down beside him, watching him with a mother’s concern. “Darien told me about your work tonight. Sounds like you made quite the impression.”

Baran shrugged, the praise making him uncomfortable. “I just did what I always do.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re remarkable,” she said firmly. “You pour your heart into what you do, and it shows. Don’t let anyone, least of all yourself, tell you otherwise.”

Baran looked up at her, surprised by the conviction in her voice. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words. “I…I’ll try,” he finally said.

Miss Charlotte patted his knee with a small smile. “That’s all anyone can ask for.”

As the night deepened, Baran found himself relaxing in their company, the warmth of the hot chocolate mirroring the unfamiliar yet welcome warmth of being cared for. Miss Charlotte hadn’t mentioned Daddy Darien running after him when he discovered he was missing. She didn’t ask how he ended up in a Brooklyn hotel. He wondered if Daddy Darien had told her the entire story, or had she left out the serious part of the evening?