Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Julian

"Are you listening to me?" my uncle snaps, his voice cutting through the tense air of my office.

No, I'm not, Uncle, but I do appreciate everything you are doing. Really, I do.

The dim lighting in my office casts long shadows, amplifying the moment's weight. As soon as I saw my uncle, I knew he blamed himself. Then he took it out on his team, which did deserve the chewing out. A package never should have gotten this close to me. It could have been deadly, and there Poppy was, opening it. All my mail is vetted before it reaches this level. At least, it has been in the past.

Poppy could have been hurt.

I focus on the faint scent of leather from the chairs, trying to calm my anger. My uncle's team failed, and I'm sure they will spend the rest of their careers in the basement, filing reports instead of writing them. The cold, sterile office seems to echo their unspoken fears.

Uncle Dan is pissed that I interrupted him so that I could say goodbye to Poppy. She was heading home and refused to let one of my guards take her. Of course, she doesn't know they are guards. I didn't want to scare her further.

Uncle Dan wanted to question her, but I wouldn't allow it. I don't want to stress Poppy out. I could already see the worry etching on her forehead, a stark contrast to the stoic masks in the room.

If I were a good man, I'd stay far away from her, especially after what my brother Theo is doing.

I guess I'm a selfish man. The heart wants what it wants, and it will do anything—even override rationality—to get it.

The coolness of my watch against my skin is a stark reminder of the ticking time and escalating situations. The more lies told the faster time seems to tick away.

"Julian!" Uncle Dan yells, his voice reverberating off the high ceilings and sleek, modern furnishings.

I finally look up from my watch. "I want Calvin to follow her, and I want a team on her discreetly until this is settled."

"Who?" Uncle Dan presses his hands on the surface of the glossy, dark wood table. He hasn't sat down.

"His secretary," Theo replies, sitting rigidly in his chair. The tension in his posture is as tangible as the chill from the air conditioning, which subtly battles the room's warmth.

I've felt Theo's side-eye the entire meeting. I practically have third-degree burns from it. He's still pissed at me for not heeding his warning and staying away from Poppy.

Too. Fucking. Bad.

I'm still furious that Theo went as far as he did, all to repay a favor. Theo fucking pulled the strings of Poppy's life, getting her into a job position and home where he could keep an eye on her so that he could report back to a friend.

When I look at my uncle, I see his face transition from irritation to a level where, if I were a kid, he'd tell me to pick a belt for punishment.

"You're not fucking your secretary," he bites, the words sharp against the soft hum of the air conditioning. His eyes shift from those of my uncle to the stern, cold man who runs the CIA.

"He hasn't sealed the deal yet," Kent chimes in, trying to lighten the mood. Instead of his usual goofy grin, I see his eyes watching me like a hawk, just waiting for me to pounce on my uncle.

"Julian," Uncle Dan stresses, his men shifting from foot to foot, their shoes barely making a sound on the plush carpet as they keep their eyes on the floor.

I'm tired of this already. Tired of the secrets and lies building the foundation of a relationship I'm genuinely excited about.

I can't tell Poppy everything, but I can erase some of the secrets, one of which is that I've been trying and failing to keep our relationship hidden.

I glance at Theo and then back to my uncle. "Uncle Dan, I need to tell you something," I state. I'm going to tell him about Poppy and me. I want him to put guards on her until this is all settled. Hell, I'd still like guards on her after that.

I look at my older brother next, "Theo has something to tell you, too."

***

"You're going to tell Dad, aren't you?" I ask Uncle Dan, my voice echoing slightly in the vast expanse of my plush office. I stand and walk towards the large windows, feeling the warmth of the Texas sun on my skin as it pours through, casting elongated shadows across the sleek, modern furniture. I look out at the view, and the sharp contrast of the cityscape is so different from the rugged terrains I navigated in the army. It's a stark reminder of the life I've left behind.

Theo and Kent have departed, along with Uncle Dan's men, leaving just the two of us in a silence heavy with unspoken truths and lies. I can read the mixture of shock and disappointment in Uncle Dan's eyes, tinged with a hint of pride. The revelation about Theo's actions, so masterfully orchestrated, must resonate with a man like Uncle Dan, who has spent a lifetime maneuvering the intricate webs of the CIA.

"That you're dating your secretary?" Uncle Dan raises a brow, the sternness of his CIA director persona softened by a hint of warmth towards me. "Absolutely. But I'd rather you tell him."

I flex my fingers, feeling an ache in my knuckles, the tension evident. "You can tell him. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Uncle Dan counters, sinking further back into the luxurious leather chair in the small seating area of my office. "You boys make him out to be a monster. He isn't."

"You're right. My dad isn't a monster. He's just a stranger." My voice breaks slightly. He's been distant since my mom died and we were sent off to boarding school.

"I know you boys think you'll never live up to his expectations, that you will disappoint him," Uncle Dan says, his voice full of understanding and firmness.

"Kent never could keep a secret," I mutter under my breath, thinking of my overly talkative brother.

"Maybe you and Theo should have talked more." Uncle Dan leans forward, his elbows on his thighs, fingers steepled under his chin, a gesture reflecting his analytical mind. "Did you ever consider the opposite?"

"Opposite of what?"

"That it's not that you and your brothers will never live up to your dad's expectations, but that he feared he would never live up to yours."

His words hit me like a physical blow, leaving me momentarily dazed. Uncle Dan continues, his voice steady yet compassionate. "I don't agree with everything he has done, but I'll tell you this: your dad loves you boys."

"I know he loves us," I bite back, pressing my palm against the window. The faint print I leave behind is like my dad—barely there, a rigid outline of what once was, slowly disappearing. He's a ghostly mark on the glass of our lives, one that time is erasing.

Sometimes, love isn't enough.

"I'm good at reading people, Julian," Uncle Dan states. His gaze pierces into me as if he's a thumbtack and I'm a task written on paper, which he is pinning to his cork board.

"Your father pushed you away because he was scared. Terrified he would never be the parent you needed. When your mom died, he had her shoes to fill as well. He chose distance over disappointment because he knew he could never fill her shoes for you boys."

The room seems to blur as I process his words. The specs of dust in the sunlight, floating slowly in the sunlight, take on memories from my childhood, slowly drifting away.

My father was scared of failing us.

I never viewed it that way.

"What do you expect me to do?" I reply. My words sound harsh, but I'm not trying to be rude. I'm just shocked and hurt and disappointed in myself for not noticing how scared my dad was and still is.

"I want you to start to fill him in. Call him once a week." Uncle Dan stands, his presence commanding yet caring. "Build a relationship. Talk about anything – the company, everyday life. Just keep the communication flowing."

"We don't have that kind of relationship," I protest weakly.

"Make one. Relationships are constant work. Call and talk about the company; talk about bullshit. Just talk. Then, slowly let him in. Tell him about this girl. I know you're worried about how he will react, but he will be happy as long as you are, Julian. Just talk, whether it's good or bad. Keep that bridge open. Trust me, it's much harder to build on rubble, so don't let it get to that point."

He approaches my chair, "One day when your dad and I have passed, you will wish you called more." He pats me on the back, "You have the ability to change that, to make a new wish." Then he leans down and kisses the top of my head, making me feel like a small lost boy again, but a boy who still has his family watching from a distance.

We have the ability to change outcomes and not just be bystanders.

I watch him leave, the resolve building inside me. I go to my desk, pick up my phone, and dial my father's number. The call connects.

"Son?" My dad's voice comes through, stern yet laced with an underlying worry.

"Hey, Dad," I reply, my voice thick with emotion. "I need to talk to you. I have a lot of things I need to tell you."

As I speak, I feel the gap between my father and me start to narrow, bridging years of distance with a simple phone call.