35. Zack

The day after we returned from Italy, we crashed at my place in Boston. We'd discussed our future living arrangements, and while it would have been an easier job moving me to Rhode Island, I wanted nothing to do with the state of my birth and all the pain I'd left behind there. I didn't dig my feet in as an attempt to get my way, but thank fuck for selfless men who agreed without argument to relocate to Massachusetts.

We would eventually require more than a two-bedroom condo, considering Landon's need for an office and all our combined gym equipment, but for now, we would make do. A home farther north would fit us perfectly, far enough from the city for some privacy like they'd had in Rhode Island but close enough to Boston and my volunteer work.

Both men committed to join me at the shelter on a weekly basis, giving us yet another thing to do together outside the house as a triad. They planned on teaching me how to spar, since my gym had a boxing ring, and I would help them both up their weight-lifting game.

The red-eye flight home had left us groggy and struggling to readapt to the time zone, and we had no intentions of rousing ourselves back to reality for at least forty-eight hours.

A local Rhode Island news website Callum browsed over a late breakfast changed our plans.

Malcom Briggs had passed peacefully in his sleep two days ago.

I felt nothing. No sense of loss or hint of grief over a grandfather I hadn't known. Not even anger stirred over the reminder of his bitterness and hatred of my birth mother.

Even still, Landon and Callum both pushed me to attend the burial as a way of seeing that part of my life put to rest. Literally. I wasn't sure if Malcom had ever spoken to his wife about my visit. I had no clue if she was aware of my continued existence or if she even cared.

I had all the family I needed, but I agreed to go and watch from a distance like some shady character in a movie hiding behind a gravestone in the hopes of going unnoticed.

No such luck.

The sun shone, and no long trench coat offered me obscurity. There was no mass of people to lose myself in, no faceless friends or colleagues to wonder over the man standing a few yards away. Malcom's black casket glistened beneath rays from the blue sky as though he'd been blessed by a god I didn't believe in.

Iona Briggs, my grandmother, was a tiny, raven-haired sprite. She appeared untouched by age, even though she had to be in her late seventies at the very least, considering Malcom's eighty-six. Shoulders back and I was sure dry-eyed from what I could tell in the distance between us, she watched as they lowered her late husband's body into the ground.

She stood alone.

And she wore a bright green dress that spoke of the newness of early spring rather than mourning.

As though feeling my stare, she lifted her focus off the box of death before her. Our eyes met and held.

My heart beat a little faster, and I contemplated turning and walking away—until she smiled, her face flooding with happiness. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she hurried toward me, the lowering casket seemingly forgotten.

I stood rooted in place, unable to move. Not that I wanted to.

She stumbled to a stop less than three feet from me, breathless and taking in the entirety of my face. "It's you!" she whispered the words with a slight Scottish accent, her lips trembling.

"Mrs. Briggs," I greeted her with a nod, not sure what to do with my hands.

"Call me Granny," she demanded with a dazzling smile that made her wet green eyes shine like jewels in the sunlight.

My throat tightened, and I attempted to swallow. How could this lovely creature have been married to that beast of a man who'd been nothing but bitterness and arrogance?

She wound her hand through my arm and tugged me off to the left where a dark-windowed limo sat waiting for her. "Come along, lad. We have our freedom now, don't we?"

I glanced down at the dark head held high, my eyes stinging. She clung to me as though afraid I would abandon her.

My only blood relative that I was aware of walked on America's shores.

"I knew I would never be able to change that bastard's mind," she stated, the hint of her brogue like music to my ears. "So I had to bide my time. I kept track of you. Secretly, of course. And being younger than that bastard, I was determined to survive him and finally have a chance to talk to you. Claim the grandson he'd denied me for too long."

A marriage of convenience—for her father, Granny filled me in while I sat in her limo, tongue-tied and still stunned by the turn of events.

She'd insisted on having one of her men drive my vehicle behind the limo. Having gotten her hands on me, she had zero intentions of letting me go.

That declaration resting in my head, I chose to simply listen to the story of a too-young girl who'd been all but sold off into slavery to an emotionally abusive husband she hadn't wanted.

But such were the ways of northern Scotland back in the day, especially when men gambled with more than what was in their pockets.

"I had my wee beauty at sixteen," she told me before sipping a Scotch whisky identical to the one in my white-knuckled grip.

It'd been over a half-hour since I'd set eyes on my grandmother, and I still couldn't wrap my head around the truths I'd learned in that short amount of time it had taken to arrive at the Briggs' family mansion.

"Sixteen?" I rasped.

"Aye—that bastard owned me two years before that."

Fucking hell.I rubbed a hand over my face, staring at the woman with a spine of iron seated on the chair in front of me.

We'd settled in her sitting room just inside and to the right of the door I'd knocked on weeks earlier. The entryway of the mansion I'd been barred from entering even if I'd wanted to.

The scent of leather and roses had hit me upon crossing the threshold, and no matter how much I told myself I hated the monstrous house surrounding me, the presence of the sweet, fiery woman sharing a drink with me didn't allow for any negativity in my heart and mind.

"You're…sixty-six?"

"Five." She winked and laughed.

"Malcom was twenty years older than you"

"Yes, the pompous ass." She sniffed, but her eyes twinkled. "I've still got a lot left in me, lad—and I plan on spending the rest of my days exactly how I want and with who I want. That would be my only living blood relative. You, Zackary."

I swallowed hard, my thoughts fucking fucked.

Her smile softened along with her gaze as though she recognized my inability to process. "I expect you have a life of your own, one you might not want some old, glamorous granny such as myself intruding upon, so I won't push for more than an occasional visit. But I'll never turn my back on you again, nor will I deny you what's rightfully yours." She waved her hand around, the massive emerald on her right hand as vibrant as her eyes.

"I don't want it," I whispered, knowing she spoke about the land, house, and riches.

"Doesn't matter. You're the last Briggs of Malcom's line, and with him finally six feet under and me the sole heiress to his fortune, I can do as I damn well please with it," she stated with her nose in the air.

A huff of laughter rushed past my lips at her haughty declaration. I couldn't begin to imagine the servitude and misery she'd endured the previous fifty-one years. I sobered quickly though.

"I apologize for not being there for you sooner," she said. "For being too fearful to take a stand against the man my father sold me to. For not advocating for our daughter, or loving her enough that she felt it was okay to leave her newborn behind."

"It's not your fault. It was her decision," I said. Same as it'd been Callum's brother's that had landed him in shit. "We make choices and have to live with the consequences."

"You're so much more than a consequence, Zackary—I hope you know that," Granny stated sweetly yet with firm intent. "I hope you'll give me a chance to prove that truth to you."

"I already have the love of two good men, but there's always room for more."

She raised an eyebrow but not in a condescending way. "Two, you say?"

"Yes. I'm in a committed relationship with two men, Landon and Callum." I held still, breath stalled while waiting for her reaction.

A soft smile curved her lips even as sadness filled her eyes. "Your mother had a lot of love to give too, but she wasted it on youngsters who didn't appreciate her heart or her unselfish nature."

Pretty sure I read between the lines. "She was taken advantage of?"

Granny nodded. "Countless times from what she'd told me."

"Do you know who my father is?"

"I'm sorry to say that I don't. No one came forward to claim you, and with Malcom's refusal to let me have you, I had no choice but to give you up. Tell me you were happy, Zack. Help ease my guilt in not fighting harder to keep you."

I wished more than anything that I could.

"I wouldn't change my past," I said instead of making her feel even worse than she already did. "Being raised in the system led me to Landon and eventually Callum. Without the two of them…" My voice trailed off as my throat thickened. I shrugged, not really sure what to say.

Granny smiled once more. "Well, three grandsons are better than one. I can't wait to meet them. If, that is, you're willing to spend some time with this old lady."

"You're hardly old," I croaked past the tears still clogging my throat, "but yes. I would love to. And I'm sure they would too."