I nodded my head slowly, eyeing him. "Why did you think I did it?" I asked.
"I thought . . ." He shook his head. "I thought you used me to make Myles jealous. I suppose it doesn't matter." Only, it looked like it did matter. It looked like it mattered a great deal.
"No, I wanted you. I wanted you so much I couldn't think of anything else. So much I was willing to use every trick in the book to get you. Every stupid, manipulative trick." I sighed and walked a few paces and turned around, pressing my back against the wall and sliding down to the floor. He joined me where I sat, his shoulder touching mine as we stared straight ahead.
"We went to your house the next morning, you know, my father and I. I ran to him after Stuart . . . after Stuart fired your father. I ran to mine, and he was sleeping so I woke him. He told me we'd go see your family first thing in the morning. He promised he'd fix it. He liked you. He would have. He would have fixed it. But you were gone."
"We left that night," he said. "I couldn't bear to stay another minute." He leaned his head back and hit it twice against the wall.
"Brogan . . . I . . . I want to tell you something." I swallowed heavily. "We . . . looked for you. At least, Stuart was supposed to have put every effort into tracking you down. My father was ill, so he gave that task to Stuart. I wonder now . . ." I looked down at my hands. "But anyway, we looked for you because . . . because I was pregnant." I felt his body freeze next to me before he sat up abruptly, his eyes looking straight into mine.
"Lydia, my God." He took in a sharp breath. "You had—"
"I lost the baby. I was three months along and . . ." I shook my head, a sudden flood of grief taking me by surprise. I sucked in a shaky breath, almost shocked by the power of anguish overwhelming me. But I wouldn't cry now. Not in front of Brogan. "Everyone kept saying, 'Oh, it's for the best, Lydia.' They kept saying that and I hated them for it. I hated them because if it was for the best then why did it hurt so much? They were talking about my baby. They were saying it was for the best that my baby was gone." My voice sounded dull, emotionless despite the grief that pommeled my heart. "Even when I left for college, I was still so bitter. Then my father died and—" I sucked in a breath and Brogan pulled me into him, tucking my head beneath his chin. My breathing slowed as I felt his trembling increase. Brogan's hold on me was tight and after a few minutes, he seemed to calm, his muscles relaxing and the trembling abating. I tilted my head back to look at him. His face was waxen and he looked slightly shell shocked. "Lydia, God, I—"
I placed two fingers on his lips, stopping his words. "You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry I just sprung that on you. I didn't plan it." I wet my lips. "It's just this place and . . . maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all—" Brogan sat up taller and pulled me up, his hands around my upper arms, so I was looking straight into his eyes.
"Jaysus, Lydia, it was my baby, too. Of course you should have told me. I'm just so," he shook his head, looking for a moment as if he were a lost little boy, "so sorry you went through that alone. I didn't even consider . . ." He released me and ran a still trembling hand over his face. "I guess we both suffered . . . in different ways," he said blankly, staring at the wall behind my head.
"No, you had to scrounge for food to eat. You had to do things you hated doing. You—"
"Goddamn it! We're not going to compare our sufferings now," he yelled suddenly, moving me away from him and standing up. I came to my feet, too, my legs feeling shaky beneath me. He raked both hands through his thick hair, clutching fistfuls. "This is so fucked up." He released a large breath. Bringing his hands to his hips, he said, "Your brother did find me."
I shook my head in confusion. "What?"
"Stuart, he found me in the Bronx a couple months after I left."
"No, that can't be—"
"It is. Ask him. He dropped off a bag of things we'd left at the house in our haste to leave. Nothing of any value—one of Eileen's shirts, a plastic bowl . . ." He suddenly laughed, but it morphed into a grimace. "He looked around at the rat-hole we lived in and then he left."
I leaned back against the wall. "He must have had a reason," I whispered. "He must have . . ." Had my brother truly hated Brogan that much? Why had he done that to me? He knew how desperate I was to find him. He knew.
"Oh, he had a reason. But his reasons were all about him. Tell me, Lydia, will he apologize, do you think? Will he ask for your forgiveness?"
I let out a long breath, massaging my temples. I felt a headache coming on. "I don't know. Likely not. I know you hate him for what he did, for what he caused, Brogan, but we can't change it. We have to find a way to move forward. We have to find a way to find happiness now. You're a rich, powerful man who became successful against all odds and at such a young age. You must be proud of that." I moved closer to him and took his hands in mine. "And do you know the positive that came from what I experienced? I grew up, Brogan. I grew up real fast when I was dished up a big serving of painful reality. My scheming hurt you, and I'll regret the consequences that you suffered because of it for the rest of my life. But my scheming hurt me, too. And I learned that life isn't all about me. I learned that every choice has an outcome and I learned that holding on to bitterness is a poison that eats away at you from the inside."