I took a deep breath. "This is going to be okay. Somehow. What's done is done, and we both need to take responsibility for our parts in this mess. And maybe something good can come from it. But in the meantime, you have to clean yourself up. Debt or not, mob or not, you're going to have to come up with a plan for your life once this is all figured out."
He nodded, pressing his lips together. I didn't miss the expression of hatred that quickly passed over his face—hatred aimed at Brogan I could only assume. I paused before saying, "Hey, Stu, can I ask you a question? Brogan told me you found him in the Bronx all those years ago. That when I asked you to find him, you did. Only, you never told me. Why?" I couldn't help the hurt in my voice.
Stuart looked confused for a moment, but then his expression cleared, understanding coming into his eyes. "Yeah, I did. So what?"
I frowned and tilted my head. "You knew how important it was to me to find him. I was pregnant, Stu, was carrying his baby. Why? Why did you keep his whereabouts from me? And why didn't you tell him I was trying to find him?"
He let out an impatient breath. "You were better off without him, Lydia. I took one step into that hellhole they were living in and I couldn't . . . I couldn't allow him to be a part of your life. Our life. You would have never been free of him."
I grimaced at the coldness in his tone. "That wasn't for you to decide," I said, the injustice of what he'd done to me crashing down on my shoulders.
"I was protecting you! And him as a matter of fact. Though I'm sure that selfish bastard wouldn't see it that way. He could barely afford to feed his little sister. There were bugs and . . . mold growing on the walls, Lydia. Mold!" He screwed up his face in disgust. "How was he going to take care of a baby when he could barely take care of himself?"
Anguish gripped me as I pictured Brogan and Eileen in a place like that. I shook my head. "Our father would have given him a job. Our father would have helped them. You know he would have. You know it now and you knew it then." And that was the real reason he had remained quiet about Brogan's whereabouts. Oh God. Stuart, how could you?
"It's in the past anyway," he muttered, having the grace to look partially ashamed. "If I could change it I would, Lydia, I swear to you, but I can't."
I stared at him, trying to hate him for what he'd done to me, to Brogan, but only able to muster up a numb sense of pity. And it wasn't in the past. Surely even Stuart could see that it was anything but in the past. His current situation should be proof enough of that. Our current situation.
"You should get home," he said. "It's better that you're not here. I think they're watching my building. I've seen strange cars pass by out the window." He glanced to the large expanse of glass, and back to me, a twitch in his shoulder making it jump slightly. Was he paranoid or was he really being watched? "Your place is safer."
"Maybe. I'm not sure. I was staying at Brogan's apartment here in the city until this morning."
He looked shocked. "What the fuck?" he practically yelled. "I thought that was over. Lydia, he better not—"
"It's not like that," I lied. "He just thought it was safer there."
"That's a load of shit. It's part of his plan. He wants to turn the last person on earth who's in my corner against me. And then he'll ruin you, too. You have to see that! You have to see that he's not done with us."
"I—"
"Stuart?" a female voice called. I looked back to see a woman with bleached blonde hair wearing what looked like one of Stuart's button-up shirts and nothing else walking toward us from his bedroom. I turned toward Stuart and raised a brow. Seriously?
"I have to eat," he defended. "I can't even leave my apartment. How am I supposed to get food?" He must have forgotten about all the options for grocery and food delivery in New York City. Although apparently his "food delivery service" also included plenty of liquor, possibly drugs—though I had no idea how Stuart was paying for them—and sexual favors. I might throw up.
The woman nestled into Stuart, and he wrapped an arm around her. "Who's she, Stu?" she asked, shooting me a flirty smile. Really?
"I'm Lydia," I said, "Stuart's sister. Nice to meet you."
"Oh hi, I'm Jewel." She looked up at Stuart. "You coming back to bed, baby?" Well, that was my cue.
I stood up from the bar seat. "I've gotta go."
Stuart detached Jewel from his side and met me as I headed toward the front door, picking up my bag. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I will be."
"Stay away from Brogan Ramsay, Lydia. I swear you're safer away from him. There's something not right about this whole situation, and he's behind every bit of it."
"All right, Stuart," I said, because frankly, I intended to stay away from Brogan Ramsay. "Things are going to be okay," I murmured, though I was beginning to sincerely doubt that was the case. He nodded at me and let me out.
As I rode the elevator downstairs, I leaned against the wall, considering the current situation. Yesterday, I had thought I knew Brogan, understood him, and today . . . I realized I didn't know him at all. I knew nothing about his life. He'd been evasive about his business, there were women who just popped out of the woodwork—that made three I’d seen him with now—and apparently at least one had some sort of hold on him. And as for his feelings for me . . . would I ever know for sure how he felt? A wave of despair washed over me. I had hoped . . . what had I hoped? I chewed at my lip, considering that question. I had hoped Brogan and I were moving back toward where we'd been so long ago. Yes, I could admit that now. But that was impossible. We'd been innocent teens then. And now, we had so much baggage, so many obstacles between us. And what hurt the most of all was that for a brief moment, I had believed it possible anyway. Despite everything, I had believed.