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I focus back on Jin. He’s led the design team for Verity & Co. for over a decade and, like many creatives, he has a clear vision for what he wants.
When I was younger, I used to sit at these desks playing computer games or running amok with Atlas and Levis, when Dad would let us come with him, and listen to Jin and my father debate.
Or at times argue.
What amazed me was how heated the conversations got, but at the end of the day Ward would slap him on the shoulder and say, “Good work, Jin. Let’s get these designs finished and out the door.”
One day, Dad noticed Atlas scribbling in his notebook. He asked if he could take a look.
“No, Dad. Stop.” Atlas tugged it to his chest.
Dad looked at me like I knew what was going on. I didn’t. Atlas was always drawing one thing or another and, frankly, I wasn’t interested.
“Son, come on. Are they designs?”
Atlas flushed red while we all stared.
“Atlas is drawing dresses.” Levis laughed, and Dad slapped him around the ears.
“I’m... I like cars and stuff too.”
I watched with interest while Bella piped up with I hate cars. That’s when Mom arrived to pick us up, and I overheard Dad asking her about it.
“Yes, darling, he’s been drawing little designs for about six months now. He’s very good,” Mom replied.
“You didn’t think you should tell me?” Ward exclaimed.
“No. He’ll show you when he’s ready. It’s not like you employ him, Ward. He’s eleven,” Mom had said, patting his chest. “Leave him be.”
Mom always had a way with our father that no one else did.
Boy, how he loved her.
I’m not sure I believe love like that exists for everyone. In some ways, I’ve felt intimidated by how much they loved one another. I’ve never felt anything even close to that sort of love.
I love my family.
I loved our family dog before he died.
But women? No. I desire them. I’ve never loved one.
I smile the moment I see Atlas walking toward us.
“Well, hello there,” Atlas says, greeting Payton, and I roll my eyes.
Seriously, every single Montgomery male has a hard-on for my girl.
Not my girl...
Fuck.
Tucked behind his ear is a stylus which is a permanent fixture when it’s not in his hand, and he nudges it in place out of habit as he shakes her hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Payton glances between us with her mouth parted.
“Yes, this is my brother, Atlas. I know we look alike.” I shake my head. There’s eleven months between us and we often get asked if we’re twins.
“Almost like—” Payton begins.
