Page 106 of Julian

“And now,” he says, “you’ve got someone who actually takes care of you too.”

I laugh weakly through the emotion as it bubbles inside me. “You’re getting way too observant.”

“I’m serious.” He shrugs. “I think maybe you finally get the fairy-tale ending.”

And for the first time in my life, standing here in the middle of Manhattan beside the boy I helped raise while the future suddenly opens wide in front of me, I allow myself to wonder what my life could look like if he’s right.

The fairy-tale ending is supposed to be for princesses in books, ones we read as little girls, and are only accessible through our dreams. Is it possible this one becomes my reality?

Chapter 27

Julian

Istand alone in my study staring out at Manhattan while winter rain streaks softly against the large bay windows. The weather changed overnight, leaving the city wrapped in gray and silver and wet pavement reflecting traffic lights below.

January rain always makes New York seem lonelier and it’s in the loneliness that I tend to indulge in despair and struggles.

The townhouse is silent around me. It’s a silence that only old homes possess. The bigger the home, the greater the silence takes hold.

I exhale and turn back toward the desk.

I open the bottom drawer and pull out a stack of photographs underneath an old file of financial reports and correspondence from my various companies. I pretend these dense and voluminous documents are enough to hide the pain that lingers deep within.

Today is different. I lower myself into the leather chair and examine the first picture.

And there he is, smiling. Ben had Kylie’s smile.

Just a baby in this photograph, barely more than a few months old, swaddled in pale blue while Kylie cradles him against her chest. His eyes are fixed solemnly on the camera in that strange thoughtful way babies sometimes look at the world, as though they’re trying to understand it.

I simply stare at him. I see pieces of myself in him now in ways I couldn’t back then. The shape of his eyes. The skepticism that lies in them.

And yet, there’s so much of Kylie in him too.

The softness in his cheeks. A love overflowing from a smile so bright, it’s unnecessary to turn on the lights in the room.

“Seven,” I murmur into the quiet room.

That’s how old he’d be today.

Old enough for scraped knees and homework and jokes. Old enough to trail behind me through the arena asking endless questions about hockey players and statistics and why adults always take themselves so seriously. Old enough to fill this house with noise instead of memories.

I stare down at the photograph while grief moves through me, like a hurricane and tornado bundled into one. Inescapable no matter how hard I try to move past and through it.

A soft knock against the study door brings me back to the present.

The door opens quietly, and Percy steps inside carrying a silver tray. The man has spent decades knowing exactly what I need before I say a word.

Tonight it’s eighteen-year-old scotch poured two fingers high and a plate of dark chocolate sea salt cookies from the bakery on Madison, the ones Kylie loved when she was pregnant.

Percy crosses the room slowly before setting the tray onto the desk beside me. For a moment, neither of us speaks. He simply looks down at the photograph in my hands.

“Master Benjamin,” he says quietly. “I haven’t seen a smile that jubilant on the face of any other human, young or old.”

Percy lowers himself into the chair opposite me, the movement slower these days than it once was. Age has begun settling more noticeably into him over the last couple years, but his mind remains as sharp as ever.

“How are you holding up, sir?”

“Poorly would probably be the honest answer.”