Page 82 of Yesterday I Cared
“So what if I am?” I teased back, not even trying to deny it. “It’s called a love life, Segal. You should try getting one.”
Her face scrunched up in defense. “Ew, no thank you. Speaking of your love life, though, are you heading back to her tomorrow?”
The question takes me back to my call with Mia yesterday. While I had reassured her again that I’d be coming home, I had also dropped the bomb that I’d be there two days later. She’d sounded so disappointed and a little lost in her own thoughts. The call started with her normally bubbly self, but by the end of it, I felt like more than one country was between us.
“I had to extend my trip by two days,” I tell her, continuing to pack. “I got the summoning call from Declan O’Brien. Text messages, emails, even the receptionist here got them for me.”
“Well, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. What does he want?”
“Probably the usual, to scare me into being a good, spoiled rich kid.”
“Ugh.” She groans. “The travesty. How did he even know you were here? Why is he even here?”
I shrug, turning to lean against my desk. “I don’t know. Somehow, he’s keeping tabs on me. He either had business here already or he made sure he had a reason to be in the California office. Either way, it’s going to suck.”
“Better you than me.”
“I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Really?” I lean against the back of the chair, ignoring his motion for me to take a seat. I know better than to get too comfortable around Declan O’Brien. “You sent me numerous calendar invites and text messages demanding my presence. I didn’t think I had much of a choice. Believe me, I’d rather be almost anywhere else.”
“Don’t be petulant, son,” my father replies. “I called you here to have an adult conversation about what you’re doing with your life. Do you think you’re capable of that?”
“You want to talk about the life you’ve purposely ensured you have no part of, unless I’m standing on a podium with a medal around my neck?”
My father sighs, steepling his fingers together and looking at me evenly. “There you go again, making something out of nothing. Why can’t you understand that being an O’Brien comes with certain responsibilities that involve making sacrifices?”
My grip on the back of the chair tightens. “I’ve always been well aware of those responsibilities. When you pushed me until I ended up hating the sport I love, I was aware. When more people fawned over you for it, I was aware. When you only spoke to me when I had a big win or impressive race, I was aware. But how about when I got in an accident that almost cost me my life and neither of you ever came to see me? Or when Bryce Clark had to demand information from you because you didn’t even know what hospital I was in? Pretty sure it was him and Carter Abrams who pushed me to learn how to walk again. Are those the sacrifices you made?”
He waves me off. “Your mother and I had meetings. Besides, we’d already taught you to walk once, son. Did you really need us to do it again?”
It’s his idea of a joke and he actually thinks he’s funny. That accident changed the way I look at a lot of things, including my parents. If this was ten years ago, I would have internally screamed at him to pay a goddamn ounce of attention to me, only to fold, and give in to whatever he wants. Not this time, though.
“Don’t kid yourself. You didn’t even do it the first time. Sacrifices have to be made, right?” My heart is pounding against my chest, but this is it. This is my moment to tell him everything I’ve alwayswanted to and I’m not holding back. “Which nanny was it again, Declan?” Eyes that match mine flash with anger at the use of his first name. “Or did you even keep her around long enough to learn her name?”
He points a bony finger at the chair I’m leaning against. “Sit down, Ronan, and speak to me like an adult.”
I stand straight. The only sign of any tension in my body are the fists I keep clenched at my sides. “I’m fine standing. Just say what you need to say so I can go home.”
Home. The word bounces around in my head. I can’t remember the last time I called some place home and actually meant it. But that’s what Columbia is to me now. More importantly, the people who are there make it home.
Mia Sheridan captured my heart the day I caught her in my arms, the Charlotte sun beating down on us. Although we haven’t always been in each other’s lives, she’s never strayed too far from my mind. She was always there, reminding me what it means to lose something good. I’m not going to make that mistake again because, when I think about home, she’s who comes to mind.
“It’s time we talk about where your future is going,” my father says. “You’re in your mid-thirties, Ronan. It’s time you grew up.”
“Pretty sure I’ve already done that,” I say. “I own a nonprofit that has national recognition, I own a condo, survived a life-altering injury, and have several Olympic medals. Maybe your continued absence from my life has caused you to miss some of those milestones.”
He doesn’t say anything initially, opening a file on his desk and taking the time to scan it instead. “You’re throwing away the trust fund your grandparents left you for this silly little project of yours. I will not sit back and watch you throw away their hard work.”
“That fund was left for me to do with what I pleased. Besides the age restriction, there were no stipulations placed on it. How doyou even know any of this? You haven’t had access to my finances in years.”
He laughs mirthlessly. “Don’t look so surprised, son. You may have taken me off your accounts, but there are still ways around it. I’m one of the richest men in the country and you’re my son. Money is power, my boy, you know that.”
I hate that he’s right. Time and time again, I’ve witnessed what money can do in the hands of someone who only loves power. It hurts, it ruins, and it destroys. Long ago, I vowed to never be like the man in front of me.
I keep my tone even. “What I do with my money is not your concern. I will be taking extra precautions going forward to ensure you’re denied access to that information. I’m well aware of the power money gives you, Declan, but it doesn’t give you power over me. Not anymore.”
His whole body seems to freeze with a tension I’ve never seen before, and it’s exhilarating. All the things my therapist has said to me over the years about deserving to be free of the power he has over me is making sense. This feeling is intoxicating.
