Chapter 2
Charlotte’s words echoed in Jack O’Conner’s mind. A deadline for falling in love had already passed for him. He’d fallen for Charlotte years ago, only he’d never told her.
She’d kept him in the friend-zone and he had no idea how to change the dynamic. If he’d met her now, he would ask her on a date and kiss her until there was no way she’d see him as Jack.
But unfortunately he’d grown up with the prettiest girl ever, and been her best friend first.
She knew when he’d read comics, or gone to a fan con to nurture his inner nerd.
Charlotte’s smile kept him happy even if he didn’t like his job. He stopped to pick up dinner since tonight was one of those rare nights where all of the O’Conner clan would be together and not off living their lives.
He packed the pizzas into the backseat of his brown car that was two decades old then texted his mother he was on his way.
Mission accomplished, though it took him three tries to get his car motor to turn on. He headed home on bumpy back roads and parked on the street of the cul-de-sac where they lived now.
A silver Aston Martin was parked in the driveway.
No one in his family had that car. No one could afford it. Jack's shoulders were tight as he carried the pizza boxes through the garage to head right into the kitchen and placed them on the counter. His mother, Patricia, immediately dragged him toward the living area.
A dark-haired Italian man at most ten years older than him sat in the slightly scratched accent chair in their living room--it needed new stuffing, and the wood a polish.
He wasn’t sure what to make of this until his mom said, “Jack, this is Antonio Morgan.”
He felt the blood drain from his face. Charlotte always said shock made him turn pasty. His voice was rough when he asked, “Morgan?”
His mother tapped her breastbone like she did when she was considering her options. “Yes, he’s Mitch Morgan’s son.”
The name he’d thought he’d never hear again. The man whose funeral had been televised like a presidential mourning when he’d deserved to be buried without a marker. He met his mother’s blue eyes. “I thought we weren’t contacting them.”
Outside on the deck in the backyard he heard the voices he’d been excited to hear as they laughed and whispered. His mother said, “Your father is dead and Finn, Max, William, and Lucy have already spoken to Antonio. He’s here to talk about the rest of his brothers and sisters.”
If Antonio was still here and the others were in back having fun… Jack had missed something big. His eyes widened as he stared at the dark-haired stranger and said, “Just talk.”
His mother gave him a conspiratorial smile like she understood what he was feeling when she absolutely couldn’t. She took his hand and led him out like a child, speaking loudly to their guest who now stood. “Antonio, this is my son you’ve not met yet, Jack.”
The man held out his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you Jack.”
If he didn’t shake back, was he the rude one? Jack’s heart raced. Life was about to shift and not for the better, but the winds of change brushed against his skin. “So you’re here to open the old fancy house?”
His mother hovered behind him, clearly listening.
Antonio looked up at him and shrugged. “Yes and no. Please sit down. You’re quite tall.”
Yeah, Jack towered over most people. He plopped on the couch. “I used to play basketball for fun--I never enjoyed it as much as my brothers.”
Antonio’s nose curled when he glanced at the threadbare carpet they’d bought at Goodwill years ago, where Jack and his siblings all used to sit and read. There were good memories with that carpet.
Antonio said, “Look, you, your sister, and brothers have inherited billions each.”
Billions? The number was astronomical and unreal. It would pay for the all the mechanical needs of his car… even a brand new model would never compare to Antonio’s silver beauty outside.
And it wouldn’t help him get Charlotte out of her store. Those were the two things he worried about. “I don’t understand.”
Antonio folded his hands in front of him like he was about to sell him on some fantasy that couldn’t be true. “My… our half-brother, Peter Morgan, has been going through our father’s will. There were some surprises, like your family. I volunteered to fly out and meet everyone.”
Charlotte might never talk to him again if she knew this about him. She’d consider him a liar for never explaining about his father. Then again, he hadn't thought he’d take a dime of Morgan money. It wasn’t like he had a shot with her anyway, not really.
He sat back and stared at the portrait his mother had somehow managed to get where all five of her children smiled at the store photographer at the same time. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
