286- What We Lost, What We Became

286- What We Lost, What We Became
POV Nicholas:

Three Years Later…

After the births of the grandchildren—Alice, my little princess, and Michel, Dominic’s son—a loving and caring grandmother was also born. It’s impressive and contagious how my mother has perfectly fit into the mold of this new family. My father won’t admit it, but we all pretend not to notice that he’s slowly melting for his grandchildren, a doting fool hidden beneath his clever armor.

Sara decreed one Sunday a year for those fake family gatherings, when everyone sits around the table and smiles as if the world were perfect and revolved around us. So, no matter what country you’re in, drop everything and come—this day is an official Whitmore world holiday.

“Love, where is Enzo taking Alice?” I ask, following the boy’s gentle steps as he leads my little princess toward the garden.

“You know Enzo loves taking care of Alice. What’s with the jealousy?” She bumps my shoulder lightly. “He just wants to teach our girl how to stack the blocks.”

“Look at the other one…” Raica laughs, while I shake my head as Michel comes running and knocks all the blocks down, making my little girl cry. “Will it always be like this? Alice surrounded by boys?” My tone can’t hide the premature worry, and my heart foresees a lifetime of small heart attacks.

“Nick, she’s three. Isn’t it a little early to worry about something like that?” She tries to dismiss my concern but fails.

“Brother-in-law, can’t you smile?” Isabella arrives mid-laugh. “All this jealousy over Alice?”

“Yes,” my wife confirms. And mockingly, the two of them toast to my bad mood, which, obviously, isn’t just about how protective I am of my little princess—it’s about this damn family gathering.

“Love, relax…”

“Ready?” Melissa joins the trio. “Are two bottles enough?”

She raises two bottles of rosé to eye level. The motherfuckers are about to leave the kids with the dads and sneak off to gossip about this disastrous family reunion.

“Girls, let’s go before Sara’s radar locks on us.”

“Relax, she only has eyes for her grandkids and her children. We’re just the leech-like in-laws,” my sister-in-law mocks dramatically.

“Love…” Bella kisses my cheek. “Let’s relax by the lake. Keep an eye on the kids.”

“Ha-ha-ha. Do you really think his eyes will be anywhere else?” That girl is shameless. “See you later, brother-in-law.” She punches my shoulder. Melissa chuckles conspiratorially, and before my mother notices, the three are gone.

I swirl the glass of amber liquid. The wide windows of the mansion reflect the image of a few men engrossed in that goddamn boring business talk. I move toward the edge between the deck and the lawn, stop there, one hand in my pocket, gaze fixed on my little girl, who smiles sweetly, playing happily with her cousins—even though Enzo is still the odd link in the chain, the child everyone pretends to accept.

I lower my head. Julieta curls around my legs and strolls affectionately toward the children. Nearby, the nannies supervise every move.

“Bored?” Dominic stops beside me, relaxed posture, casual clothes, glass in hand. It’s no secret that I avoid my brother. Even though we share the same space, I keep my distance for the sake of my mood.

“Raica insists on this thing, not me.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to give Sara some credit. She’s trying…”

I take a sip of whiskey, my lips stretching into a smirk. “Waste of time.”

“I don’t think so.”

Unconsciously, a faint smile tugs at my mouth as Michel chases Alice. The two tumble on the grass, and I almost go to them—fuck, my little girl fell! But the nannies rush in, and soon they’re ready for another round.

“We played a lot of soccer on this lawn, remember?” he says, taking a sip of his whiskey. From the corner of my eye, I see him scanning the space—it’s impossible not to feel a pang of nostalgia from when we were kids. “Two left-footed idiots.”

He laughs and nods. “I still have two scars on my shoulder.”

“I covered three with tattoos. No one would ever suspect they’re marks from a tragic attempt at playing soccer.”

“It was fun.”

“I prefer the memories from Angra—they were exciting and not violent.” We laugh and drink from our glasses.

“There wasn’t a maid’s daughter who didn’t visit the slaughterhouse,” he recalls.

I almost spit out my drink at the memory.

“Back then, we practically lived with hard-ons. The number of girls we fucked in that cave was insane. Damn, what a time…”

He turns to study me.

“What?” I raise an eyebrow, confused by his scrutiny.

“You look better.”

“Go fuck yourself, Dominic.”

“No, really. My kidney made you look better, man—accept it.”

“Don’t make me consider giving that fucking organ back. Sometimes I feel like an asshole, and I know it’s because of it.” I finish my whiskey and set the glass down on the nearest table under the sunshade. “I think we should get the kids off the lawn. The sun’s too strong for them…”

One or two steps forward, and he stops me.

“I miss you.” I don’t look back; I won’t let his expression get to me. Having a calm talk with him doesn’t bring back the old days. “I’ve missed you for years, Nicholas.”

“I don’t. I’ve got a piece of you inside me—that’s enough.” Looking Dominic in the eyes, even for that brief, frozen breath, is painful. “We’re no longer those little boys, nor the horny teenagers discovering life’s wonders. The Whitmore brothers now live in completely different worlds, and the air you breathe is too toxic for me.”

Dominic moves closer, clinks his glass against mine, and in the next second, closes the distance that forces my eyes not to look away.

“We’re not the same, and we never will be.”

He hits my chest with his fist, then unexpectedly wraps his arms around me. The firm contact freezes any reaction I could have. And though I fight against the ache of that touch, every other one we ever shared when the day broke comes rushing back, blooming in my chest the reminder that I once had a brother—and I loved him. But I don’t let that feeling take root again. It wouldn’t be fair.

It’s wiser to listen to the other side—the one that keeps us trapped in this torment. I lived in hell—or worse, wasted years feeding the rotten feeling of hatred. In that time, I built a false shell to hide what I truly felt, while he never stopped living in search of forgiveness. I was the one who froze, clinging to revenge.

Dominic is the reason for the distrust surrounding me, just as he’s the reason I once believed love was the most despicable emotion a person could feel. How can I move past chaotic, painful, miserable years and return a hug that relieves his guilt? How can I pretend it’s all behind us, when in our current relationship, sadly, there’s no room for flowers?

“I love you, no matter what. Don’t forget that,” he says softly in my ear.

Slowly, the contact fades. His heavy breathing gives away how exasperated he feels by the weight of us.

“I understand that love is a sublime and endlessly loyal feeling, Dominic.”

He shakes his head.

“So, it’s not over, is it?”

“No…” I smile bitterly and press my hand over the shirt, over the deepest scar of our history. “Maybe this scar is enough to prove that you only gave back what you once took from me.”

THE END !!!

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To My Readers

Thank you for walking this journey with me until the very last page.
Your time, your emotions, and your connection to this story mean everything.
This ending exists because you believed in it.

And if you loved this book, get ready — you’ll fall even harder for my new, passionate and thrilling story, “The Wolf That Claimed Me.”