Page 45 of My Damaged Protector

But I couldn't back down at that point. Not when I'd already given my word, so I had no choice but to remain seated while Peter continued to drone about how amazing our father is and how glad he was to finally meet me.

I wish I could tell him the feeling was mutual, but I don't make a habit of lying, so I just held my tongue and let him speak.

Afterward, he offered to escort me home, to which I immediately said no. I'm polite, not stupid.

If he was offended, he didn't show it.

The days pass by quickly, but I am still unable to write or sleep properly. I try my best to sleep, when necessary, but I don't force myself to write, knowing it won’t do me any good.

A week ahead of surgery, I get a flight schedule from Peter, who against my many protests paid for my tickets.

From his end, I can see efforts to bond with me, but I'm just not there yet. I don't think I'll ever be.

It's not like I have anything against him or his sister in particular, but I just think it's too late to be trying to get to know each other now.

A couple of days ahead of the surgery, I fly down to New Jersey where I am welcomed at the airport by Peter and Lauren, who share almost the same look as me except for the hair.

Her arms are around me as soon as Peter introduces us, an excited squeal leaving her mouth.

“Oh my God, I'm so excited to finally meet you. Peter wouldn't share your number with me. Goodness, you look so beautiful in person.”

I am overwhelmed, but I manage to force a smile.

“You look beautiful, too.” This, I do mean.

She's beautiful.

We have almost the same body shape, curvy in the right places, and we share the same eye color. It's gray, just like our father. Peter has the same eyes, too.

While my hair is red, something I get from my mother, theirs is black. Our father has black hair, too.

Her height towers over mine. Peter has legs on him, too. They probably got their height from their mother.

I've been thinking so much about her lately. What does she look like?

If she's still in their lives?

If she was the reason my father left my mom?

If she was more beautiful than my mom?

This last part I struggle with. My mother was hands down one of the most beautiful women I've met. She had the kind of beauty anyone would try to get a second look at, irrelevant of their gender.

“Oh, thank you. I think I get that from you. Dad would always ramble about how I look like you. It makes me uncomfortable at times,” she says, scrunching her nose.

Peter gives her a chastising look and she immediately switches the topic before I can ask the question in my mind.

Will I be meeting their mother at the hospital, too?

“So how was your flight?” she asks as Peter grabs my small traveling bag from my hand and motions for me to follow him.

“It was good, I guess.”

She doesn't try to force any conversation after that.

Peter leads us to where he parked his truck. It's relatively new and looks expensive, too. Whatever job he has, he must be doing well.

The ride to my hotel room is awkward as hell, but it doesn't beat the two of them following me inside the room after I get it.

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