Page 116 of Never Your Girl

Garret’s jaw tightens, his posture going rigid. The air between us feels thick enough to choke on.

“Let me guess.” He leans against the doorframe, his casualness belying the thick tension that radiates off him. “You’re here to remind me that you’ll be the one who gets the keys to the kingdom?”

“I don’t want a damn thing from him. You want it? Take it.”

Something flashes in his eyes. Doubt maybe, or disbelief.

“I came to talk,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Can I come in?”

There’s a brief hesitation before he steps back and gestures for me to come inside. “Fine.”

I step into the small apartment. The faint scent of stale coffee hangs in the air. The furniture is mismatched. There’s an old plaid couch, a wobbly side table, and a chair that’s seen better days. It feels oddly comforting in its imperfections. It’s the kind of place that has been lived in, a stark contrast to the cold, museum-like perfection of Dick’s mansion. Somehow, this feels more real.

Garret takes the chair by the window, leaving me the couch. I hesitate before sitting down, the cushion sagging slightly beneath my weight. The physical distance is nothing compared to the years of lies that stretch between us. His expression falters for a fraction of a second, and something vulnerable flashes in his eyes before the disdain returns.

I can’t stop staring at him, searching for proof. Something in the jaw, maybe. The eyes. The kind of thing that should’ve told me we shared blood all along.

“What?” he snaps when he catches me looking.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. “Sorry. I just... I don’t know where to start. This is a lot.”

He leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, no kidding.”

The tension in the room presses down on me until it becomes unbearable. “How long have you known?”

His lips curve into something that’s not quite a smile. “I met Richard when I was ten. He’d show up every few months, have dinner, write a check, then disappear again. Real father-of-the-year material.”

My stomach churns. “That was it?”

“He had his ‘real’ family.” Garret’s jaw clenches. “We were just an afterthought.”

I think about Dick’s cold presence in my life and how much I’ve hated it. And yet, sitting here, I realize that Garret might have traded places with me in a heartbeat, just for the chance to matter to him.

“I didn’t know,” I say quietly. “I never suspected?—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Garret interrupts, his eyes hard. “Richard made damn sure of that. He keeps everything in nice, neat boxes so nothing spills over.”

The bitterness in his tone lingers in the air, and I don’t know what to say to make it better.

I lean forward, my elbows pressing into my knees as I search his face for answers. “Did you know about me? That you had a brother?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Richard never talked about his personal life. I just thought he was a businessman who traveled a lot. That’s what I told people when they asked about my dad.”

“What about freshman year?” The question burns on my tongue. “When we met?”

“Funny thing,” he says, though there isn’t a trace of humor in his voice. “He told me he didn’t want me playing hockey, said it was a distraction or some bullshit like that. But I refused to budge. Hockey’s the only thing I’ve ever had.” His gaze hardens, his voice dropping. “Now I realize it was never about hockey. He didn’t want us on the same ice, in the same room, figuring out the truth.”

Another piece of the puzzle clicks into place, and I exhale slowly. “He didn’t want me to play either. For years, he’s been pushing me to quit.”

Something sparks in Garret’s eyes. Understanding maybe, or solidarity. “It didn’t take long to put it together after we met.”

I sit back as his words sink in. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Garret glances away as his jaw tightens. “Richard said he’d handle it when the time was right, and I believed him. Took a while to figure out the joke was on me.” His voice cracks slightly as he pushes through it. “There was never going to be a right time. He was never going to acknowledge me. My mom had to threaten him just to get him to take responsibility at all. And even then, it was all behind closed doors. Like I didn’t exist.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. The words feel inadequate. “You didn’t deserve that shit.”

Garret blinks, his expression unreadable. Then he leans back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders loosening. “All my life, I’ve been a dirty little secret,” he says quietly. “And I got tired of it.”

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