Page 69 of The Mercenary's Guide to Mishaps and Romance

There’s something weirdly familiar about them, but also weirdly not. It’s like my brain wants to tell me I know this person, but I have no idea why.

It’s not someone from the island, right? Do they know we’re here?

If they do, I need to tell the others?—

He turns his head just a bit, and I get the briefest glimpse of familiar features before he turns away. He didn’t turn enough to look at me… did he even notice me? Did he realize it was me standing here?

NO… I’m making shit up. I’m seeing things. I’m traumatized from everything going on. That’s what this is. Trauma.

But what if it’s not? What if that man… what if that’s really my father? And what if he’s about to slip away from between my fingersagain?

What if I’ve finally found him after twelve years, and I choose to ignore it because I’m uncertain? I mean… what’s the worst thing that can happen? It’s not him and I have to awkwardly explain to some random man why I was yelling “Dad!” and chasing after him? Yeah, the awkwardness would haunt me for at least ten years, but it’s better than not knowing.

I really should tell the others, but the man is slipping through the doorway into the stairwell, and I can’t run back to them without losing sight of him. I’ll just… see if it’s him, tell him to wait, and call the others. It’ll be fine.

I push through the door into the stairwell, but my moment of indecision has already made me lose him. A weird ball of anxiety bubbles up in my stomach as I rush down the stairs, running down them as fast as I can. They’re built so you can’t look down the stairwell, so what if he slips out on a different floor? What if it’s not even him and he really is dead like I’ve started to believe as the years passed?

I’m taking the steps as quickly as I can, eager to see even a hint of him, when a door opens and I plow right into a man. He drops the papers he’s holding, and I instinctively drop down to help him grab them. “I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry!”

“What the hell are you doing running on the stairs?” he asks.

I cram what papers I’ve collected into his hands, knowing if I spend any more time, the man who might be my father will just get farther from me. “I have to… emergency,” I choke out. Then I continue to rush down the stairs. Why did I even stop to help? I should have just been rude and spewed my bit about it being an emergency and hurried on my way.

And why the hell did we have to be eight floors up?

I quickly pull out the phone Leland gave me to let Tavish orsomeoneknow, but when I open up the contacts, I realize that the only person programed in it is some guy named Tucker. I don’t know who that is, and knowing this group, it’s probably like some speed-dial hitman. I tuck the phone back in my pocket, hoping they have the number and can call me if they need me.

“Dad!” I yell. If it’s not him, he just won’t answer, right? He won’t stop. Hell, he probably can’t even hear me, or if he does, he’ll never imagine that it’s me calling him. It’s been twelve years. Would he even recognize my voice anymore? How much have I changed?

My foot slips and I nearly fall but catch myself.

Why am I panicking? I’m panicking.

Regaining my footing, I hurry down the final flight of stairs… how the hell haven’t I caught up with him? I’ve been rushing down the stairs with almost no hesitation. Did he stop on one of the floors? Did I miss him going through a door? Or was he running from something as well? Or… did he actually see me and was running from me?

Heart pounding hard in my chest, I dash through the door into the lobby area and see his back as he reaches the outer door.The receptionist looks over at me as I run after him. “Wait!” I yell, but he passes through the door and out into the street. I rush through and see him racing across the street.

“Dad, wait!” I yell, and still nothing. “DAD!”

I see the briefest hesitation before he turns and looks back at me. He stumbles to a stop and there’s no doubt now that this is him. That this is the man I looked up to. The man I wanted to be like when I grew up.

And the man who really isn’t dead… and if he isn’t dead?—

“Shawn?” he asks. “Shawn… I have to go. I have to go.”

“Dad, no! Wait!” I run across the street as he reaches an SUV that doesn’t seem to be parked legally. I grab his arm, forcing him to look at me. I want to tell him everything I’m feeling. I want him to understand everything I’ve gone through these past twelve years never knowing if he was dead or alive, yet all I can get out is, “What the fuck? What the fuck?”

Dad anxiously looks around before trying to twist out of my grip, but he can’t. Did he forget I’m not that kid he left behind? That I’m a grown man now?

He starts prying my fingers off. “Shawn, you can’t be seen with me. If they know you’re my son… Shawn, you have to go. You can’t be seen with me. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here, but you have to go.”

“You think they don’t already fucking know I’m your son?” I ask. “I have been abducted, beaten, threatened, taken to a fucking island of hell, and thrown out of a goddamn airplane. You can look at my fucking face and tell that they know I’m your son. I think I deserve some answers.”

Dad stops and maybe he finally gets a look at my black and blue busted-up face. Then he anxiously looks back at the building. “I have to go, Shawn. I have to go. I’m sorry. Go to the police. They’ll keep you safe.”

“Then I’m going with you,” I say.

“No, please, just go somewhere safe.”

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