Page 161 of Not Another Yesterday
“Nice home,” my dad says simply.
I nod. “Yep.”
“Looks like Cormac’s son and wife are home,” he says. “That Subaru is registered to his wife. The blue GT belongs to his son.”
I grin. “Kinda love that he drives a Mustang.”
My dad chuckles. “Yeah, I bet you do.”
We sit there for what feels like forever. About an hour and a half later, he nudges me with his elbow. I look up just as a white GMC pickup pulls into the driveway. We watch silently as Cormac parks, climbs out, and disappears into the house.
“So… now what?” I ask. “More reconnaissance?”
“Yep,” my dad says, leaning back.
But there isn’t much to see. Just shadows moving behind the windows now and then.
“I’m gonna go talk to him,” I say suddenly, already reaching for the door handle.
“Woah, woah, Ran, are you sure?” my dad asks, gripping my arm.
I look him in the eye. “Yeah, Dad. I need to do this.”
He studies me for a beat, then exhales. “Fine.”
We both get out and walk across the street. My heart is hammering. When we reach the front door, I knock twice. I glance at my dad. He squeezes my shoulder, giving me a quick nod just as footsteps approach.
A guy around my age opens the door—and it’s wild how much of myself I see in him. He’s shorter by a few inches, not as broad, but the resemblance is unmistakable. Dark-blond hair, light eyes—steel blue instead of green—but the same mouth.
“Yeah?” he says, eyeing us warily.
“Hey, you’re Mark, right?” my dad asks when I can’t seem to get words out.
“Can I help you?” Mark asks, suspicious now. I don’t blame him. If two random guys showed up at my door and knew my name, I’d be on edge too.
“We’re actually here to talk to your dad,” my dad says, keeping his voice warm and steady. He’s trying hard not to come off like the military guy he is—hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, posture relaxed.
“Uh… okay,” Mark says slowly, not taking his eyes off us. He leans back slightly and calls into the house, “Dad? There are a couple of dudes here asking for you.”
“Who is it?” a man calls back. Then footsteps, and a moment later, Cormac appears next to his son.
He stops short when he sees us. His eyes land on me, and something flashes in them—fear? Disbelief? Recognition?
“Hey, Cormac,” my dad says calmly.
Cormac’s brows pull together. His eyes flick between us, like he’s trying to connect the dots.
“Who are you?” he asks, pulling Mark a little closer to him.
“I’m Frank Soult,” my dad says, and rests a hand lightly on my shoulder. “And this is my son, Ronan.”
Cormac blinks. “Wait… you—” He stares at me. “I saw you earlier. At my store.”
“Yeah, you did,” my dad says. “Ronan’s your nephew.”
Silence follows as the words sink in. Cormac stares at me again—really stares—his eyes scanning my face, lingering on the scar around my left eye.
“You’re my sister’s son?” he finally says. His voice is thick with disbelief… and something like love, I think.
