Page 69 of Searching for Hope

“Not for over a month,” I reply, glancing back at him.

He’s got that casual arrogance about him again, his playboy persona that’s both repelling and attractive. But there’s a crack in his façade, a glimpse of concern behind his eyes. He’s as alarmed as I am at my mother’s presence. It’s a threat. A reminder of their power and influence.

“She’ll be twenty,” my mother gushes.

Jericho’s left eye twitches.

“Have you met Mr Priest before?” Michael steps in front of Jericho. “He’s your daughter’s…” he leaves the sentence open, tilting his head to look at me questioningly. “Your what exactly? Boss? Business Partner?”

I narrow my eyes, glaring at him before performing the introduction. Despite the precariousness of the situation, there’s part of me that wants to revert back to that sixteen-year-old who just wanted Michael Gorman’s attention. Only this time I want it so I can pass as much judgment as possible.

“Jericho Priest, this is my mother, Lily Berkley. Mother this is Jericho Priest.” I leave any defining details out of the introduction.

Jericho reaches for my mother’s hand, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The desperation to roll my eyes is strong.

“Pleasure,” he says, and my mother giggles.

Actually giggles.

“It must be so nice for you two to be back together after all those years. Terrible is what it was.” Mr Gorman shakes his head. Taking a sip of his drink, his gaze moves to meet mine. “I can’t believe men like him exist in this world. I was just shocked when I found out. Shocked.” He shakes his head again.

My mother’s eyes snap to mine. Gone is the mask of naivety. There’s clarity behind her eyes. Clarity and fear. She knows the tone of the man in front of her. The belief in his own importance.

“You knew him?” My mother’s voice quakes as she asks the question.

“Why yes, I thought you knew that. We were business partners.” He waits for my mother’s face to pale before laughing and adding, “Not that sort of business partners. We owned a few horses together. Nothing sinister.”

My mother’s gaze drops. She sighs, believing his lies, before pulling herself straight again. “Have you got more?” she holds up her glass of wine, waiting until Mrs Gorman nods before draining the contents. It’s her way of self-medicating, a way to keep the demons at bay. I used to despise her for it. Now, I understand and don’t blame her for having some sort of way to dull the pain.

My father is not mentioned again. The night centers around polite conversation, the type that makes me wonder if the threat I’d felt so strongly earlier was merely a dream. But then a look would pass between the Gormans, or a sliver of Michael’s callousness would show, and the dread would come back.

The evening was like a dance. The sort that was calculated and controlled but left you exhausted. My mother moves to leave at midnight, the Gormans with the foresight to order her a ride. As soon as I’ve hugged her goodbye, as soon as the lights of the car turn down the bend of the driveway, I turn to Mr Gorman, demanding a private audience.

“Everly.” Jericho’s voice is a warning growl, but I ignore him. There’s a part of him that wants to keep me protected from this world and everything the Gormans represent, but I’m tougher than I seem. The Gormans inviting my mother as a silent warning has only increased my desire not only to find Hope but to ensure their downfall.

Mr Gorman has an amused look on his face as he sits behind his desk. He leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, and stares at me expectantly. I decide to dive in without preamble. It’s the way my father would have done it.

Lifting my chin, I look him straight in the eye as I take the seat opposite. “My father says hello.”

He doesn’t say anything, only raises one eyebrow. He’s suspicious, dubious of my claim, but knows enough not to scoff. Yet.

“He has a request of you,” I continue.

This causes him to lean forward, resting clasped hands on the desk.

“Go on,” he encourages. But he’s still not convinced. He has that tone to his voice which implies he’s placating me, going along with my story like one would with a child.

“You’re not going to ask for proof I’ve been in contact with him?” I question.

“Would you be able to provide it?” He laughs when I don’t reply. “I didn’t think so.” Leaning back, he crosses his arms again, that look of arrogance passing over his smirk. “What is this request you claim to be making on his behalf.”

“It’s a pointless one in my opinion, but nevertheless, he asked me to pass it on, and I promised I would.”

“You’ve piqued my curiosity now. Are you claiming to be in contact with him, or are you hiding him?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t offer an explanation.

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