by Eden O'Neill
But there he was, an older man. Upon gaining Sloane’s attention, he placed a quaint smile on his face, and I watched in horror at what happened next.
She took his arm, cuffing his jacket sleeve with a broad smile on her face.
“Dorian, I want you to meet Callum,” she said, really and truly smiling. She did this like she was happy he was here.
Like he was something to her.
Her grin widened. “He’s my and Bru’s guardian. Well, Bru’s guardian. He’s still a minor so…”
I lost what she said, lost all thought as she was literally introducing me to a ghost. He was one in the finest of suits, his hand on the jeweled top of a long cane.
Sloane placed a hand out toward him. “Callum, this is Dorian.”
Only then did the man’s attention fall on me, so much knowing in his aged eyes. He lifted a large hand in my direction, so subtle in the move. “Dorian.”
I did nothing, simply standing there, and Sloane laughed, taking my arm.
“I think he’s still in shock,” she said, then nudged me. “Dorian, Callum helped. He worked it out. Got you out today.”
Got me out?
I faced the man, my jaw clenched.
Swallowing, I didn’t know what Sloane was trying to play. She’d just introduced me to a man I not only met before but was quite well acquainted with.
I mean, how could I not be?
He was old as fuck but the guy still had my dad’s eyes, hell, my fucking nose if one stared hard enough.
“Dorian,” I said to him, but I didn’t give this old fuck my hand. I honestly thought it’d go through his, my sight having a play at my expense. The last time I’d seen this man, my grandfather, he’d been keeled over.
I’d left his ass for dead.
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