Brain Games

35. Secrets

My heels click against the marble floor in time with my heartbeat as I race out of the reception area and into the empty lobby.

"Delilah."

I whip around so fast, my heart beating impossibly faster as I look at Brad's tense, unreadable expression.

I shake my head, hoping it'll help me clear the tornado of thoughts swirling around in my brain. "Please tell me what I'm thinking isn't true," I beg, my voice almost as shaky as the ground I'm standing on. "Is Dr. Larson your father?"

There's my boy.

I pray this is all one big misunderstanding, and Dr. Larson's choice of words were just an ill-timed coincidence. Because that egotistical, sexist pig can't be Brad's father. There's no way after all this time I wouldn't know.

"No," Brad says definitively. He takes a determined step towards me before faltering, suddenly unsure, teetering on what to say. "I mean—he is my biological father, yes, but he's not my dad."

I bark out a laugh of disbelief, angry tears starting to prick my eyes as I stumble back, feeling like he just punched me in the gut.

"Delilah." He begins to stride towards me, reaching out for me, but I continue to step back, already feeling suffocated by him despite the amount of distance between us, drowning in the information just brought to light.

I viciously shake my head, wishing this was all some sort of cruel joke. Tipping my head back, trying to keep the angry tears threatening to spill from my eyes at bay, I look up at the fancy chandelier, wishing it would fall from the ceiling and jolt me awake from this nightmare.

"You promised no more secrets." I manage to push the words through my tight throat.

"Delilah." Brad attempts to reach for me again.

"Don't." I jerk away from him, refusing to let him touch me, too angry, confused, and overwhelmed.

Brad scrubs a hand over his jaw in agitation. "That man in there was never a father to me," he insists, voice laced with disgust. "He got my mom pregnant while they were in med school and he dropped her the second he found out. He was never around during the pregnancy, when I was born, or while I was growing up. The very least he ever did for me was send a child support check every month because he was legally obligated to."

"The very least he ever did for you?" I whisper shout, mindful of the room full of people feet away, in disbelief. "So you're telling me he didn't help you get into Warner at all?" I accuse harshly, knowing damn well a connection like that ensured him his spot in one of the most competitive residency programs in the country. I always found it odd that two people from the same med school got into Warner's very selective neurosurgery residency, and there's no way in hell he can convince me that his father, arguably the best neurosurgeon in the world, didn't help him get in.

He gives me an appalled look. "What? No. He didn't even know I applied to Warner. I didn't even want to apply to Warner in the first place because I knew he would be there."

"Then why the hell did you!" I shout, unable to keep my voice level, throwing my hands up in the air and smacking them against my thighs.

"Because of you, dammit!" Brad shouts back, matching my energy.

The room falls oddly silent aside from the background noise of the reception area and the ringing in my ears, his words hitting harder than the aftermath of a tsunami.

His eyes are wild, those brown irises ablaze as he roughly runs a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. "I applied because of you, because it was your number one pick."