Brooklyn, Baby | Spot Conlon ²

Chp. 32: Familiar Eyes

"Eric is, well, my brother."

She parts her mouth, a small gasp escaping. "Your what?" 

"Let me explain," 

Spot's POV, months earlier 

She's engaged. I knew she'd move on. How couldn't she? Her true love had, apparently, died, and she was not short of suitors. I just wasn't sure I was prepared to see him. Whoever he may be. 

I opened my mouth but was cut off by a knock on the door. Not just any knock, but it was a fancy knock, a happy sounded knock.

And, evidently, Kendall knew that knock.

"You do not exist," She pushed me up the stairs violently, then smoothed herself.

I rolled my eyes as I hear her open the door, and a deep voice joins her in echoing through the house. I situate myself so I can't be seen, tuning in to the conversation. 

"Yes, all alone. Just keeping to myself," She says with an assuring tone. "I received your drawing, and my goodness, Eric, it is art,"

"I wouldn't stretch that far, but art is not enough for what you deserve,"

I peek out, and the face strikes me so fast it may as well have been lightning.

"It is enough, please."

Shock causes me to move, knocking over a small flower vase. I grit my teeth, closing my eyes as I hear panic overtake her voice. 

"Eric, I've been dying to go for a ride. I haven't in a while, and I was waiting to go with your company,"

"I should probably change--" 

She convinces him to come outside and join her, and I let out the breath I was holding. 

I laugh. 

My luck is humorous. 

OF ALL PEOPLE, ERIC?!

My father's son, my half-brother. Of course I knew who he was. I remember distinctly meeting him one night in a Brooklyn bar, one of my many ways to grieve Kenny's disappearance to Jersey. 

((Brooklyn, four and a half years earlier))

"Mind if I take a seat?" A tall yet skinny man with familiar eyes asked me. 

"Go right ahead," 

"Do you live around here?" 

"Is that a joke?" I was half-drunk, but I meant my words. 

"Partially." The man says. "What's the most respectable newsie in all of New York doing here, among deadbeats and failures?" 

"My goil has been missin'," I twirl my finger around my glass. "For months now," 

"That's rough," 

"What did you's say ya name was?" 

"I didn't," A grin overtook his face. "But, it's Eric," 

"Eric--"

"--Conlon." He says. 

I sat up in my stool. My poker face was at its best, and I knew he tried to decipher it. 

"I know you're wondering," He looks out the window. "Our father didn't love your mother," 

"My fadda didn't love anyone,"