The Lost Daughter

CHAPTER NINE.

I get ready as quickly as I can, brushing my teeth and throwing up my sleep-messy hair. I navigate my methodically organized closet, easily finding the shorts and pretty, sheer shirt I was looking for—Wren told me I would thank him in the long run after the hours it took us to do when I realized I'd never misplace anything in here, he was right. I slip into my old canvas shoes as I bounce back out of the room.

We end up staying out for hours.

Wes directs me himself, ignoring the GPS screen built into the console of the car. He tells me more about the town, this place we were born and where he's lived all his life.

Hillcrest is a very different sort of place than I'm used to, it's evident on every street corner, the buildings themselves. It doesn't matter if it's a residential area or the packed roads of downtown, it all bleeds wealth and excess.

I noticed it when I was with Wren, the immaculate state of everything, but when I'm focused it stands out tenfold. The pride that's taken in caring for every brick and stone facade, every perfectly trimmed tree, every wrought iron street lamp that's meticulously displayed; it's all so foreign to the dirty and crumbling streets I'm accustomed to.

Not to mention the homes themselves, each one bigger and more impressive than the last—though none I've seen is as large as ours.

The freedom that comes with driving itself is indescribable.

Although I doubt I'll ever feel this way after meeting my brothers, connecting with them the way I have, the survivalist I've grown up having to be takes comfort in knowing there's a quick way out if I need it. That I could get in this car and go, anywhere.

It's around noon when Weston guides us somewhere for lunch. It's a beautiful place, nestled on the end of a cobbled street with views of a garden even in the heart of commercial downtown.

The interior is open and airy, trendy with modern furniture but Wes walks us right passed it all and towards the back, taking us up a set of stairs.

We emerge onto the roof and my jaw drops. Some of it is covered by a trellis, intertwined with vines and stringed lights while the rest is open to the sky with clear views to the road below and across to adjacent rooftops. Simply put, it's stunning. So much so that I begin to feel too underdressed to be here.

Next to where we entered from stands a man who only needs to glance at Wes for a moment before his eyes widen and he starts nodding enthusiastically.

"Mr. King, welcome! Sit anywhere you like, of course." He tells my brother.

I try not to let the shock show on my face, but it's hard. He's told me a lot about our father's connection to this town, but this level of respect and regard for his son? This is the first time I've been with Weston outside of our family or Jackson, and only the second time I've been out at all since I've been here.

Wes has to take my hand to get me moving to a table, ripping me out of my thoughts in the process. As we navigate through the tables dotted around the roof I become increasingly aware of the eyes on us, as well as the stark silence broken only by the passing of cars below.

I flit my gaze around quickly, assessing what I can, and it's similar to what I experienced that day with Wren but magnified infinitely. Like everyone around holds a collective breath as we pass by.

We seat ourselves at table at the edge of the roof, Weston sitting with a beautiful view outwards but with his back to the crowd—which I'm sure was his real intention—and me sitting opposite him on the bench seat that runs along the half-wall.

Immediately, someone rushes up to us to take our drink order. At first I think the waiter is joking when they offer us the cocktail menu, but when Wes politely declines I realize how serious they were.