The Search For Shattered Pieces *Complete*

Chapter Eighteen: Competitions, Combinations, and Collective Conundrums

Chapter Eighteen: Competitions, Combinations, and Collective Conundrums

Lyra:

   "Maksim has confirmed your skills...your abilities.  He has had good things to say about your progress, and speaks highly of your...dedication, your work ethic."

I stare at Stefan, but remain silent.  I'm pretty certain he doesn't expect me to speak—actually, I'm pretty sure that he doesn't want me to.

   "You have your competition coming up," he says, and it's more statement than question.  "...Obviously, I will not be there, as I have important business to attend to."

I hadn't expected him to attend, in fact, I was actually really, really, relieved to know he wouldn't be there.  The last thing I needed was to have his judgmental, cold, calculating, and disapproving eyes on me.

   "I expect a top notch showing, of course.  First place, in fact, since we're putting all our cards on the table.  What with Maksim as your coach, and I," he frowns then, and clears his throat before continuing, "...I, as your...father, I'll expect no less from you."

It looks as if it actually pains him to acknowledge, admit to the fact that he had anything to do with my conception.  When he'd said, "father," he'd looked, for all the worlds, as if he'd swallowed a sliced up lemon, or even a vat of battery acid.  But, I knew exactly how he felt...because I certainly didn't get any warm, and cozy fuzzies knowing that Stefan Crawford was my father.  In fact, it was the exact opposite—very, very, very, much the exact opposite of warm, and cozy fuzzies—more like the feel of acrid, nauseating, stomach clenching, soul stealing,— 'you're on your deathbed'— cramps.  Oh yes, the knowledge (even after all this time) definitely did not sit well, nor easy with me.

   "...It will be nice, however, to finally be able to mention an offsprings accomplishments..."        

            Stefan is still speaking, and I blink a few times, coming back to myself.  Finally to be able to mention an offsprings accomplishments? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, was he somehow referring to, and insulting, his stepsons?

   "...They've been such a disappointment.  And, after everything I put into their rearing and upbringing, too...ridiculous, such a let down.  Such an appalling lack of self-discipline and waste of resources.  Although, I suppose..." and he scoffs, "...It's a good thing that we aren't related by blood, then, that they aren't truly mine.  Better, yes, much better that their failings do not fall to me, or to my gene pool."

Who the heck spoke like this? And just when I thought absent sperm donor couldn't get any worse...couldn't be any more vile...I was up and surprised to find out that, yup, he got even more detestable.

At my sides, my hands are clenched into tight fists, and my body fills—to the very near point of boiling over—with anger.  Honestly, I'm not even angry at him for myself (I'd had plenty of time, in the form of years, to harden my heart toward the man who was half responsible for my birth), but I'm furious at him on behalf of Trent, Tal, Zach and Xav, boys that should have been sons to him, that he should have showered with love and affection, but so clearly thought so little of.  Just imagining a young Trenton, or young Tallis, even Zachariah and Xavier, having just lost their real father, grieving, and in pain—gaining a new father, only to be treated so callously, so cruelly by him, a man who was supposed to love them, and care for them...I felt my heart breaking, splintering and shattering for them.

   "But yes, first place, Lyra.  And if you continue with Maksim, I have every reason to expect team U.S.A. in your future.  As I assume that is your goal."