Waking up, I don't hear traffic and multiple cars beeping at each other even though there is nowhere to go in the first place. Instead, the song of a bird and gently flowing water floats into my eyes, opening my eyes in a soft flutter. Sunlight streams in through the windows, the curtains cutting the light into small rays that hit the wooden floor and king size bed.
Like in all cliché movies, I gracefully sit up and spread my arms to my sides in a stretch. The pop of my shoulders breaks the silence in my room. Pushing the covers aside, I swing my legs to the side of the bed and stand up, bending backwards to crack my back. Feeling satisfied by the noise of my bones popping, I open the door, ready to start the day.
Immediately, the smell of cooking hits my nose. Cinnamon, bacon, and coffee all at once assaults my senses. I hum in delight and pick up my pace to the kitchen. I couldn't wait to eat.
Walking in, Damon stands at the stove, a pile of french toast and bacon already sitting on the island counter.
"Need help?" I ask, watching as he jumps in surprise.
"You scared me!" he exclaims, waving the spatula in his hand like a mother would do while scolding her young child.
"Sorry. I just came in."
"It's alright. Bring me the plate of bacon. The last couple of pieces are ready."
Moving around the island, I pick up the plate and we finish up breakfast, adding eggs to the menu and five pieces of french toast to the already wobbling tower. Apple and orange juice decorate the counter along with big glass cups, white plates and silver utensils. Grabbing a napkin to put in each place, I set them under the forks and knives. Damon grabs the syrup from the fridge, placing it down and together we go wake up Brandon.
"Brandon," I whisper, lightly shaking his shoulder, "wake up. Breakfast is ready."
Not receiving any response, Damon tries a much different approach.
Stepping on the bed, he holds onto the headboard and jumps up and down, Brandon's body leaving the bed at the sudden movements.
Brandon's eyes open in a flash, his body starting with a jolt that was lost from the bouncing of the bed.
"Get off, dumbass, I'm up."
Seeming satisfied, Damon jumps off the bed and heads downstairs.
"Good morning. I tried to wake you up, but you didn't react so Damon did. Breakfast is ready. See you soon."
Down the stairs and back in the kitchen, Damon has already loaded up his plate and shoves half a piece of french toast in his mouth. Syrup drips down his lip and I cover my smile with my hand.
"You're making a mess."
"I know. The best part about cooking is that you don't have to clean up. This," he says pointing to the sticky mess on the table, "is Brandon's problem now."
Shaking my head at the immaturity, I grab my own plate and take a piece of french toast, eggs, and two slices of bacon. Drowning all of it in syrup, I cut into the first bite.
"Thanks for waiting," Brandon sarcastically remarks, picking up his own plate.
After that the room goes silent, the only sound to be heard is the metal of the forks hitting the glass of the plate. It's a comfortable silence, one filled with a similar need to eat.
"How is it that I was the last one to eat, but the first one to finish?" Brandon asks, standing up to put his plate in the sink.
"I've been done for ten minutes," I reply in a duh tone of voice.
Turning around to look at me, he moves his eyes down to my plate and purses his lips. "You still started before me and my area is already clean."
"I helped cook. It's not my job to clean this morning." It didn't matter that I didn't cook, Damon and I already decided that I did. I mean, I don't want to have to clean, especially not now after I've seen how much of a mess Damon made.
Searching for a reply, his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Coming up with nothing, he turns back around and washes his plate.
My body relaxes in my chair. This is what I have always wanted to be able to do. It has been so long since I have eaten breakfast with friends. I miss the friendly banter that I had as a child, the aromas of something cooking, the peaceful silence. I miss it all. I don't think - even if I tried - that I could forget this morning. These boys are turning into family faster than I would like, but I don't regret it for a moment. This is one of the best meals I have had in a very long time.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I ask the question that has been subconsciously in my mind since I woke up, "when will you tell me the truth?"
Both boys freeze in their actions - Brandon holding a soapy fork mid air, Damon chewing his last mouthful of french toast - they look at each other, uncertainty clouding their features.
"Why don't you go get comfy in the living room. We will be there in a minute."
Silently nodding, I leave the room. Doubt nags me. Are they coming up with a cover story so they don't have to tell me the real one? Were they ever planning on holding up their end of the deal? Is this all just a waste of time? Do I really want to know what they have to say?
They both enter the living room together. They probably didn't intend for it to feel this way, but it feels like I'm on one side of the room, on another team, and they are in their own separate team. Two against one in the battle of the truth.
Taking their time to sit down, I fidget with my hands. Do I really want to know if this is how it is going to be? Do I want to ruin what we have just because I want to know everything about them?
Taking a moment to think about it, since I apparently had plenty to spare until they started talking, I decided that I wanted to know. This could bring us closer. One less secret to be used against each other; another brick in the bridge to fill the gap of history between us.
Damon takes a deep breath and rakes his hand through his hair.
"I want you to know one thing before I start." He pauses, tension and anticipation filling the air. "I don't regret doing what I did and I would do it again if it meant helping my family."
I nod in understanding. What is he about to tell me? What happened with his family. A million more questions pop in my head, none of them having time to process before he starts again.
"It was a couple years ago, maybe two now. My family owns a business, an automotive one. We don't make the cars, but find ways to market them to get the most profit. We were doing so good, but then there was a misunderstanding. One of the cars that we marketed had the incorrect information on its features. The companies blamed us and we had to deal with the lawsuits from them and the consumers. We were downing fast, about to go bankrupt. I did the only thing I could think of."
He takes a shuddering breath, his hands shaking as they rip at his hair. He closes his eyes. Opening them, his pupils are dilated, the sliver of blue around them the darkest I have ever seen. They were hauntingly beautiful.
"I laundered money by taking it from other companies who I convinced to invest in worthless trading deals. I got paid for my services and while the stocks tanked, I was stealing what little profit they were making. I don't know how many companies I did it too, all I know was that by the time I was done, my family's company and legacy was saved with enough to last us for years.
"When I started this plan, I didn't realize that I would have to find a scapegoat to blame for all the losses. People started looking around at the company. I couldn't let my family drown when they just reached the air. I blamed it on our competitor. It was their fault to begin with. They switched the files to the car, there is evidence of what they did. It was easy to switch. Anyways, I blamed it on them. Still to this day, I'm not exactly sure how I did it, but I did and legally I got away with it.
"However, the company isn't too pleased with me. They were caught by the IRS and had to pay all the money back. So, now I'm laying low. I have stepped down from being the heir of the company, until it is rightfully mine at the age of 28. By then all of this should end. For now, those men following you, that guy at the party are all contracted by the company I had a hand in almost sinking. They survived, but they know what I did and want me to confess. If I do that, my company goes down. My family goes down with me and I refuse to let that happen."
Pausing a moment to let the information process, I ask "that's it?"
Both boys look at me like I have three heads.