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I don’t even know what to think. The man who gave me up like I was nothing. Without a care in the world, went on with his life, lives in my town?

Did he watch me grow up? Was he at my sports games as a kid? Has he been in my face, and I’ve had no idea?

How could he have been right under my nose this entire time?

“I’m still looking into the details of who he is, exactly, but that’s all for now.”

Rendered speechless, I sit in the leather chair, staring directly at my brother. Parts of me are growing unsure as to why I picked now to dig all of this up.

My life is great. I have an amazing family, an amazing job, passions, hobbies.

The only thing I don’t have is…her.

Sensing my hesitation, Royce slips from beneath his armor.

“You sure you still want me to do this? We can stop here.”

I’ve gone thirty-one years not knowing. I don’t have to continue, but what if this information is the part of me I need, so I can finally become the man I so desperately want to be?

I can stop now. Pretend I have no idea they’re only a few miles down the road. Keep living with the what ifs.

Or I could keep going.

I could slow down for long enough to heal wounds I’ve had for years. I could change from the inside, change for myself—change for her.

“I’m sure.”

After a prompt get-the-fuck-out nod from my brother, I let my feet lead me to the balcony that overlooks the club.

Hues of green lights flash onto the dance floor, serving as just enough brightness to get small peeks of who’s being granted access.

Observing from above, I can’t help but think if that’s what my father did with me.

Cataloging as his son grew up right in front of him. And what about my mother? Did she just have me and forget?

More people trickle in, most in groups. Guys in dark denim and dress-code appropriate shirts. Women wearing their best dresses and skirts. Some non-existent, but all with the same intention—attention.

All but one.

My eyes find her the moment she steps onto the elevated VIP platform. I watch as her head swivels to the thumping music. The small movements of her hips are wildly more intoxicating than the booze-filled bodies all grinding on the dance floor.

The dancers that surround her all match in black, like they planned a theme and intentionally left Fia out.

Everyone looks as if they took their time on their appearances tonight, even the one male dancer—Sean, I think—is covered in his own all-black outfit, but while other eyes from the club flock to all of the beauty in their section, mine remains on one.

Fia is doused in shimmer.

The sparkle of her exposed skin is a spotlight all on its own. She’s in a short platinum-colored dress that reflects against the strobes. Flecks that I swear are only making their way to me.

Her long brown hair floats down the length of her back, doubling as a cover for the material where her dress is lacking. And don’t get me started on those legs—strong, slender legs hold her beautiful body in place as she balances in what have to be over six-inch stilettos.

She’s so effortless, yet attention flocks to her.

Upon entry into their VIP section, the table beside theirs is full of men whose eyes size up every woman, but linger on Fia.

Rage roars through me as my grip turns white on the banister.

The club used to prompt me to make all sorts of mistakes.