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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ: ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢᴏɴᴇ sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ

❝ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪ sᴀᴡ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀs ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. ❞

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THE HEAVENLY AROMA OF FRESHLY BREWED COFFEE enveloped you the second you stepped out of your room. Letting the scent guide you, you descended the staircase and drifted toward the kitchen area in a dreamy state.

Rollins was stationed in front of the coffee machine, hands eagerly preparing five cups of the caffienated drink. Reigns and Rollins sat at the breakfast table, chatting about football while Brendon stood at the other end, immersed in whatever his phone was displaying.

You came to a halt next to the two Hounds with a sigh, placing one hand on Ambrose's shoulder. "Any idea where I can get me one of those?" you nodded your head in Rollins' direction, "He's a whole housewife."

"Right here, babe," the Architect turned around with a cheeky grin, holding out a cup of coffee for you to take.

"Bless," you smiled, scrunching up your face in appreciation as you took the drink.

Sipping on the liquid, you watched as Rollins handed out mugs to the rest of the guys; your eyes stalled on Brendon. His attention was still solely on the device in his hand, eyebrows knitted together as he concentrated on the words on the screen. The more you stared at him, however, the clearer it became to you that he wasn't fully present.

He seemed distracted, an exponentially rare thing for him, and it only appeared to worsen as the minutes ticked by.

Darting your tongue across your lips to get rid of some residual droplets of coffee, you made your way over to the brooding agent and pulled up a chair next to him.

"Whatcha reading?" you queried, leaning in to get a glimpse at the screen.

It only took a split second for him to move his hand and shield his phone from your view but even so, you had managed to see what he had been busy with. A confused frown settled onto your face.

"Why are you researching retirement homes?"

That little question put you on the receiving end of a terribly icy glare.

"Why are you concerning yourself with my business instead of minding your own?"

Before you could conjure up a reply, Brendon had already stood up and was headed for the door, his entire body tense. Sitting silent for a moment, you let him walk away. But then the anger set in, and you placed your coffee on the table with a shake of your head.

"Oh, hell no," you scoffed.

The Hounds watched, coffee mugs frozen against their lips, as you stormed out of the kitchen and after your bodyguard. When you were no longer in their line of sight, they shared a look of unease.

Raising one brow, Ambrose slurped from his mug. "And so the fun begins."

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"Hey!"

Brendon gave a monumental eye roll at the sight of you charging down the hallway, and quickened his pace as he exited the building into the reclusive backyard area. Following suit, you slinked past the glass door and let it slam shut harder than it should have.

Broken glass was the last of your worries, after all.

"Alright, what the hell is wrong with you?" you demanded, locking your jaw as you stared at the agent expectantly.

"God, is two minutes of privacy too much to ask? Leave me the hell alone," he snapped, raking a hand through his hair as he stormed off further into the confines of the zen area.

If it were any other person, you'd have absolutely left them alone, no questions asked. But such a high level of angsty frustration was an unusual trait for Brendon to exhibit, and you weren't about to let him self-destruct and potentially compromise the mission because of it.

Besides, had the roles been reversed, Lord knows there was no way he would have left you to wallow in depression by yourself.

"You're acting strange. More... volatile, than usual."

Brendon had anchored himself beside a potted plant, one hand on his hip as the other rubbed over his face in a clear show of agitation. You made your way over to him, wrapping your hand around his bicep gently.

"Bren... talk to me." You rested your head against his shoulder. "Please."

There was a long period of silence, during which Brendon stood as still and stoic as ever. The only reassurance you had that his heart hadn't stopped beating was the rythmic rise and fall of his shoulder against your cheek.

After what felt like hours, he finally uttered two melancholic words.

"My mother."

Hearing those three syllables slip past Brendon's lips shocked you to your core. The mention of any kind of family was the last thing you had been expecting; the agent was painfully guarded about that particular subject, after all.

He had used the excuse of searching for his brother as explanation for his "death" and disappearance last year, but not once had he ever uttered a single word about his parents. Which had, in turn, led you to believe that they had passed on.

Those two words indicated otherwise.

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you stepped around his broad frame so that you were facing him.

"I'm sorry, what?" You parted your lips and stared at him blankly. "Did you say your-"

"Mother, yes," he reiterated, a hint of annoyance in his tone, as if the mere thought of her brought along with it a naseauting feeling in his stomach, "She's in a retirement home on the other side of the city."

Oh.

Oh.

No wonder he was so hesitant to come back to Vegas. Returning home forced him to confront countless emotions and memories he'd fought so hard to shove into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind and forget completely. Eighteen years. Eighteen long, challenging years he'd spent in this godforsaken city.

The life he'd built for himself over the last nine years was meaningless when returning to Las Vegas; the city forced him to confront the life he'd left behind, and all of the memories that went along with it.

"Are you..." Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you pondered over how best to approach the topic. "You planning on going to see her?"

Brendon shook his head before you'd even finished your question. "No." He froze for a moment, staring unblinking at the stone pathway ahead, then shut his eyes and let out a sigh. "Maybe... I don't know."

The agent wondered over to the patio set and let himself fall into one of the chairs. Following behind slowly, you took a seat across from him.

"Well when last did you..." you trailed off, rolling your hands over each other in a gesture that served to replace the second half of your question.

"Last time I saw her was when I left this place," Brendon answered, looking up and around the sky with a look in his eye that you far from recognised. You knew that by 'this place' he was referring to, of course, Las Vegas. "That was almost a decade ago."

Eyebrows raising at his revelation, you rested your forearms on the tabletop and tiled forward.

"Oh wow. And have you ever called her, or...?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

A couple moments passed wherein neither of you said a word, and the only sound cutting through the air was the drumming of Brendon's fingers against the table. Eventually, he spoke again.

"I mean, even if I were to go and see her – call her, even – I would have no idea what I would..." he exhaled heavily, forcing his gaze to meet yours, "What would I even say?"

"Wish I knew the answer to that."

A beat, and then the agent stood up, as icy and emotionless as ever.

"Doesn't matter," he said flatly, and there was a finality in his tone which told you that this particular conversation had now reached its end, "I have more important things to deal with right now."

More important than your own mother? you thought, but of course you didn't actually say it out loud. That would only ignite an argument you weren't willing to participate in at present.

Besides... Brendon had already disappeared back inside.

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Thank you for reading x