One. || h.s.

Forty Five.

...

Harry's POV

I try to keep myself steady, not wanting to get worked up before I see my father; that would not lead to anything good.  I shut my eyes as the elevator ascends, taking a few calming breaths.  I don't know how long my fists have been clenched but they are starting to ache from being balled up so tightly.  I relax my hands and shove them deep into the pockets of my jacket as I prepare myself for the worst and remind myself not to get distressed.

Adrenaline is trying it's best to release and set me off, running through my veins along with boiling blood, but I don't let it.  Instead I think of Skylar and how relieved she will be when she doesn't have to endure endless meetings with Parker and Zimm over things she doesn't understand and shouldn't even be part of. 

I picture the worried creases leaving her face and the newly found bags under her eyes disappearing.  I picture her smiling and laughing without a care in the world, the beautiful sound ringing out like music.  I think about the way her dark eyes squint when she smiles and I find myself relaxed.  As I near the apartment all I do is think of her, I think of how everything I've done since she left has been for her.  It's all been worth it because now I have her back, I just have to make sure I don't lose her.

I knock on the door and wait in the quite hall until the door opens, my mind running quickly over different scenarios, most of which include me punching my father as soon as he opens the door.

"Harry," he says when he opens the door, his eyes skim over me slowly and mock my white button up and tie.  I look at him in light jeans and a plain white T-shirt and can't help but think about how different we are.  He would never wear a tie, he didn't even wear one to his own wedding.  "It's good to see you," he says with a sly smile.

I stare at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to decide what the look on his face suggests.  Not once in all my twenty two years has he said it's good to see me.

"Is mum here?" I ask and he laughs, shaking his head.  "Then cut the shit, I know you could care less whether I stopped by or not." I push past him into the condo and he shuts the door behind me, his mocking smile not leaving his face.

"Oh, of course come in," he says sarcastically and makes his way into the kitchen.  I follow him, watching as he pulls a beer from the fridge, not even offering one to me.  Not that I expected it.

He takes a sip of his beer and put is down on the counter.  He rests  his hands on the counter of the island between us and watches me as if I'm the most ridiculous thing he's ever seen.  I stare right back at him probably with the same look.  I take in his face, every feature, and feel sick when I start to see myself in him.  Even though we look alike doesn't mean we have to turn out the same way, although a couple years ago it looked like it could have been that way.

"If you're looking for your mother she won't be home for another hour," he says, no doubt hoping I'll leave.  I've spent my entire life wishing I could leave and that's exactly what got me into this mess with him in the first place, why I hate him so much.

I always wished my mother would leave too, but she never did.  She always made excuses for him, saying he was working hard so that's why he wasn't home.  It was true, he was working but not at his office like we thought he was. He was never around, he liked work more than spending time with us.  He put our safety and well begin on the line when he started getting into the black market, quickly building his name and trade.  I'll never forgive him for neglecting us, forcing us the leave England and turning me into the stubborn dick I was.

"Where's your girl?" He asks eventually.

"Home."

"Didn't bring her by?  It was so lovely to see her last time, I really liked her," he mocks, spitting his words in my face.  I grip the counter and take a deep breath through my nose.