Reading With Patrick Novels & Stories

She beamed. Patrick shook his head. “I even have to present them my birth certificate before they finally believed. At first, they think I am fabricating the birth certificate. But then they saw the dry seal and they eventually believed.” He narrated. “You don’t know everything I have been through just to find you.” He finished. Patrice just smiled when she heard the hardships Patrick went through. She somehow feels that she is opening up to him a bit. “Do you have class tomorrow?” He asked.

Patrick stared at me, his expression unreadable, before returning to his papers. I let my eyes wander around the room. The study felt both deeply familiar and completely foreign at the same time. The tall bookcases, the plush leather sofa, the grand window overlooking the manicured garden—everything looked expensive, pristine, and entirely alien to the twenty-year-old soul trapped inside my chest. My gaze landed on a vintage wooden cabinet nestled in the corner. "What’s in there?" I asked, pointing toward it. "My things," Patrick replied clipped. "Your things?" "Old company records. Property deeds. Things I haven’t gotten around to throwing away."

She went to the counter and started unpacking items from her bag with the quiet focused movement of a woman who needed to be useful because usefulness was the closest thing to absolution she currently had access to and all of us in this house understood that and let her have it. Lucas appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Patricia is ready,” he said. We gathered in the study, all of us, around the laptop on the desk, and Patricia plugged in her father’s drive with the careful deliberate movement of someone doing something they can’t undo and have decided to do anyway. The files opened. We read for three hours.

I scrolled down to read more important deets like his age, color of his eyes, and if he has a spouse. My network wavered cutting me off so I groaned. I need this information if I'm going to be meeting the man tomorrow. I need to know a lot about him. I slipped on the hotel white robe they keep for guests and walked to the patio with my laptop. It was a beautiful view cause it overlooked the wide blue expanse of water and some palm trees littered about. I set my laptop down on the patio table before drawing a stool to seat on. The network came back and I whooped with joy. The screen of my laptop flashed with the informations I needed to know.

After a few minutes of relentlessly thinking, she drifted into a restless sleep. While on the other side, Patrick was in his study, his eyes fixed on the footage of the two alphas entering the mansion, the video playing repeatedly. The video was going on loop while he couldn't find any clue about who they were. Patrick had been very cautious since the break in. He didn't even attend the pack meeting a few days ago. Under the pack leader's command, he couldn't help but have to be there but he just defied his order. Just as he was deep in thought, his mobile chimed. He took his mobile and glanced at the notification.

“Then let me read to us.” Standing up, Patrick approached the sofa and gently pulled me back and close to him, making my back find the comfort of his chest. His fingers slid through my hair as he leaned me back, resting my head on his shoulder. With ease, he brought the notebook closer and began to read, as if we were about to embark on a quiet fairy tale narrative.

Alexander and his family had just finished cleaning up the mess in the living room. Patrick was on the couch, smoking with a glum expression. He seemed like a completely changed person compared to the wimpy person he used to be. "Open the window. Let the air in. Don't let Olivia smell the smoke when she returns." He had smoked a dozen cigarettes. He said in a low voice, "Alex, come with me on a walk." A few minutes later, Alex held Patrick's arm and headed down to the compound for a walk. Patrick took a deep breath and said, "All these years, with my crippled leg, I longed for a family's love. Today, I finally saw it all. I can only rely on myself."

he insisted. “Why?” she asked. No matter what Zander said, Patrick was a good journalist. He had friends everywhere. He was charming and approachable. Since he’d gotten back to New York, he’d spent every evening hitting the trendy Scottish bars where journalists swarmed and had made more contacts, even though he didn’t drink a drop of alcohol. He knew everyone and everything. “Because,” Patrick said, snapping a purple Sour Patch in half between his teeth and flashing her a smirk, “it literally does have your name on it. Now, do you promise not to freak the hell out when I show you what I found?”

Then she splashed her face again, fixed her lipstick, and walked back out like nothing was wrong. Patrick was already pushing back from the table. “Gentlemen, I’m stepping out for a quick cigar. Rain’s stopped. Don’t wait up if I get chatty with the neighbors.” He clapped Alex on the shoulder on his way to the terrace door. Alex’s smile tightened. His gaze cut involuntarily toward the locked study drawer across the hall. Bridget caught the flicker and felt that same nameless chill slide down her spine. Patrick never talked about family beyond her. Why did every mention of the past suddenly feel heavy?

Luke Doing another round of the race, I saw one of my neighbors walking and because we weren't that close, he didn't see me. Patrick! Nothing against him, but there was something strange about him that I couldn't describe, something that perhaps many didn't see. Although he had a calm demeanor, he didn't appear violent, his look was sinister, which made me feel a sense of agony, but perhaps I was wrong, as he was talking to a pre-adolescent boy, about 12 years old at the most. . He wasn't in any awkward situation, he looked like he wanted to buy one of the boy's cookies.