Page 7 of Too Good to Be True

Rowan

I arrive at Seth’s much later than planned. I let him know I was going to be late. He said it would be fine, but I’m not so sure coming here was a good idea, especially seeing that ridiculously attractive smirk on his face as he opened the door.

“Hey,” he greets me nervously.

“I’m so sorry for being late,” I apologise immediately. “I didn’t realise how long I had been in the office.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He steps aside to let me pass. “We’ve been anxiously waiting for you.”

I enter his apartment as Seth closes the door behind me.

“The kids,” he then says. “They couldn’t wait to meet you.” Seth points to three children standing in the middle of the living room. “Guys,” he turns to them. “This is Rowan. I mean, Mr Kennedy.” His face turns suddenly red.

As I look at the kids, a familiar feeling washes over me—a mix of anxiety and hope, a shaky feeling I can’t seem to control. Their innocent expectations and emotions mirror my own, and it’s hard to ignore, even though it’s not my future at stake.

“Rowan,” I correct Seth. “Rowan is just fine.”

“I’m Mason.” The oldest of the three steps forward and holds his hand to me. “These are my siblings, Logan and Emily.”

The way he presents himself to me, displaying a confidence that is not part of him, instinctively makes me smile.

“Nice to meet you guys.”

“Are you the one who will help us stay here?” The youngest of the three asks me.

“I am the lawyer who will handle your case,” I reply diplomatically.

“Let’s not put Rowan under pressure right away,” Seth interjects, his hand resting on my shoulder, a simple gesture devoid of malice that triggers another set of emotions I am no longer used to: familiarity, need, presence.

And hope.

“Come and sit down.” Seth invites me to follow him. “On the sofa, we’ll be comfortable.”

I unbutton my jacket and sit down.

“We’ll make room for you,” Logan says, hurrying to clear the small table before me. “There, you’ll work better that way.” A half-smile and frightened look provokes a smile in me as well.

I knew it would be a mistake to come here.

I remind myself that this isn’t my story, these kids aren’t part of my life, and my life is different now. But the words feel hollow. I’ve never been good at deceiving myself.

I set my briefcase on the coffee table. The kids and Seth watch intently as I open it and took out the documents.

Can I truly trust him? Is he capable of being a good father? Can I allow these kids to live in this apartment, in this environment, with an uncle who seems to be a mess with legs, arms, and those piercing blue eyes?

I have studied his case. I know his story, at least regarding the written record.

He’s been through a lot—drug addiction, jail, rehab—and found redemption.

But the risks are immense, and I can’t shake this unsettling feeling.

I need to hear his story, see it in his eyes, and learn about the children.

Then, I can decide if Seth is right for them.

I need to be convinced first. A judge would likely focus only on the client’s past, not present or future potential. Assuming there is any real potential.

I instinctively shift my eyes to Seth, studying his figure briefly.

“You are worryingly quiet,” Seth laughs nervously.

“I was just…”

Observing you. And not just professionally.

I shake my head hard to banish this absurd thought from my mind and clear my throat.

“I was wondering how big this apartment was because, at first glance, it looks quite small.”

“Let’s say it’s intimate.”

The way he says that word slips under my skin.

I clear my throat.

“Would you like a glass of water?” Mason asks.

“Would be great. Thank you.”

He disappears towards what I imagine is the kitchen while I turn back to Seth.

“Do the kids all sleep together?” I ask him.

“Logan and Emily sleep together.”

“So there are two bedrooms for the kids,” I note. “It seems smaller than it is.”

Seth clears his throat as well. “They sleep in my room.”

“Hmm?”

“There is only one bedroom that I gave up to Logan and Emily. Mason sleeps in the box room where I used to keep the sewing machine. It’s not much, I know, but I’m trying to slowly turn it into a room for a teenager. Not easy to find another place for fabrics, pearls and…”

“Seth,” I stop him before he gets lost in his own explanations.

“I sew in my spare time. I help with stage costumes.”

A creative. I suspected that.

“It helps that too, you know? They pay me. And I also help with make-up. Well, that’s not my job, but the girls don’t want anyone else but me and…”

“Seth.”

“I was speaking too much and without being asked. Roger that.”

The kids giggle.

“Leaving aside costumes and make-up,” I look around, puzzled. Seth must understand the nature of my concern.

“I sleep here,” he says uncomfortably.

“Here…”

“Right where you are sitting.”

“Are you telling me you sleep in the living room?”

“A temporary situation.”

“That doesn’t…” I glance at the kids, who seem to be hanging on my every word, including Mason, who has just returned to the living room with my glass of water. “We’ll address that point at another time,” I cut it short to avoid sensitive topics in the children’s presence.

“You may speak freely,” Mason says in surprise before holding his siblings to him. “We want to know everything and be prepared.”

I look at Seth.

“I have no secrets. They know everything about me, about my past. I want them to know everything.”

“I wouldn’t want to upset anyone,” I say as discreetly as possible.

“We can take anything,” Mason proudly states.

I smile at him. I know that look. I see the suffering behind an overly ostentatious confidence.

This is not my suffering, I remind myself.

This is not my story.

I am just their lawyer.

Nothing more.

I have to win this case, and challenging cases like this are not won with emotions and weak hearts.

Cases are won with a solid foundation, proven facts, and the help of a professional who does not look anyone in the face.

“What about the house where the kids lived?” I ask, turning to Seth, my tone deliberately harsh. “That was rented, too, right?” I recheck the papers, even though I know the situation perfectly now.

“I could not afford a moving.”

“Mm-Uhm. Have you tried asking the Council? To get put on the list for a social house?”

“Uhm… No. Should I have?”

I try to contain my slight disappointment. I realised he was absent-minded but didn’t think he was clueless.

“I don’t get anything right,” he says, his voice faint. He must have read my expression.

“It’s a long list,” I say. “It takes years to get a house.”

He sighs disconsolately. The kids huddle around him in support. It’s nice that they are so close and understand that their uncle is trying hard, but it won’t make much difference to a judge.

“Do you think that with my… er… record…”

I look at the kids; they don’t blink an eye.

“They know everything about me. I told you.”

I nod and make a note. “How long have you been clean?”

“Thirteen years. Five months. And two days.”

“Relapses?”

“Not since then. I swear.”

“You don’t have to swear anything. Not to me.”

“Okay.”

Mason looks at his uncle worriedly. I don’t know how to tell Seth that perhaps we should continue this conversation alone, but luckily, he reads my thoughts.

“Why don’t you see if Mr Yang would like some tea?”

“We would like to stay,” Logan says firmly.

“I’m sure Mr Yang feels lonely at home without the usual chaos.”

Mason takes Emily by the hand and then nods to Logan. No one objects; they follow their big brother without question. When we are alone, Seth lets go against the sofa, defeated. He seems to have held on so far for the kids’ sake.

“Maybe this was not such a good idea.”

“They have to be prepared for the trial. It will not be a walk in the park for them.”

“But will they have to be present at all hearings?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh God.” Seth rubs his face with his hands, then gets up from the sofa. “I need something strong. Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m working.”

“But this is not working hours, right?”

“I really shouldn’t."

“Maybe a beer?”

I sigh and give in. “Go for a beer.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

I also get up and follow him into the kitchen. Seth takes two bottles of beer from the fridge, uncorks them, and then hands one to me.

“I thought you needed something strong.”

Seth rests his elbows on the kitchen windowsill, his eyes lost beyond the glass on the street alongside the building. The area is deserted; only the streetlights and a pizzeria in the corner illuminate it.

I mirror his position and look at him. “What’s bothering you?”

“Tonight, you say? Or in my entire existence?”

I laugh. Seth takes a sip of beer.

“I would like to be less… Less.”

“Less concerned?”

“Clumsy. Anxious. The list is long.”

I laugh again. He’s funny in an unusual way, and he’s polite and gentle. A positive person despite the fact that life has not gone easy on him. All this will undoubtedly help his position.

“We should meet again. Alone.”

“Oh, uhm, sure.”

“We have to agree on the line to be taken, and I don't think it’s appropriate to do that with the kids present.”

I thought I could do it, but I couldn’t. I only had to look at them to go back in time and make their story something too much my own.

“You are right.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“I’m working a double shift at the club tomorrow. I’ve taken too many days off lately, but the kids will be with Mr Yang. I assure you there is no better person than him.”

“No one expects a single father to care for the kids alone and even work full-time, Seth.”

Seth remains silent for a few moments as if lost in thought.

“Everything okay?”

“A single father. You called me that.”

“Isn’t that what you are?”

He barely smiles. “I always dreamed of having children, a family. Not like this and certainly not alone.”

His words hit a little too many points and a little too hard.

I see Seth with children. He’s loving, caring, and a bit eccentric.

I can see that. Lost in his calm, blue eyes—like a still, early-morning sea, deceptively peaceful yet hinting at hidden, powerful currents—I forgot everything I should have been thinking about.

“I could come by,” I say suddenly, interrupting this too-intimate moment.

“At the club? And you don’t mind?”

“We absolutely have to put down the key points of our position.”

“Oh… of course. Our… er… position.”

His embarrassment shines through on his cheeks and in his voice. Perhaps I should have used a less ambiguous term.

“What I wanted to say…” I clear my throat for no reason. “That it would be appropriate to discuss certain things privately.”

I don’t think I did any better with my clarification, but Seth smiles.

“Relax, Rowan. I know that… well, I’m not your… type.”

“My type? What do you mean?”

“Male?”

“Oh. I’m your lawyer. This is totally inappropriate.”

“I’m sorry. I’m used to flirting. Customers will likely leave you a nice tip if you do that.”

“And do you do this often?” I find myself asking.

Seth’s eyes immediately glaze over with new concern.

“That was inappropriate of me. I’m sorry. I should probably go.” I leave my beer on the windowsill and walk towards the living room to retrieve my bag.

I should never have given him space, time… or anything else.

“I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position,” Seth says, reaching out to me.

Again, with this word? Something I really shouldn’t think about in his presence—or even in his absence, better not to risk it.

“No problem. I’m a professional.”

I can be professional. He’s not the first handsome guy I’ve had as a client.

Fuck.

Did I just admit that he is a handsome guy?

Okay. Don’t panic. There’s nothing wrong with that, isn’t it?

“Do you still want to come by the club?” He asks me as we both reach the door.

“Sure, if it’s not a problem for you.”

He smiles shyly, and an expected and comforting warmth spreads through my chest.

“You can drop by any time. I can take a break and spend it with you.”

I shouldn’t sigh or wait for tomorrow as if it were something personal, but his shy smile and bright eyes overpower my intentions and my thoughts.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Good night, lawyer.”

His tone lowers, and inappropriate excitement slips down my spine.

“Good night, Mr Graham.”