"She's dead?" Venti asked.

Samuel nodded. "I didn't mean to lump all of this on you at once, son."

Venti didn't know how to feel about the news of his biological mother's death. Venti actually felt nothing. She had never been a part of his life, and now she was dead. "It's a lot to digest," he said, as he willed his hands to unclench.

"We don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to," Samuel said, a bit too hastily. Were his eyes tearing up? Venti couldn't tell. "How about we order something to eat? My treat." The chuckle that escaped his throat sounded forced. "I owe you about thirty-five years worth of birthday and Christmas presents."

Forced humor or not, Venti smiled. "You can pay me in weekly installments, or one big lump sum. There is a car I've been keeping my eye on."

"A luxury car?"

"Only the best for me."

Food was then ordered. Venti ordered himself a hero sub sandwich, extra pickles, while Samuel ordered a BLT, extra bacon. "So the magazine article mentioned you're a barista?"

Venti nodded. "I also work at a library."

"I would've expected you to be in the pros with a physique like yours," Samuel remarked, his eyes on Venti's arms. "You're going to surpass me in a couple of years if you keep at it." He then looked up to meet Venti's gaze. "You natural?"

Venti nodded again. "Never touched a steroid in my life."

"Lucky you. I admit, I do the juice but it's just enough to stay big."

Venti hoped he could be that big when he reached Samuel's age. Fifty-five years old, and the man still looked in prime shape. Maybe even competition shape.

"I'm certain you have a lot of questions so you might as well ask them. I've got nothing to hide."

That remains to be seen, thought Venti. He still questioned his biological father's motives; Samuel didn't seem to react badly to the fact Venti worked two jobs, but he still couldn't allow the luxury of trust. "Why did you give me up for adoption?"

"You like asking the tough questions."

"I do, sir."

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