I got a very positive response from the first chapter of this fic! It's great to know that you all like it so far!
Consider this chapter as a big THANKS to everyone who reviewed!
"Alex, you've got a message." Jack called from the kitchen as Alex stomped into the house, kicking mud off of his football cleats. He dropped his practice bag and backpack next to the door and stepped out of his shoes to avoid being scolded by Jack for tracking mud into her clean house.
Jack was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine of some sort when Alex walked in.
"How was school?" She asked, looking up at him. "The name and number are next to the phone."
"It's not anyone from the bank?" Alex asked raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Who was it?"
"Alex..." Jack trailed off, her tone was not happy. "Why don't you take it in your room? It's private I think, your business."
"Jack, who was it?" Alex pressed. Jack stood up with her magazine and side stepped around him, heading for the living room. "Jack!" Alex called in exasperation.
"Just call him back! And- and try to be understanding Alex. He's been through a lot." Jack called back to him. Alex stood there for a moment, staring after Jack before he looked at the phone hanging on its hook on the wall. A purple sticky note had been stuck underneath it with Jack's neat scrawl covering it.
Alex peeled it off and read it. He furrowed his brow, looking at the name. John Rider. His father? His dad was dead- he'd been six feet under for the last fourteen years now. So who was calling for him?
Alex lifted the phone and headed for the stairs, taking Jack's advice to take the call privately. He closed his bedroom door quietly and sat cross legged on his bed, glaring at the offending phone. This call was going to cause some sort of damage, he was sure of it. But he couldn't deny that he was curious about the man with the same name as his father.
After nearly five minutes of silent debating Alex reached for the phone again and punched in the number that Jack had written. Alex held the phone to his ear and waited. It rang once, twice, three times and no one picked up. The call went to voicemail.
"This is John and Elizabeth Rider. Sorry, we can't get to the phone at the moment, leave your name and number and we'll get back to you!" The phone beeped and Alex ended the call, dropping the phone again.
Why would this John call him then not pick up when he called back? Alex crumpled up the sticky note and tossed it into his waste basket. He got off the bed and left his room to retrieve his backpack and duffle bag from the entry hall.
He reached the top of the stairs before the phone rang from inside his room. Alex let out an exaggerated sign and spun around, flouncing back down the hall and snatching up the phone as he fell onto the bed.
"Hello?"
"Alex?"
The voice belonged to an old man and it wasn't familiar. Alex frowned at the nervousness audible in the man's voice.
"Yes, who is this?" Alex asked carefully.
"Alex… this is… I'm, uh, dammit this is harder than I thought it would be…" The old man grunted. Alex waited for his question to be answered, not amused by this old man. "Well, I'll just put it out there then, I'm John Rider Sr. Your granddad."
Alex nearly choked on his spit as he flew into a sitting position. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at the old man's words.
"No you're not." He spat. "My grandfather is dead."
"Well I certainly hope not." John grumbled. "But I kid you not, Alex. I'm your very much alive grandfather. Like it or not."
"Why haven't I ever met you then?" Alex demanded standing and pacing around his room. "If you were my grandfather then why have I never seen you before, or heard of you?"
"You'd have met me if you had shown up for your uncle's funeral." John bit out in a clipped tone. Alex was silent, his grip on the phone tightening until his knuckles turned white. "Alex- I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." John said after a moment.
"Yes you did. And you're wrong. I was at Ian's funeral with Jack. I never saw you there at Brompton-"
"Brompton?" John interrupted. "Ian's buried in Heaton, here in Manchester. With your parents and your grandmother, in the family lot."
"No. No, no, no. My uncle, Ian Rider, is buried in Brompton Cemetery here in Chelsea. I was there. I saw him be buried."
"You saw his body?"
"No- it was closed casket." Alex quickly recalled what MI6 had given as the cover story of his Uncle's death. "A car accident."
"Then how do you know he's not buried in Manchester?" John finished. Alex was quiet for a moment, thinking of how to respond to that.
"How do you know he is?" He challenged. He smirked a little when there was silence on the other end of the line.
"Very well, I can see that you are your father's son." John said. "But, you're the only family I've got left. And, if its agreeable to you, I'd like to, well, get to know you. My time isn't getting any longer and I've not seen you since you were a baby."
"Alright. I guess." Alex agreed, albeit apprehensively.
"Great, so… I can pick you up after school on Friday? Do you know any good restaurants in the area? I'm afraid I don't make it up into London much anymore."
"There's a decent Mongolian place not far from my school. I could meet you there around… four thirty?" Alex proposed. "Mongolian Grill, it's at the corner of 84th and Terrance."
"Mongolian's good. So… I'll meet you there then."
"Alright."
"Well. Bye then. Have a good day tomorrow." John said.
"Uh… thanks. You too I guess. Bye." Alex hung up the phone with a sigh of relief.
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