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The rest of the week couldn't pass quickly enough for Adam. Friday evening he tried on five different shirts before he finally glanced at the clock and realized that he'd better get going or risk being late.

Lucas Scott was rich. Adam had realized it at the beginning of the summer – the respect Lucas received, even from non-employees, the fabulous cocktail parties of which he'd heard rumors and the impeccably-pressed suits had clued him in. But it wasn't until Adam saw his house – his ridiculously large mansion with its iron gate and personal gatehouse – that the reality of the situation struck Adam.

The thirty seconds that Adam spent on the front steps was the longest half-minute of his life. Then the door opened and Lucas was there, welcoming him in and reaching for his coat. "Everybody's in there." Lucas gestured down the hallway. "Go on in." With a shy smile, Adam followed the sound of chatter and clinking wine glasses. The hallway was filled with large paintings and statues that Adam decided belonged more in a museum than in a house. To him, this house and its fancy people were entirely foreign. It was the raspy laughter a moment later that sounded so familiar, though he didn't ever remember hearing it before. He knew, then, that it was his mother.

Her back was to him when he entered the room. She was sitting on the couch still shaking with laughter. He coughed quietly and the group turned; his eyes focused only on her. "You must be Adam," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."

He grinned, a smirk playing across his lips. "Only good things, I should hope."

She laughed aloud and his heart soared to hear that sound he had only just fallen in love with, to have made her laugh like that. Her hair was short, the dark wisps framing her face, bringing out the angles of her cheekbones and her dark eyes. She had dimples, Adam noticed, like his. He made a mental note that night to find out everything they had in common. It might be his only chance.

He sat across from her at dinner, and next to Jamie. She smiled at him throughout the meal, winking when she brought up embarrassing stories of Lucas and Peyton as teenagers and chuckling when they returned the favor. And Adam filed it away, every moment, every story, every smile and wink and chuckle, because you never knew when it could all be gone. Gone, like his parents, two years ago in a car crash. Gone, like his little sister, asleep in the back seat. Then came a year of being shuttled between relatives, a year of searching desperately for the people who gave him up at birth, until, at last, he didn't have to search anymore. After that, a few more months, so he could finish high school. And finally, finally, getting an internship under Lucas Scott, a man he'd dreamed about long before he knew his name.

"Adam? Adam!" Jamie's voice broke Adam from his memories. "My Aunt Peyton was asking if you enjoyed your dinner," he told the teenager quietly.

"Yes, thank you." Adam looked up at Peyton and smiled. "It was quite delicious. I really appreciate you inviting me tonight."

"Of course, Adam." Peyton smiled sweetly at him. My step-mother, Adam realized suddenly. He speculated on what had come between Lucas and Brooke almost nineteen years ago, and wondered if it was him. "I'm sorry that you couldn't meet our daughters," she continued. "Maybe some other time." Adam nodded, disappointed that the girls were at a sleepover, that he would have to wait that much longer to meet these little half-sisters.

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"He was sweet," Peyton said later, when the adults were gathered in the living room. Adam had left, Jamie offering to take him on his way home, because the adults would be "catching up all night long and boring us with their mindless chatter," as Jamie put it. Adam hadn't thought he'd mind, not really, but he knew that he should take the offer. Maybe, just maybe, he would be invited back again.

Lucas nodded. "He's a good kid, hard worker. But I swear, sometimes I see him staring off into space and he just seems so far away. There's something troubling the boy, you can see it in his eyes."

Brooke sobered then, her look serious. "It's pain, fear." she spoke quietly. "I saw it too, Luke. He's lost someone. Maybe I could help him, talk to him or something. Let him know that he's not alone." Luke sighed, understanding the words Brooke wasn't saying. I lost someone too, a long time ago. I know how he feels. Maybe I can help.

He didn't speak but his eyes responded. I remember, Brooke. Maybe that's a good idea. If anybody can understand it's you…us. They had learned to read each other a long time ago, a connection he had never found with anyone since, including Peyton.

"They're doing it again!" accused Haley, laughing.

"What?" asked Peyton, confused, unaware of what had just transpired.

"Their whole talk-with-the-eyes thing they did in high school." Everyone shifted uncomfortably at Haley's comment. It had been two decades since the Peyton-Lucas-Brooke triangle, but everyone in the room was all too aware of the elephant that it left in the room, even now. Lucas and Brooke looked away and the moment was lost.