by J. P. Oliver
“None taken.”
Victor huffed; his smile was very small and hesitant, but it was a smile, so I’d take it. One small victory. I let him have his fingers back, ready to go inside, but Victor lingered on the porch, glancing at the driveway.
“Do you want a ride back home?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”
I went to tell him I didn’t need to go home after something like that—I was used to fights by now, you saw them all the time in biker clubs, and honestly I wanted to spend the night with Victor—but I could also tell something was different this time.
He didn’t seem too keen on the idea of having company.
I could respect that; I’d have to.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, I nodded and flashed a toothy grin to show all was well.
“Better get going,” I joked. “If you don’t have me home before curfew, my folks will kill us both.”
11
Victor
“Fuck it,” I whispered to myself, finger hovering over the mouse. “Just do it.”
I took in a deep breath. Exhaled; clicked send.
The webpage changed from application to congratulations: You’re request for a loan is being processed and we will contact you with the results as soon as possible. Thank you for your patronage and patience.
I submitted the application for a business loan at my lunchtime on Friday, after having spent the entirety of that morning going over the finances with Beth. When I went to see her in her office, she helped me parse through all of the financial documents Dad kept. It was a mess, but it seemed to make sense to her, and what would have taken days to sift through was a matter of hours with her help.
We looked for any slip or sign that Dad had taken out and defaulted on a loan; there was nothing. Not in the books or in the records or in any of the piles Beth kept of his stuff. Winston’s news regarding Dad defaulting had a rotten, scheming scent to it. Neither of us trusted Winston’s word as far as we could throw him, plus it wasn’t like Dad to take out a loan and just not pay it.
Then again, Beth pointed out, expression solemn as she looked out over the sea of paperwork, it wasn’t normal for Dad to not pay the company bills either.
So we checked everything: no rock unturned, no record unchecked.
Nothing.
When I came back for lunch, it was more of the same, and by closing time, I was on edge. I decided that I would check my email one more time before going for the weekend, just to see; just in case.
One new email from: North Creek Federal.
I scanned it, muscles tensed, hoping for some good news…
It is our unfortunate duty to inform you that you have not been approved for a business loan with our bank.
There was more after that—useless condolences that meant nothing to me, that I didn’t bother reading because in that moment, all the hope flushed out of me. I was hollow, a low buzz of panic and anxiety thrumming where my heart was supposed to be. All I could think of were those three damning words; the words I’d spent my entire life avoiding.
Winston was right.
I don’t know how long I sat there for, running the words over and over in my head, but it was probably an irresponsible amount of time. When I looked up from the screen, my eyes burning a little in the blue light, the world outside was dark.
How long ago did the sun set? What fucking time is it?
I checked my watch: eight thirty.
I had a date with Adrian in an hour. Another feeling flushed through me after that: dread. As much as I liked spending time with Adrian, I was in no mood to be around anyone.
My whole body felt sluggish. I shut my laptop, gathered my things, and made a quiet exit down the back stairwell where I knew I wouldn’t see my sister. I’d deliver the bad news to her later.
I slid my phone from my pocket, fingers swiping the keys quickly to keep the guilt at bay.
Sorry, my text to Adrian read. I’m going to have to cancel tonight.
It was quick and vague and did nothing to improve my mood. He didn’t deserve to get canceled on. Hell, he didn’t deserve a guy like me, too anxious and too busy to give him the attention he deserved. I just… needed to be alone right now. When my anxiety rode me like this, it was ceaseless; I wouldn’t be able to catch my breath until I figured out a solution, and this was something I needed to handle alone.
I pocketed my phone, ignoring whatever Adrian had texted me back—hoping he would somehow understand.
Isolation was part of how I dealt with anxiety.
I knew that and was mostly at peace with it. If it hurt other people’s feelings, I tried not to think too hard on that, because it only made it worse. By the time I got home, I had three more texts from Adrian, unopened and unanswered. Usually people got the hint, but with him…
Well, I felt particularly shitty ignoring him.
But I just couldn’t. It was a mental block that didn’t make sense but felt impossible to hurdle. Inviting him over—hell, even texting him back—was one more task in the mess I was dealing with, the chaos of everything.
I slumped onto the couch as soon as I got inside, kicking my shoes off haphazardly. Stared at the ceiling and tried to calm the thunder in my chest. I was getting a headache. I told myself to get up and take an ibuprofen before it got any worse, but even standing up seemed… like a large task.
You can imagine how pissed I was, then, when the doorbell rang.
Who the fuck could possibly be visiting? I thought, irritation flickering through me. I padded to the front door, flipping on the porch lights, wishing I could have just pretended not to be home. Don’t they know I’m trying to be alone?
I pulled the door back, ready to unleash some sullen hell on whoever it was.
Maybe it’s Winston, I thought bleakly. It’d be nice to expend a little nervous energy.
But it wasn’t Winston.
“Adrian?” The irritation drained out of me, replaced with nervous surprise. “What—”
“I’m not here as a lay,” he stated firmly. On each arm, he had large paper bags wrapped in plastic bags with large smiley faces on them. In his hands, an unopened two-liter of pop. “I’m just here to feed you. Think of it as an after-hours business meeting.”
I blinked at him, not knowing what to make of it.
“You gonna let me in?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked softly, hating myself. “I texted you—”
“Yeah, I got it,” he hummed, stepping up to me. I moved and let him through the door, where he toed off his shoes. “But you’re totally not the boss of me.”
I frowned at him, shutting the door.
It didn’t sound mean, exactly, so I had trouble finding a way to argue with him or be mad. I wanted to be alone, but he’d just decided to show up anyway? Why? I thought twice about asking him as he set the bags down and shucked his jacket off—until he turned to me, and I saw the small glimmer of vulnerability in his grin.
He’s nervous.
I couldn’t imagine a guy like him being nervous.
“I got Chinese,” he said, just a bit softer this time. “I don’t know if you like it or what you like, so I just got, like, a bunch of everything. I figured… whatever’s got you balled up like this… has to do with what Winston said the other day?”
Nobody knew but me, but I forgot Adrian had been there.
I bent down to pick up one of the takeout bags. “Yeah. I applied for the loan, but… it’s not going to happen.”
“Shit.” He clicked his tongue. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged, not sure what to say exactly. “I only found out like an hour ago.”
“Well,” he sighed, picking up the rest of it and making headway towards the kitchen. “It’s a good thing you’re friends with such a mathematical savant, then, right?”
I paused in the hall, the food warming my hands through the plastic.
“You’re here to help?” I asked. “You’re not kidding.”
He shrugged,
playing it off as no big deal. “In exchange for you helping me with all this greasy food.”
Maybe to him, it wasn’t a big deal, but to me…
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know, I know. I’m a total saint,” he hummed, grinning.
I breathed out. I was tense all over, but seeing Adrian in my kitchen with that confident, fuck-what-anyone-says-we-can-fix-this smile, helped me relax, if only a little. I hated the idea of getting help from someone on a job I was entrusted with, but if it was him… there was just something about him, something that told me I could trust him. That he wouldn’t be like Winston or anyone else I knew.
“Okay,” I said, following after him. “Thank y—”
“Nope.” Adrian turned away on his heel. “This one’s on the house.”
“Hasn’t all your help already been on the house?”
“Shut up, Savage.”
The spread of Chinese food stretched across my entire island.
Adrian wasn’t kidding when he said he got a little bit of everything, so our plates were piled high as we brought them into the living room to talk shop. Adrian had a small notepad and sat on the floor at the coffee table, legs folded and face contorted as he audibly thought his way through a long list of alternatives he seemed to conjure out of nowhere.
Sometimes I wondered why my father would trust me with the business—gleaming moments of self-doubt where being the eldest didn’t matter, where I told myself maybe it would have been a better choice to inherit, even with all his issues—and that feeling returned when I heard Adrian speak. It wasn’t jealousy or self-doubt this time, though. Mostly, it was awe; he was a lot more business savvy than he led on.
“How about overtime?” he suggested.
“We’ve always shut down shop at the same hour,” I said, picking at some broccoli with my chopsticks.
Adrian twirled his pen around his fingers. “What if you changed it? Just for a little while. Not a lot. Just here me out. It’d be voluntary. You put in a night shift that extends past closing time. Which is…?”
“Five.”
“Okay. Five.” He wrote that down. “How long is the typical shift at the distillery?”
“Eight hours.”
“Okay… what if you added an eight-hour night shift to run production.” He sat up taller, licked a speck of rice from his lips. “Volunteer, like I said, for whoever’s looking to make a bit more cash.”
I nodded slowly. “I don’t know if we’ve got the funds to cover an eight-hour.”
“How about a six-hour?”
We looked at one another a moment, considering. There were some guys who were looking for overtime, who muttered occasionally about needing to pick up extra shifts where there were none, so it wasn’t like we’d be out of volunteers. The pay was good, and six hours…
“It could work,” I said.
Adrian cracked a smile. “And you’d make up for paying out for their salaries by what you’d be producing in those shifts, with a little extra.” He clicked his pen, proud of himself.
“It’s something,” he said.
“It is,” I said, feeling proud of him, too.
“I mean,” and he traded the pen for his chopsticks, pointing at me with them, “I know it’s not a permanent fix. There’s only gonna be more tourists later on, and if you’re thinking about expansion, well… you know. But it might be a solution to the payables and the debt. It’ll definitely help with the cash flow. It’s temporary, definitely, but—”
“A fix is a fix,” I hummed. “Thank—”
“Hey.” He shot me a wry grin. “What did I say about saying thank you?”
I chuckled, nudging his thigh with my foot. “But I’m gonna say it anyway. Thank you.”
Adrian stuck out his tongue. “You’re welcome.”
I was feeling better. So much better, actually. I was glad to have Adrian here, even though a few hours ago, I was ready to break off an entire date night with him. I’d never been so thankful for someone so persistent.
“We should celebrate.”
Adrian paused, shoving rice in his mouth, to shoot me a confused look.
“What?” he asked.
“We should celebrate,” I said, gesturing. “You know. This was… this was helpful. We should do something.”
“What’s that?” Adrian swallowed his rice. “Mr. I Want To Be Left Alone wants to do something to celebrate?”
Heat crept up the back of my neck. “It’s just an idea.”
“I’m teasing.” He nodded. “Sure. Hell, yeah. What’d you gave in mind?”
I thought for a long, hard moment. “Nothing.”
Adrian’s laugh was long and bright. “We could take a ride.”
“A ride?”
“Yeah. On our bikes. I know you’ve got one.”
I thought about the bike I kept in my garage. “It’s not running, though.”
“Even better.” Adrian winked. “You can ride on the back of mine.”
12
Adrian
Riding at night was my favorite thing in the fucking world.
But riding with Victor on the back of my Harley was an extremely close second. We took the car ride down to my folks’ house where she was stored under her tarp. We poked our heads in to say a quick hello—and to make sure my Pops didn’t come running out when he heard me start her up, thinking someone was stealing her—before I passed Victor a helmet.
I mounted first. He followed, all hard line and worked muscles as he pressed against my back, wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Hold on tight,” I coached, warming at the contact, thinking it wasn’t unlike how we’d been the first time we had sex.
“This isn’t my first time on a bike,” he chuckled in my ear.
I hummed. “No, but it’s your first time on my bike.”
We took the backroads into North Creek’s downtown, just passing through. The lights of the main streets and homes were warm, bright whites and private oranges. I knew how to handle my bike, no matter who was on it with me, and took the turns nice and sharp to give him a little thrill. I wanted to show him a good time, help him relax.
More than once, I heard him laugh behind me as we peeled this way and that, away from town down the old roads I used to dirt bike down. The streetlights grew infrequent. The roads turned upwards, sloping and snaking into the dark mountains. My bike’s light was the only thing we had to guide us as we zipped through the heavy, monstrous trees and by wild, water-slick crags of mountain rock, all jagged from when they’d blown them up to make this town.
“Get ready!” I shouted over the engine.
“Huh??”
The road turned, wide and long. The trees opened up at our left suddenly, giving way to a huge overhang. Below the cliff, we could see everything we’d left behind: the cluster of lights that made up North Creek, the surrounding forests, the tumbles of mountain across the valley where there were flickering houselights. Overhead, the moon illuminated the sky, big and bright and beautiful.
Victor clung to me a little tighter.
“Come on, baby,” I said, happily revving the engine. “Let’s show him what you can do.”
“Nice helmet hair.”
I glared at Victor as I hung my helmet on the bike’s handles. He chuckled and ran his hand through my dark, spiked locks, all awry from being crushed up inside the hot, sweaty helmet. I batted his hand away lightly, taking it in my own as it fell away.
“Like yours is any better,” I scoffed.
He hummed. “Your helmet’s a little small.”
“It’s not,” I said, popping open the back storage. I shoved a small, lightweight blanket at him. “You just have a big-ass head.”
We laughed as we stepped over the large logs that sectioned off the perimeter of the parking lot, which was really just a lineless plot of dirt and loose rock. It was also empty, which was just the way I liked it.
“I didn’t even know this place was up here,” Victor s
aid quietly.
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of out of the way. I figure most people don’t have a reason to come up here,” I said, shrugging; here was Overlook, a small and rarely used park. “I used to come up here when I was a teen with a dirt bike.”
Victor squeezed my hand. “To do outstanding services for the town, no doubt.”
I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Hey, don’t knock it. I’m sure you did all sorts of shit when you were a teenager, too. And your brother was one of those people, too, by the way.”
“Zach would ride up here with you?”
“Oh, yeah.” A trip down memory lane. “Him and Wyatt. We used to come up here and smoke and just be total delinquents. We’d smash bottles here.”
“Classy.”
We followed the twisting trail that led into a brief spit of dark woods, passing the park benches and little playground by. I felt his hand tighten as we felt our way along the creeping roots that grew up and into the dirt path. On more than one occasion, Victor’s feet stumbled over the uneven turf—and every time, I barked a laugh and pulled him closer, telling him to watch his goddamn step.
“Where are you even taking me?” he asked, glancing around the dark. The only light out this way was the moonlight that seeped in between the overhead canopy of semi-bare branches. “This is starting to feel like some Blair Witch Project shit.”
“Oh, I wish. I love that movie.”
“I love to watch it,” he chuckled quietly. “I don’t wanna be in it.”
“Why not?” I winked, doubting he could even see it. “I bet the Blair Witch fucks like a pro. I bet she gives crazy head.”
“I thought that was your department.”
A pleasant flicker of heat burst in my chest. “It’s just through here.”
“What’s just—oh. Oh, wow.”
We paused at the edge of the woods, ducking to clear the last few hanging branches. What was on the other side was a massive overlook. The plot was all grass and along the edge, there was no fence or anything—just a clear shot over the valley that housed North Creek, with all its small-town lights and perfect Tennessee scenery.
