by Chase Potter
“Purely hypothetical,” I add.
“Damn, Matt, you scared me a little.”
“Sorry about that.” But I’m not surprised. Tom makes a lot of money off me. Not the illegal kind, though.
“Well,” he begins. “It depends on the situation, but in general when the government seizes something, they really don’t like to un-seize it. So even if the employees might have a legal right to the funds, they may very well end up in a lengthy lawsuit to get it back.”
“Hmm.”
“Hypothetically?” he offers.
“Of course.”
“If you know the seizure is coming, you could just preemptively fire the employee to trigger the severance. Or even pay out a bonus. You’d have a much better chance of it being overlooked when the financial vampires lock down the corporate accounts.”
I slowly nod, mostly to myself. “That’s all I needed, thanks Tom.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to give me an idea why you’re asking this?”
“Have a good day, Tom.”
I hang up before he has a chance to say anything else. Setting down my phone, I watch as Edith returns to her desk with a donut from the kitchenette. She takes a plastic knife and cuts it into eight sections, and then she dips them in her coffee one by one.
My heart swells. But I really can’t afford to waste time right now. I have documents to sort and shred.
* * * * *
Dropping my briefcase off just inside the door, I tug off my tie and sling it over my shoulder. Carson is perched on a kitchen stool with his face buried in his iPad. Dark brown hair hangs into his eyes, and not for the first time, I wonder how he can even see.
I cross the kitchen and lean against the counter, positioning myself so that if he looks up, I’ll be the first thing he sees. I know he hates being interrupted reading, so I wait. His hand rises to brush his hair out of the way, but it flops right back into place.
Beside me, a clacking in the sink pulls my curiosity toward the sound, and my gaze lands on a pair of green lobsters lying in the stainless basin. My heart nearly leaps through my chest and out my throat as one of them clicks its claws together again.
“Holy shit, Carson,” I exclaim. “You could have warned me.”
He glances up at me, but there’s something off in his expression. “Sorry.”
More than anything, he sounds distracted, and the parental senses I’ve fought hard to build over the years shout a warning. Carson is staring at his iPad again, and my window of opportunity is closing. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine. We’re having lobster tonight.”
“I figured as much.” Actually that’s part of why I’m worried. Elaborate meals are sometimes his way of dealing with stress. “What else?”
His eyebrows furrow. “Avocado bruschetta and pistachio risotto.”
Yeah, he’s definitely upset. I wish that I could walk the distance between us and pull him into a hug. I wish that I could hold him like I did when he was little, and that he would confess everything bothering him. I always felt horrible when Carson cried when he was younger, but I’d gladly take that right now if it meant understanding why he’s still upset about me bringing up our dad. At least that’s what I assume is bothering him.
But I still can’t help myself from being impressed at his dinner plans. I don’t know any adults who would even attempt making such an elaborate feast, much less a seventeen-year-old. “You need help?”
“You’d burn something.”
“That only happened once.”
“It only takes once.” Carson tries not to smile, but already his bad mood is retreating. “But… thanks for the offer.”
I’ve learned that part of being a parent to him is swallowing my bruised pride. “Anytime.” I risk another glance at the lobsters in the sink. I should keep my mouth shut, but I want to be there for him if he needs me.
“Carson?”
“Yeah?”
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“Like really.” I’m not his father, but I’m the closest thing he has. “I’m here for you.”
Quieter now, he says, “Yeah, I know.”
* * * * *
Two hours later, and an extravagant dinner is laid out across our formal dining room table. Lazy steam curls up from the crisp red of the lobsters and the risotto alike, and it smells like heaven. Actually, it smells like butter.
“It’s ready,” Carson says, but instead of sounding excited or proud, his words are fragile. He pulls out one of the high-backed chairs for me, and the gesture isn’t lost on me. I take the offered seat, and pull myself up to the table.
Carson sits across from me, and for too many moments we just watch each other. He’s waiting for me to start serving myself. I’m waiting for him to open up.
“It’s getting cold,” he says softly as he nudges the tongs in my direction.
I take them, and he wins this particular staring contest. “Where did you get these?” I hoist one of the lobsters onto my plate. I pass him the tongs and he takes the other. After that I load up on risotto.
“From the Asian grocery store on 42nd. Dragon Star or something.” He tips his head to the side as if that might help him remember. “Dragon House?”
“You brought them home on the train?”
He grins as he cracks open the lobster’s tail. “What? They were in a bag.”
Chapter Eleven
Early Saturday morning, I’m on the couch and in the middle of a yawn when my phone chimes with a new message. My hand rushes into my empty pocket but finds nothing. Then I glance to the kitchen and to Carson, who has the fridge door open and is staring down at my phone on the counter.
He takes a drink from the milk jug and puts it back in the fridge.
“Don’t do that.” Like usual, my chastisement comes out all wrong. I’m not enough older than Carson to make it work right.
My traitorous phone chimes for a second time, and Carson asks, “Who is Alex?”
Every one of my muscles freezes as Carson flicks his snooping eyes down at it once more. I leap off the couch and sprint the three steps into the kitchen.
Carson is still staring at my phone when I grab it off the counter. He looks up at me, and curiosity clouds his expression. “He’s asking if you’re still free this weekend to hang out with him.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “When I told him that, I forgot about our camping plans.” I quickly thumb through the two messages from Alex and breathe a little easier. They’re pretty innocuous, essentially word for word what Carson parroted back to me.
“You could invite him along,” Carson suggests.
“Huh?” I stare at him, because I couldn’t have heard that right. Like the dinners at W.A. Frost, camping is one of our things. And it’s our last trip of the season. I suppose that we do a lot just the two of us, but still.
Carson leans back, bracing himself against the counter. “You don’t have many friends. You should invite him.”
“Wow, harsh.” I frown. “And I have friends.”
“Who?” Carson asks before answering his own question. “James? He’s a total tool bag.” He just shrugs as though that’s common knowledge, and I’m forced to agree.
“I’m not going to invite anyone on our camping trip,” I tell him. Not that I’m completely opposed to sharing a night in the wilderness with an extra person, but I don’t know if I can trust myself around Alex in front of Carson. “But you can invite a friend, if you’d like,” I add quickly.
Carson levels his gaze against me, and an unusual determination permeates his expression. Every now and then, Carson will dig his heels in about something, and when that happens, it’s fuck all to get him to change his mind.
“Invite him,” he insists. “It would be fun to take someone else for once. And besides, I want to actually meet one of your supposedly numerous friends who isn’t James.”
I scowl, but
it’s pointless to argue when Carson gets like this. And who knows, it might be fun. Spending time with Alex always seems so easy, so why should this be any different?
“Fine, I’ll ask,” I concede. “But he’s going to say no.” My fingers skip across the screen, and I type out a message back to Alex. Sorry, I forgot I had plans with my brother. We’re going camping. You could… come with if you want.
Carson watches me. “You asked for real?”
I nod and turn my phone so he can see.
My phone dings, and we both stare at the message. I’d love to.
A string of expletives form in my mouth, ready for action. But it’s not like I can un-invite him now. I make a point to remind myself that I might enjoy him being along.
Carson is wearing his trademark grin. “What did I tell you?”
It’s too early for this, and I need silence and coffee. “Shouldn’t you be packing?”
* * * * *
The cool morning competes with having three guys in my car, and I keep having to adjust the air temperature as we head north along the interstate. Outside, the golden prairie and pasture of late fall tumble into the distance, past fences and farm houses and weathered barns. And wedged in the backseat beside a heap of camping supplies is Carson.
“So how do you guys know each other?” He questions us, and his voice carries giddy notes. Maybe even more so than normal for our camping trips.
Before I have a chance to speak, Alex explains, “We met at flag football. Except I forgot about the flag part and tackled the crap out of your brother.”
Carson laughs. “I would have liked to see that.”
“It hurt!”
A smile is pulling at Alex's mouth, but he holds it back. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the camping type, Matt.”
“He isn’t,” Carson answers. “But he indulges me.”
Are they already ganging up on me?
“I made him invite you,” Carson says without warning.
Alex glances at me. “Is that so?”
I glare into the rearview mirror. “Carson, you’re not allowed to talk anymore.”
He grins back at me but doesn’t argue.
Half an hour later, Carson’s snarky comments have been replaced by his soft snoring, and the sound mixes with the song playing on the radio. He curled up and fell asleep in record time, but at least on this trip I don’t mind. Alex is here to keep me company, and besides, if Carson is asleep, he can’t say things.
I’ve tried hard not to worry about the lead that Alex might have found, but finally alone with him and Carson asleep, I can’t stop myself. “So… you mentioned you found something while looking into the zoning variances?” I fight to keep my tone even and measured.
“Sort of. More like an anonymous tip,” Alex says slowly.
My palms are sweaty on the steering wheel. “Oh yeah?”
“Basically it just suggested that I focus my search in the past instead of more recent things. But honestly, that’s obnoxiously vague and I don’t really want to sift through years of city records,” Alex finishes.
I have an overwhelming urge to sigh in relief, but I hold it in. “That’s too bad.”
He shrugs, and I don’t push him any further. A minute passes before he glances back at Carson. “Your brother is a lot younger than you.”
“He’s actually my half-brother,” I say, keeping my voice down. It’s a distinction that I rarely make, at least to Carson. But I’m hoping that Alex will be satisfied with that explanation and abandon the topic.
He isn’t. “What’s it like? Being a dad to a teenager?”
I stare at the road ahead, but Alex's eyes are on me. “I’m not his dad,” I say, and my voice is harder than it should be.
“Must have been hard.” His words are pensive. “Being a single parent not too long out of college.”
“I made do,” I say, even though he’s right. It wasn’t easy. There were a few times in the first few months I didn’t think I’d be able to pay all the bills. Business was rocky at the beginning, and I had to make a lot of personal sacrifices to make ends meet. And all of that was before I found myself in a protracted custody battle.
A chord of regret thrums in my chest as I remember when I was finally forced with a terrible decision. To make a deal or risk losing everything. Without the extra grease in the wheels, I would never have won that first big bid. I try to swallow away the memory, but I can’t.
The hum of the freeway is covered up as Alex nudges the radio volume higher. “Good song,” he says.
Taylor Swift. I’ve never cared for her much, but her smooth voice fills the air anyway. Just grab my hand and don’t ever drop it.
I don’t even see it coming, but the moment that Alex’s hand comes to a rest on mine, my breath hitches. Right there on the armrest, his arm is lying over mine, his palm pressing lightly against the back of my hand.
They are the hunters, we are the foxes, and we run.
I’m aware of every point of contact between us. The light hairs whisking against my skin, his warmth, the pressure. Beneath his touch, I slowly turn my hand and my fingers climb up between his. He squeezes and I squeeze back.
Baby, I know places we won’t be found. And they’ll be chasing their tails trying to track us down.
It’s something so small compared to what we’ve done already, and in an instant, I wish that everything was different. I wish that I didn’t have a reason to hide, that I could just keep driving with Alex and Carson until we got far away. Somewhere that the past wouldn’t follow us.
Cause I know places we can hide. I know places.
We glide over a pot hole going seventy, and it’s enough of a nudge that in the mirror I see Carson stir. I whip my hand out from under Alex’s. My heart pounds and my eyes are glued to the rearview mirror.
Carson’s head falls to the side and his dark hair gets squished against the camping supplies, but he doesn’t wake up.
“I take it he doesn’t know,” Alex says softly.
“No,” I say. It comes out harsher than I want, but I’m not sorry. Alex needs to know that this isn’t something I want Carson involved in.
“Yeah, okay.” Alex shifts beside me, watching me watch Carson, and my cheeks flush. He observes me for a moment longer, and then he looks ahead once more without saying a word.
Taylor Swift continues to sing over the speakers as my eyes fall into the distance along with the rolling gold of the fields, disappearing into the perfect fall day. I wish I knew places too.
* * * * *
“Are you seriously reading the directions?” Carson’s tone is the one he always uses when making fun of me.
“What’s wrong with that?” I demand.
“I could put this together in my sleep. It’s a tent, Matt. Not a high-rise.”
“Ha… ha.”
The sun pours over him with blinding light, and I shield my eyes just so I can glare at him. We’re in a clearing circled by aspens, but they’ve lost almost all their leaves already. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.” I toss the instructions back into the bag.
In under ten minutes, we have the tent set up, and I grudgingly have to admit that it was mostly due to Carson.
“See?” He sounds smug, but I ignore him. I’m not as big a fan of this camping stuff, but I know he loves it. I turn just in time to catch my duffel bag that he’s thrown at me. It knocks the air out of my chest as I absorb the impact, and then I toss it into the tent.
“I can set up our sleeping bags and stuff. Maybe Alex needs some help?” Carson suggests, and his words dance a line of casual indifference as he carries his own bag from the car into our tent.
I glance away from him to where Alex’s tent is already set up. It’s smaller than the one Carson and I will be sharing, but not by much. He seems like he’s doing fine, but I can’t ignore that subtle tug inside. The one whispering that it would be nice to spend a few minutes alone with him. Mostly because Carson can be a bit much sometimes. But may
be also because I haven’t spent time alone with Alex in what feels like weeks.
“Fine, I’ll see if he needs help,” I tell Carson. He grunts his approval from inside our tent, and my heart patters against my ribs as I cross the clearing.
Carson is still out of sight when I reach Alex’s tent. He’s kneeling, and his butt takes up most of the open door flap while he rummages inside.
“I came to see if you needed help,” I say.
He doesn’t turn, and his voice is muffled. “Have you seen my phone?”
Alex leans farther forward, and with a grin, I realize that a little push will throw him off balance. With the tip of my shoe, I give his butt a shove and he falls forward, collapsing onto his stomach inside the tent. “You ass,” he grumbles.
“Couldn’t resist.” Hands on my knees, I lean in so I can see his progress. He has his bedroll laid out and the sleeping bag on top of it. Alex rolls onto his back so he can get a look at me.
Then with the same swiftness he used that first day on the football field, Alex grabs me around the wrist and yanks me into the tent. I go down fast, and I land beside him on his sleeping bag. “What the hell!” I growl.
But he isn’t done, and in barely a second he’s on top of me and pinning my shoulders. He’s sitting on my hips, and I can’t move for a damn. I glare at him, and he smirks back. “Serves you right for kicking me.”
“I didn’t kick you.”
“Close enough.”
I try to push him off, but even though he’s shorter than me, our strength is matched, and he doesn’t budge. With no other choice, I just stare up at him… at his defiant expression and the stubble on his cheeks and a dozen other little features — all the things that made me think he was a pretentious shit when I first met him, but now make him… handsome.
Gold-flecked eyes gaze down into mine, and as the seconds pass, they soften to something less than the playful antagonism of before. Instead of letting me up, he asks, “Can you promise me something?”
