Finding Refuge

by J. P. Oliver

  “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  7

  Zach

  I wasn’t just pissed because Edward couldn’t take no for an answer.

  I didn’t like him—he had that slimy air about him, something that reeked of rot and deceit—and honestly, I didn’t give two shits about him, but when it came to Curtis—when it came to Edward badgering him and, even worse, laying a hand on him, my tolerance was fucking short.

  I watched that sorry excuse for a man get in his car and drive away, and it took everything in me to not follow after him and drag him down for round two. But I couldn’t, not when Curtis had just been hit.

  I turned back and let the door to the clinic shut behind me. Curtis was sitting in one of the waiting room chairs with an icepack pressed against his cheek and eye.

  “Fuck,” I huffed, sliding into the seat beside him.

  Curtis grinned, shaking his head.

  “Curtis, I’m….” Now that I wasn’t too busy being angry at Edward, I felt guilt bubbling up in my chest. He was like this because of me; because of the fight I’d gone and picked. “I’m sorry—”

  “No,” he said, voice quiet but not angry. “Don’t apologize, Zach. It’s not your fault.”

  “But it was my—”

  “Zach.” I paused as Curtis grabbed my forearm firmly. We locked eyes before he let go, assuring me, “It’s not your fault.”

  “Okay,” I exhaled.

  The waiting room was silent, now that it was just the two of us in it.

  Finally, Curtis let out a little laugh. “What an asshole.”

  We looked at each other again, laughing quietly at the eye contact. What just happened was nothing short of ridiculous.

  “Who the hell even was that prick?”

  “He’s a developer,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Jared says he’s been going around asking about buying up people’s land. It’s a fucking mess.”

  “He went after Jared, too?”

  “Yup. And Jared told him the exact same thing we told him here. Except without the fists.”

  I grinned, looking at my feet. I probably should have felt a little embarrassed it escalated like it did, but it was hard to regret it knowing who that asshole was, and after he’d hit Curtis.

  “Jared’s place is right smack-dab in the middle of where they’re trying to zone for the hospital. And my place….”

  It wasn’t really a secret that Curtis’s own land was just a few miles north of Jared’s. Each time I came home, I went out of my way to avoid Curtis, but news got around town. The family kept me up to date in the vaguest of terms, so I knew about Curtis’s property.

  I nodded. “That just leaves the hundred-something acres southeast of town.”

  That plot of land had a history with my family, as most things in North Creek did. For years, the people in the Savage family had been trying to buy up that land to stop developers from getting a hold of it—to avoid situations just like this one.

  I wondered who owned it now? Was it still the same people? I knew of one person who would know for sure—or, at least have the records to tell me: Uncle Anthony.

  “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

  “What, this?” Curtis asked, removing the icepack. The skin under his eye was already bruising, getting a little darker. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take some ibuprofen.”

  “Ibuprofen doesn’t fix everything.”

  Curtis hummed, lips pulling into a small smile. “Don’t I know it.”

  The silence between us was tense, but not totally uncomfortable. The telephone rang at the reception counter, and Sara answered, reminding me that the day was still going on, and there were still things for both of us to do. It also reminded me….

  “How’s your leg?” he asked, beating me to the punch.

  “Oh. Nothing some ibuprofen can’t fix.” I said. “You never answered my question, you know.”

  Curtis tipped his head to look at me. “Question?”

  “About….” I shrugged. “Dinner.”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah, yes, um—” Curtis shook his head, thinking. “Yes.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. That doesn’t sound… horrible.”

  I huffed, amused and a little relieved. “It’ll be better than getting punched in the face, hopefully.”

  “Hopefully being the operative word here.”

  I stood, thought about offering him a hand to help him stand. In the end, I didn’t. It was too tender a move, too familiar. I still had feelings for Curtis, but I didn’t know what he wanted or how he felt about me after all this time—after all we’d been through. So—playing it safe.

  “I’m going over to Anthony’s office on the way home,” I said, hands sliding into my pockets. “But, uh, I’ll—”

  “Your car isn’t here, right?” Curtis asked. “You flew.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll pick you up, then.” He said it decisively, like there was no arguing after that. “At your parents’ place.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “What time—”

  “Seven works for me,” Curtis said.

  “Seven. That’s—yeah, perfect.”

  In the corner of my eye, I saw Sara leaning in the receptionist window, obviously eavesdropping. I wondered how fast the gossip would spread through town, or to my own family. Probably, it’d reach home before I did.

  I needed records. Deeds. This is where having an uncle as the mayor came in handy.

  Town hall was just a short walk away, practically next door to the clinic. It was a lofty building, all old wood and brick, one of the oldest buildings in North Creek. There was even a plaque on the front that said so, harkening back to the early 1900s, when this place was more of a settlement of loose families, prohibition-breakers, bootleggers, and criminals.

  When I got in, I was greeted by a receptionist I couldn’t remember the name of. She was a sweet middle-aged woman with fluffy blonde hair, and she’d been working there since I was in high school. Half the guys had a crush on her back then.

  “Hi,” I greeted, catching her filing her nails at her desk.

  She dropped the file, smiling. “Hi, dear.”

  “I’m here to see Mayor Savage. I don’t have an appointment, but I’m—”

  “Oh, honey,” she said, shooing me. “I know just who you are. Hold on one second, and I’ll buzz him.”

  She pressed a button on her old plastic phone—a relic from the eighties, it looked like—and said into it, “Hello? Mr. Savage? Yes, well, I’m calling because you’ve got a family visitor. Uh-huh. One of the younger ones—well, not so young anymore. Isaac. No, the other one. That’s right. Okay.”

  She hung up and pointed towards the door. As I went up to it, she buzzed me in, the sound just as awful and noisy as I remember. It was the door that led directly into his office.

  Uncle Anthony looked up from his laptop, sunshiney as ever. “Zach! I thought it might be you.”

  I grinned, watching as he popped up and rounded his desk for a hug. “The one and only.”

  “Not exactly,” he laughed. “She told me Isaac was here, and I was like, ‘What? My brother? He wheeled himself all the way down here just to pay me a visit, he must be about to pop me for something.’” Uncle Anthony let out one of his bellowing laughs. “Go on and have a seat.”

  Uncle Anthony was a bundle of energy. All of the Savages were healthy and able, but Anthony was a different breed. He did shit like running marathons and cycling on his days off.

  He sat back down in his cushy chair. “So, what’s going on?”

  “Not much,” I said, settling myself. “Just coming from down the street. Had a question about something, so I thought I’d pop in.”

  Strategically, I left out the bit about having just been in a scrap.

  “A question,” Anthony mimicked. “Shoot.”

  “It’s just about the land the family was trying to buy? The big plot s
outheast of town. I was younger when you guys were trying to, so….”

  Uncle Anthony’s expression changed quickly, from one of content to one of distant frustrations.

  “That,” he hummed, laughing quietly at some old memories.

  “We never actually bought it,” I said. “I was just wondering who owned it.”

  “That’s right. We couldn’t get a hold of it, unfortunately. We tried for a long time to get a hold of the owner—some older folks who were keeping it in the family. We could understand, but, like I said. Older. No kids. Easy to take advantage of. We’ve been trying, but a lawyer from New York bought it out from under our noses about a year ago.”

  My stomach twisted. “You’re kidding.”

  “Wish I was. It’s the same lawyer who’s been trying to buy out the land around North Creek….”

  It was…an odd tone. Uncle Anthony wasn’t the frustrated or wistful type. When he spoke, it was with confidence and a clarity that made people trust what he was saying. Sure, he was a politician, but he was my uncle; I could tell when he was lying—or when there was more to the story.

  Whatever it was didn’t settle well with me.

  “People have been coming to you about that?”

  “It’s my job to know what’s going on in this town. Especially if someone’s trying to buy it out from underneath me.” He shot me a grin. “Word on the street is that this lawyer sent a developer to try and soften people up. Get them to come around and sign their land away.”

  “Edward Morris.”

  “You know him?”

  “I met him,” I said, showing off my right hand and the redness of my knuckles. “Recently introduced.”

  Anthony grimaced, but laughed a little. “Good to know you haven’t changed, Zach.”

  “Morris works for this lawyer?”

  “Works for the lawyer, who owns the development company.”

  Interesting.

  “Look.”

  I felt all of me pause again. The tone in Anthony’s voice was uneasy enough to catch my guard. Something was definitely off here. Anthony drummed his fingers on his desktop as he thought, considered if he ought to tell me—whatever it was he was holding out on.

  “The lawyer that Morris is working for—the one trying to buy up the land. I know who he is.”

  “That’s good?” I half-asked, getting the feeling that it probably wasn’t good.

  Anthony nodded slowly. “The lawyer is Winston.”

  Winston—Winston Savage.

  I felt the room tilt with the reality of the reveal. There was always the scent of something nefarious about Edward Morris poking around and trying to scam people, but now I understood why. It wasn’t just corporate greed; it was an old family vendetta.

  Winston Savage was the oldest of my siblings—partly. He was Victor’s twin, born two minutes after. Alike in looks—the same brown eyes and sandy blond hair and lean muscle—but opposite in nature. Evil twin was a cliché, but in this case it was absolutely true.

  Where Victor was friendly and responsible and kind, Winston was manipulative and controlling. All our lives, he was critical, dismissive, and played the victim. Borderline sadistic. Beth still made jokes about how Victor should have gone alpha on his ass and eaten him in the womb.

  The long-short of the great Savage family drama was that Winston wanted to run the Savage Distillery with Victor as a sort of silent partner. He expected a cut of the family business, but our dad didn’t trust him with it. Instead of getting a cut, he was cut out. Scorned and jealous of Victor, he left after graduation. While Victor became vice president of the distillery, Winston left town, cut ties, and went to law school.

  “You’re fucking kidding me—”

  “I’m not,” Anthony tried.

  “It’s been Winston this whole time?” It sounded insane, but worst of all, it sounded possible. Winston’s plan for revenge was cartoonishly corporate, but there was the potential for success. “And you’ve known this?”

  “Yes, I have,” Anthony said firmly. “I’m not the only one who knows, either, so it isn’t like I’m keeping anything from the family. We know he’s the one behind this, and we’re doing what we can to make sure it doesn’t work.”

  “He can’t get away with this.”

  “And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure of that.” Anthony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m doing all that I can, but legally speaking there’s not much to stop them from building. It’s under the county’s jurisdiction with rezoning the land. The best I can do is try to hold it up for as long as possible.”

  “Well, you’re not alone on that front,” I said. Now that I knew this was a family affair, I couldn’t let it go unchecked. “Not anymore.”

  8

  Curtis

  “It’s not a date,” I repeated to myself in the car mirror.

  For the twentieth time.

  “Not a date. Not a date.” I stepped out of my car, trekking up the familiar front porch of the Savage home. All around me, there was a sweet evening breeze, and the sun was setting softly behind the dogwood and tall branches. “Not a date.”

  It was hard to think of it as anything other than a date, though. So much of me was still used to wanting to be romantic with Zach. I had feelings for him, obviously—strong feelings, at that—but I couldn’t let my heart get ahead of my head this time. I needed to be smart about this. I couldn’t take another heartbreak at the hands of Zach Savage.

  As I went for the front door, the knob turned from the inside.

  I paused, struck still as the door pulled back, revealing Zach, who had showered and dressed for our not-date dinner date.

  Fuck.

  He looked good. Unfairly good. He wasn’t dressed far out of how he usually dressed—the usual jeans and dark T-shirt—but somehow it looked elevated. I could smell the fresh soap and hint of cologne. His skin still looked damp along the side of his neck. I bet it was warm.

  “Hey,” he huffed, grinning a bit.

  “Hey.”

  “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

  “No, you didn’t scare me,” I said, smirking. “Dumbass.”

  He gave a shrug and smoothed past me. We got into my car and I backed down the long driveway. And then we were along on the road. Together in my car. I tried to think of the last time we’d been alone in the car together. It was probably nine or ten years ago.

  I felt the distance of time again, the pressure of it.

  “So,” Zach said, voice clearing the gentle sound of the radio.

  I looked over at him before realizing it was a very bad idea; he looked stupid hot in the light of the radio and dash. I needed to not get us into an accident before we even got to dinner.

  “Where’re we headed?” he asked.

  “You’re the one fresh back in town,” I said. “You been craving anything from home out there in Virginia?”

  He hummed, thinking. “Not really. I just want to go someplace quiet.”

  Quite. Intimate. Private. Not a date.

  “There’s The Speakeasy?” I suggested.

  “Too many people.”

  “Or maybe the diner?”

  He made a noncommittal noise.

  I grinned. “Okay. No diner.”

  “Sorry,” Zach laughed. “Sorry. I’m not being very helpful.”

  “It’s cool—”

  “How about your place?”

  My foot instinctively hit the gas a little harder, a reflex of surprise. The car lurched for a second, the engine revving under our feet, before I leveled out the speed again. We exchanged surprised looks.

  “Sorry,” I laughed.

  Zach broke out into a smile, looking out the dark windshield, and there they were: his fucking dimples.

  “It’s okay. We don’t have to—”

  “My place is fine,” I said, flipping on my turn signal. We peeled around the corner gently, taking the backroad that led away from downtown and out towards where all the houses sa
t on simple stretches of old land. “I should probably cook something in my fridge before it all goes bad anyway.”

  With my eyes on the road, I felt the sensation of Zach glancing over at me. It was thrilling to feel him looking at me, even if it only lasted a second.

  I felt the spark in my chest: hope.

  It’s not a date, I reminded myself. Just dinner. There’s no reason to get your hopes up for dinner.

  Zach whistled. “Nice place.”

  I toed out of my shoes, leaving them among the unorganized heap by the front door. Zach did the same before following me down the hall and into the living room.

  “Thanks,” I said, glancing around, wishing I had cleaned better. “It took a while to save up for it, but she’s all mine, y’know?”

  Zach hummed, and the sweet, deep sound of it filled the room.

  My house was a big old farmhouse, too big for one person, probably, but home, nonetheless. Everything was warm wood and soft lighting. A long sofa and ottoman stretched across the living room wall across from a television. There was a coffee table and rug from a woman who wove them in town, and the room opened up to a just-as-wooden kitchen. Above was the balcony landing for the staircase, which led to the handful of bedrooms upstairs.

  Having Zach here was weird. Awkward. Like a clashing of two worlds, they didn’t exactly fit together. He walked around like he didn’t know if he should sit or stand.

  I passed him, stepping into the kitchen. Pulled open the door and surveyed the damage in the fridge, which was, admittedly, not that bad.

  “You can come take a look,” I told him, cocking my head around the door.

  Zach turned back to me, looking away from a photo hanging up on the wall.

  “Sure.” He moved to the fridge and stood at my side, looking in. Like this, we were close enough to feel the heat from his arm against mine. Not touching, but there. “You don’t have a whole lot, huh?”

  I frowned up at him. “I eat out a lot.”

  “Me, too.”

  The innuendo in our words didn’t go unnoticed, but neither of us mentioned it. I could feel it hanging in the room, though, heavy.