"Some conversations take more out of you
than the miles you run"

Andy and I stood at Yolanda's desk, arguing over what to eat for lunch.

"I'll have whatever he's having." The spunky receptionist flirted, winking at me.

"You better stop, you're gonna get me in trouble with Big Mike." I laughed it off, referring to her husband.

Yolanda waved her swollen wrist at me. Without a word, she exited the conversation to answer the business phone on the second ring.

"What do you want?" I nodded to Andy.

He flickered his eyes up from the phone screen for a second, then answered me. "Sushi, obviously."

I sucked my teeth in disagreement. "You've had sushi, like, three times this week, bro."

"I could eat sushi for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day," he said like it was nothing.

I shook my head. "I'm getting Chipotle."

"Ooo!" Yolanda exclaimed, putting her manicured fingers over the speaker phone. "Get me that steak bowl you got last time—no sour cream."

I felt playfully flattered that she liked my go-to Chipotle order. "Ah, you liked that?"

"I like you," she responded, pretending to tuck hair behind her ear despite having a red and black pixie cut wig this week.

I laughed, shaking my head at my boss's sister-in-law.

"—Yes, I'm listening, sir!" she snapped at the caller on the phone. I laughed.

Nia walked in, and Andy immediately jumped off of the front desk.

Without saying a word, Andy started to explain himself to her. "I was sitting on her papers to weigh them down so they don't fly anywhere—it's a breeze in here," he made up.

He and I pretended to shiver as Nia raised an eyebrow at us both.

She didn't buy it.

"Chris, can I talk to you?" Nia Aragon asked.

She stood in front of me with her arms folded across her chest.

"If it's not about lunch, no," I joked, finalizing my order on the app.

Nia huffed, walking away from the lobby.

She stepped into my office, taking in the room like she owned it.

I walked inside after her and took a seat at my desk.

She didn't sit. Instead, she paced around lightly, her hands tucked into the pockets of her purple tailored pants, her gaze sweeping the space until it landed on my desk.

Her eyes paused on the framed photo of me and Morgan years ago.

"Hm." She didn't say anything else, but the sound alone carried weight—disapproving, maybe even amused.

I leaned back in my chair, waiting for her to make the next move.

Finally, she picked up the frame, tilting it slightly before setting it back down. "I thought we had an understanding."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do we not?"

She smirked, a tight, knowing smile. "You're supposed to be proving me wrong about you."

I sighed through my nose, already worn out by her attitude before the conversation had really even begun. "And how exactly am I failing at that?"

She folded her arms, unfazed. "This project. I'm unsure about it. You haven't done much to gauge my interest yet."

I reached for the blueprint and slid it across the desk toward her. "See for yourself."

Nia leaned over the desk, scanning the plans with that calculated focus of hers. I kept my eyes on her, trying to read her reaction. Was she impressed? Interested? The silence stretched on, and she didn't even flinch.

"You're playing it safe."

I frowned, not used to that criticism about my work. "I'm being practical."

"Safe is another word for forgettable, Chris." She tapped her manicured nail on the paper. "I need this to stand out. I need to be impressed. This isn't just another job—it's my name on the line, too. If this doesn't come together the way I want, I'll bring in someone else to make it happen."

My jaw tightened. "I know what's at stake."

She straightened, locking eyes with me, her gaze sharp. "Do you?"

Her words stung. But before I could respond, she added, "Right now, I'm considering bringing in a new architect. Just to see what they can do."

The words landed hard. There was no mistaking her intent.

I met her gaze, keeping my expression neutral, even though I felt the irritation building in my chest.

"Considering?" I repeated, keeping my tone level.

She shrugged, cool and effortless. "For now."

And with that, she turned and left, leaving me sitting there alone with the weight of her words hanging in the air.

➤

For now. Nia's words echoed in my head as I slowed my pace.

I'd done enough light jogging for the day. My physical therapist told me not to push it, but I needed my leg back. At least I didn't have to rely on the brace anymore. It's getting better.

I stopped and sat down near the community center basketball court. There was that same little chubby kid, the one who's always shooting around. I see him every day when I go to work and again when I get home. I've never really seen him make a bucket, but he has heart.

I pulled the earbuds out of my ears and walked through the gate.

The basketball dropped from the air and bounced near my feet.

I bent over with a grunt, ignoring the slight pain in my leg.

"Ball!" He clapped his hands, signaling.

I chest-passed it back to him. "Hey, what's your name? I always see you out here. You ever go home?"

He launched the ball towards the net and missed.

"Anyone ever teach you how to shoot?" I laughed, limping towards him.

He ignored me and ran to grab the rebound.

I stood behind the free-throw line, clapping my hands for the ball.

Reluctantly, he bounced it to me.

I fixed my hands on the ball and sank it easily through the net.

I looked at him and said, "It's really easy once you know how to do it. I can teach you."

"Are you a pervert?" He asked, shrinking back.

I grimaced. "What? No. No, I'm not a... pervert. I'm Chris. I live on Cobblestone Road."

I gave him a fist bump.

He relaxed a little and bounced the ball back to me.

"I'm Cody," he said finally.

I made another shot, sinking it without effort.

"How do you do that? I can only make it if I shoot it like this." He pushed me aside to demonstrate his awkward, granny-style shot.

I laughed and he stared at me with wide, serious eyes.

"Sorry." I cleared my throat.

"Here, let me show you." I offered, stepping behind him to adjust his hands on the ball.

"Christian?" Tandy called out. I recognized her voice without even looking—it was unmistakable. Grating.

I sighed, hanging my head. It's Christopher. She knows that.

"Oh, Cody. Tell your mom I said not to make those cookies again. They were God-awful." She walked toward us with that knowing smirk.

"Bye, Chris," Cody said, sulking away as he followed her instructions.

"Don't forget to tell her, Cody!" Tandy called after him.

"Bitch," he mumbled loud enough for all of us to hear.

I couldn't help but laugh as Tandy gasped in shock.

"Well then." She scoffed, hands on her hips, eyes now fixed on me.

"Fancy seeing you here," she said, her smile sharp and too sweet for my liking.

I threw my arms up in mock surrender, realizing I was stuck in this conversation. "I'm just stretching my leg, Tandy."

"You know Cody?" She glanced back at the kid as he walked off.

"No, I just see him out here a lot. Thought I'd help him with his game."

"Well, he's got a good role model in you." Her smile softened, throwing me off.

I shrugged, my frown barely noticeable. "I don't know about that."

Tandy shifted her tone, something a little more pointed now. "I've been seeing a lot more of you and Morgan around, too. You two have really settled in."

I frowned slightly. "Yeah, we've been keeping busy."

She nodded, her smile knowing. "I see that. Morgan's been doing a lot for the neighborhood lately—getting involved with the wellness project, right?" She smiled again, this time a little too knowingly. "Seems like she's really trying to make a difference."

I felt my guard go up. "Yeah, she's been putting in the work. You would know."

Tandy leaned against the railing, crossing her arms. "People notice when someone's active in the community. They talk about it. Some are more receptive to it than others, you know?" She glanced at me. "She's doing a good job of staying visible. I guess that's important if you want to make a change, especially if you've had a rough past you're running from."

I stiffened, unsure of where she was going with this. "She's just trying to help. Nothing more to it."

She chuckled, but there was an edge to her smile. "Sure, sure. Just saying, people talk. It's good for the neighborhood, though. And good for you, I'd imagine. Keeps you both... occupied."

I could feel my unease rising, my jaw tightening. "She's occupied enough. Actually, why don't you ease up on her?"

"How do you mean?" Tandy asked, her hand pressed to her chest like my words were too much to bear.

"After this wellness project, get a new lap dog. Morgan doesn't need any more on her plate. This is it."

"She's a big girl, she can juggle her responsibilities."

"It's too much responsibility." My voice rose, just a little, the words escaping sharper than I meant.

"I had no idea she felt so pressured. I just want to support her. We wouldn't want her getting lazy now, would we?" Her smile was too sweet, and it was clear she enjoyed getting under my skin.

I bit my tongue, realizing she was enjoying this too much—her little digs and needling comments.

There was nothing else to say. The conversation had already hit its dead end. I gave one last glance at Tandy, the tension lingering in the air like the evening heat.

The late afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the Easton Hills gated community, painting the neighborhood in warm, golden hues.

I turned and jogged off, pushing my leg to go a little faster, trying to ignore the dull throb beneath the surface. My strides felt clumsy, like they were betraying me, and I slowed when the pain crept in, demanding I stop.

➤

The next day

Another long day at work sent me straight to the liquor store.

I didn't have plans for the night—just me, a bottle, and the guarantee that I'd finish the whole damn thing. It was Friday, and I needed something to take the edge off.

Morgan and I had finally cleared the air, but now Nia was breathing down my neck, threatening to hire a new architect. I couldn't deal with this shit. Not tonight.

"Whiskey," I muttered to myself as I stepped out of my Tesla, the words settling like a promise. "I need whiskey."

A puff of smoke curled from the cracked window, a reminder of the blunt I'd just killed. I ignored it, coughed once, and shoved my hands into my pockets.

Before I could reach for the liquor store door, my phone buzzed against my leg. I fished it out, expecting another headache, but when I saw Morgan's name on the screen, my fingers hesitated over the unlock button.

She finally replied.

𝙰𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎🤞🏼🤍: 𝙸'𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢

I threw my head back and groaned, not caring if anyone in the parking lot heard me.

Could tonight get any worse?

My shitty day had somehow managed to get even shittier. I'd been looking forward to going home, crawling into bed with Morgan, and losing myself in her, but no—she was on her goddamn period. I could've busted out in tears right there.

"Rubbing alcohol," I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand down my face. "Whiskey isn't strong enough."

I exhaled hard, shaking my head at my own luck.

I pushed through the door of the liquor store, the little bell overhead ringing sharp and grating against my ears. My leg ached—hell, my whole body ached—but I ignored it like I had all day. I just needed to grab a bottle and go.

"Hello." A monotone cashier greeted me.

I tried to say something back but nothing came out, I just put my hand up and walked directly to the booze.

The fluorescent lights hummed above me, casting a cold glow over the shelves lined with whiskey and bourbon. My fingers twitched toward a bottle of something dark and strong—something that would burn on the way down, just enough to remind me I was still standing.

I exhaled through my nose, rolling my shoulders as I reached for the bottle. My patience was thin. My energy was shot. The last thing I wanted was—

"Rough day?"

I turned my head just enough to see Kip Moran standing there, six-pack in hand, watching me like he had me figured out.

I swallowed the sigh crawling up my throat. Here we go.

"Yeah, something like that," I muttered, grabbing the bottle and flipping it in my hand like I actually cared about the label.

"Didn't take you for a whiskey guy," Kip added, stepping closer, his tone casual but probing. "That stuff'll hit you harder than you think."

"Yeah, well, I need something strong tonight," I said flatly.

He hummed like he had some kind of opinion about that. I wasn't in the mood to hear it.

I moved toward the counter, but Kip didn't take the hint.

"I don't think that's skunk I smell." The sheriff spoke.

I exhaled through my nose. "You know what, I did get sprayed. Yeah, it was terrible. Tomato juice, right?" I played along.

"Right." He said, hand on his belt. "Everything alright with your leg? You look like you're pushing through more than you should."

I clenched my jaw, rolling the bottle between my palms. I didn't want to talk about my leg. I didn't want to talk at all.

"Just doing what I can to get back to normal," I said, keeping my voice even.

Kip nodded slowly, studying me like he was trying to pick me apart. His silence stretched long enough to make my skin crawl.

"Taking it easy doesn't always work though, does it?" he finally said.

Something about the way he said it put me on edge. I glanced up at him, watching for his angle, the reason we were even having this conversation.

"You sure everything's alright, Chris?" Kip asked, his tone shifting just enough to make my grip tighten around the bottle. "What's bothering you?"

I almost laughed. What wasn't bothering me? But that wasn't something I was about to spill in the middle of a damn liquor store to the sheriff of all people.

I forced a small, tired smirk. "Just tired. I'll be fine."

Kip didn't look convinced, but he gave a slow nod and stepped back. "Seems like something else is on your mind, that's all."

"I can handle it."

Kip studies me for a second, then shifts his stance, crossing his arms like he's settling in.

"You've been in town a while now. Figured I'd check in—see how you're settling."

I exhale slowly. "I didn't realize that was part of your job."

He shrugs, his expression easy, but there's an undertone to his words that I don't miss. "Keeping an eye on things? Yeah, it is." He gestures vaguely toward the window, the town beyond it. "You never know what kind of danger might crop up."

My grip tightens around the bottle.

Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe it's instinct. Either way, I find myself saying, "If that's the case, maybe you should keep an eye out. Just in general."

Kip's expression doesn't change, but there's a shift in his posture. "Oh? You in some kind of trouble?"

The words sit heavy in the air.

This is where I could say it. Where I could mention Malcolm, the tension creeping back into my life, the feeling that something's coming.

But I don't.

I don't know if Kip's the kind of guy I can trust. I don't know if he's like the ones Malcolm used to have in his pocket.

So I shake my head. "Just a feeling."

Kip watches me for a long beat, then nods slowly. "I get those too, sometimes."

I don't respond. I step forward, set my bottle on the counter, pull out my wallet. Kip doesn't move. He just lingers by the aisle, letting the silence stretch.

I grab my bag and head for the door, already done with this conversation. But as I reach for the handle, Kip speaks again.

"You ever get the urge to talk about that 'feeling,' you know where to find me."

I grunted something that could pass for agreement and turned away. My head throbbed. My leg throbbed. I just wanted to go home.

I didn't look back. I just pushed the door open and stepped into the night, pushing back out into the night. But the unease clung to me.

Kip was watching.

And I didn't know what the hell he was looking for.