Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(74)

I look down at the clock. It’s one in the morning, and yes, the product launch is this afternoon. I imagine my dad, larger than life, striding across the stage with a knowing smile. He had such a flair for these things. How the f*ck am I supposed to take his place at the launch? It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.

And yet.

I watch the streetlights slide by on an empty, deserted world.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like his shoes are too big to be filled by me. I don’t feel like he’s impossibly strong, unbowed by any problems. His weakness is equally my strength.

One thing at a time. “I’m doing the launch,” I say.

I hear Tina suck in air beside me.

I should feel like I’m disappearing now, like my life doesn’t belong to me. But now, for the first time, this doesn’t feel like it’s taking me over.

I still feel all my grief shut up inside me. But now it has a cause, an outlet. I know the name of the thing that killed Peter, and it wasn’t Cyclone and it wasn’t the job. It was not being able to walk away when it got to be too much.

I can do this, because I am going to walk away. For the first time, this feels like a winnable battle.

“It’s better if I run the launch,” I continue. “It’ll give the investors a sense of continuity. It’ll give the community a sense of belonging. And I’m the only one who can tell jokes about my dad.” I can already sense it. If I tell jokes, everyone will believe it’s not serious. And they have to think it’s not serious—the less serious it seems, the better things will go. I shut my eyes. “Speaking of which. Amy, I need someone out there to make up some jokes about my dad.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” I shut my eyes. “We need to minimize this as best as we can, and that means I need to tell jokes. I’m not really in the mood to make them up right now, though. So that’s on you.”

“Is this serious?” Her voice is subdued.

My father has been doing cocaine. He’s been doing it even after he watched it kill his best friend. If this isn’t serious, I don’t know what is.

“I don’t know,” I lie. “I hope not.”

Tina is pulling into the hospital parking lot.

I shake my head. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” I end the call.

Tina finds a spot. But instead of grabbing our stuff and going, we sit there in the car. She’s parked right under an overhead light; it washes us with a pale, fluorescent light.

There are a lot of things we need to say to each other.

I put my hands on the dashboard. “I know we’re supposed to end this when I go back to Cyclone. But…don’t. Please.” I glance over at her. “Stay with me.”

She shuts her eyes. Her fingers curl around the edge of the steering wheel and she bows her head. “Blake. This isn’t the time to have this conversation. Your life has just been turned around, you—”

“It’s exactly the time,” I tell her. “This isn’t temporary, Tina. I care about you. I care about you a lot. And you know that.”

Her voice breaks. “And I care about you. But—”

“Don’t tell me that this can’t happen.” My heart is beating roughly. “Don’t tell me that this isn’t the time for you to break up with me. Don’t tell me that you don’t fit in my life. Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t tell me that.”

She raises her head and looks up at me, turning her face to mine.

“All I’m saying is that this is not the time to work out those details. Your dad is sick. Let’s just…”

“No,” I tell her. “If you’re going to come into that hospital with me, I don’t want it to be because you think I’m too fragile to handle the truth. This isn’t hard. If you walk in there with me, if you’re there for me through this, I don’t know how I can make myself let you go. If that’s not okay with you, walk away. I won’t even feel it if I lose you now. There’s too much else that hurts. Don’t wait until tomorrow or the day after. Do it now.”

She doesn’t say anything. Her fingers clench around the wheel. She makes a little noise in her throat. I want to reach out and put my arms around her. I want everything to be okay.

We don’t get everything we want.

She looks at me in mute, pained agony. But she doesn’t reach out to me. She doesn’t say she’ll be there for me. And that means she won’t. One more ache in my heart—I can scarcely feel it.

“That’s that, then.” I open the door.

“Blake,” she says.

“I know,” I tell her. “I know you care about me. We both have to keep ourselves safe. I know you. It’s okay. I’m going to be okay.”

“Blake.”

“Stay in my house as long as you want.” I cast her a glance. “I’m probably not going to be back any time soon.”

“Blake…” The last iteration of my name. Her voice trails off. She looks over at me. There’s a hint of tears on her lashes.

But she doesn’t say anything for a long time. She doesn’t lie. She doesn’t tell me she wants us to keep going.