Page 152 of Reeves

His forehead creases for a moment before he shuts it down. It’s quick enough that I almost miss it. But I know the slight forward shift in his posture, his mouth opening and then closing again, like he started toward something and thought better of it.

In college, whenever I mentioned money being tight, he’d go still the same way. It’s like he was physically restraining himself from solving a problem I hadn't asked him to solve.

"What kind of investigation?" he asks instead.

"I don't know yet. The email doesn't give details. Just that there are irregularities they need to review."

My hands start to shake slightly. I set the phone face down on the table, but the notification keeps blinking through the case.

"Charli." His voice is steady, calm. "Look at me."

I meet his eyes across the table. The soft morning intimacy has vanished, replaced by something harder. More serious.

"I'm sure there must be a mistake. I do everything by the book."

"I'm sure," he says to comfort me, but it doesn't even come close to the panic rising up inside of me right now.

THIRTY-FIVE

Reeves

The Tradition:In New Orleans, this is what celebration after loss looks like — not the absence of grief, but grief that chose motion over stillness.

The highway stretches ahead,but I keep seeing her instead of the road.

I think about her damp hair, the blue scrubs hanging loosely on her shoulders, the way she held her coffee with both hands.

I adjust my grip on the wheel and shift in the seat, trying to force my focus forward, but my eyes drift back to the rearview as if she might still be there.

I exhale through my nose and roll my shoulder, the joint catching the way it always does now. I grab the bottle out of my duffel bag sitting in the seat beside me. It occurs to me I didn't take anything since before we went to the tank show yesterday afternoon.

The kitchen table comes back. And then I remember how distressed she was about that email.

An investigation.

My jaw locks. I press my foot down a little harder on the gas, then ease back when the truck in front of me slows.

Charli tracks everything. She always has. Notes stacked, schedules lined up, every detail accounted for. She doesn’t miss things. I'm sure that's how she runs her business.

I drum my fingers once against the wheel, then still them, forcing both hands back into place.

I need to understand what she's dealing with and maybe I can help her. That's all. Information gathering.

I grab my phone from the cup holder and scroll through contacts. Past Wells. Past Ridge. I stop on Gabe's name and hit call.

He answers on the second ring.

"Well, look who's alive. Where the hell have you been?"

"I've been a little tied up."

"You disappear for days, and don't answer texts. I hear that's your MO around here, but you can't do that shit to me."

"Gabe." My tone shifts, cutting through his casual bullshit. "This stays between us."

The change in my voice registers immediately. His tone matches mine.

"Done. What's going on?"