The media man lunged forwardjust slightly, “So he trusts you to keep things … running?”
I shrugged, as if it weren’t worth my attention. Like I wasn’t sitting at the center of the question.
“Someone has to make sure nothing falls apart while he’s gone.”
The attorney chuckled, but it didn’t land the same way this time. “That sounds like a promotion.”
I met his eyes — just long enough.
“Temporary responsibility,” I corrected.
Not denial and not confirmation.
The commissioner finally spoke, voice low.
“Temporary power has a way of becoming permanent.”
There it was: a warning or a challenge.
I leaned back slightly, folding my cards without even pretending to consider the hand.
“Only if someone lets it,” I said.
Then I pushed my chips forward — a small loss, intentional.
“Fold.”
The attorney pulled the pot again, but no one was watching the cards anymore.
The hallway was quieterthan the backrooms, carpeted and clean. I had a cigarette poised at my lips, ready to strike the match. My lighter mysteriously disappeared with my wife. It felt like déjà vu all over again. This time I had her, and that damned doctor followed. Pulling out my phone, I brought up her contact. My hand hovered over her number as I contemplated telling her how fucking sorry I was for losing Gabriella. How much my heart ached losing the last thread that held Summer to me. I would move heaven and hell to bring her home.
The tones from the ringer sounded in my ear as I waited for her to pick up. I lit the cigarette, waiting for something, anything, but there was nothing. It rang without an answer, and I sighed.
“Cole.”
I didn’t turn right away; instead, I took another inhale from the cigarette. I already knew who had said my name.
The commissioner stepped up beside me anyway, hands in his pockets, posture loose, but his tone far from it.
“You asked a lot of questions in there,” he said.
“I made conversation.”
“You don’t strike me as the type.”
He was right; I hated small talk. I glanced at him unimpressed, “You strike me as someone who pays too much attention to things that don’t concern him.”
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. I flicked some ash away as I leaned against the wall. Unbothered on the outside but bouncing with energy inward.
“Everything in that room concerns me.”
Of course it did.
I crossed one ankle over the other as if I had nowhere else to go, taking another hit of nicotine.
“What do you want?”
He studied me for a second; I continued my slow, unimpressed manner as I waited for it.
