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I try him a couple more times as I dig around on my computer to find the address of Colson’s office, then hail a cab. The city has started putting up Christmas decorations already, long swathes of evergreen garlands and golden wreaths on all the lampposts, and I make a mental note to take Jonah on some Christmas light tours in December if we’re still together. He’d be like a little kid, begging for hot cocoa, bouncing all over the car to look out every window at once like it’s the most amazing shit he’s ever seen, then falling asleep on my shoulder on the way home.
Colson works on the other end of Manhattan, in a four-story stone building where the entire upper floor belongs to him. He’s had absolutely everything torn out and upgraded with ultra-modern decor and fixtures, I notice as I push open the door from the stairwell. His tastes haven't changed since we split up, and neither has his propensity to bulldoze anything that doesn't please him. His personal assistant, a young man around Jonah's age, frowns at me from the front desk, setting down his copy of Stephen King’sThe Stand.
“I need to speak with Mr. Strickland.”
“He’s busy.”
“He’s not too busy to see me.”
Just as the assistant starts to protest, Colson opens the door to his office. “It’s fine, Patrick. Come on in.”
Instead of sitting down when I enter, he just leans against the edge of his desk like he knows this isn’t going to take long, watching me thoughtfully. Despite the cold minimalism in the foyer, his office is stuffed with inviting furniture, paintings, and shelves of mementos, all the history and life mine doesn’t have. There’s a picture on the desk of Colson and another man on a beach at sunset.
“Let’s open discussions again,” I say, holding his gaze. “You’re going to tell me what your client wants, and I’m going to tell you what my client wants, and if you’re that determined not to let this go to trial, then you’re going to give us what we want.”
He crosses his arms. “Yeah, Gray? Is that how it’s going to go?”
“You know we have all the evidence we need to prove negligence. Your client is panicking and dragging innocent people into this. How does it feel to be working for corrupt bullshit like that?”
“You of all people would know, right?” he asks mildly, watching my expression fragment. Colson has never been an evil person. That’s what’s so difficult about him. He’s just enough of an idealist to want everything and enough of a pragmatist to get it. I know, before he says anything else, that I’ve lost. “So tell me, what does your client say? Have you spoken to him today? Maybe he’s not answering his phone.”
“What’s going on, Colson?”
“He settled last night in exchange for easing off the charges against Jackson Moreno.”
The darkness seeps slowly into my skin, my bones. “Hecan’tsettle. Not without his attorney present.”
“Not officially. But he agreed to a lot of things, Gray, and we have it all recorded. I hate to tell you, but if you had let him settle weeks ago, he would have gotten much better terms than he did.”
“God, Colson. Are you serious? That man has been through so much.”
“And now it’s over. He’s no longer tied to an attorney who’s using him to jack off some hard-on about single handedly righting all the world’s wrongs.” As I turn to go, he says my name more gently. “You should consider that job in Australia. If you stay here, you’re going to self-destruct and it will break that boy the way we broke each other. Is that what you want?”
I can feel it as I walk outside, onto the sidewalk crunchy with salt in advance of tonight’s snow. Something I haven’t felt since I moved to New York. That throbbing stutter in my chest, the breathless moment, less than a second and yet long enough to hold a whole lifetime of mistakes. Pressing a hand to my chest, I search for the deep, meditative breaths the doctor suggested could reduce stress palpitations. I cross the street to an empty bench and try to ground myself—sight, sound, the smell of waxy leaves and the decay of autumn. Memory. Jonah’s head on my chest.
But none of it’s doing anything.
Jonah
“Good job today.” My new boss, Rick, claps me on the shoulder as I pull on my jacket. “You’ve got a knack for machinery, don’t you?”
“I spent more time around tractors than cars, but I tried to pick up as much as I could.”
“I can teach the skills, but I can’t teach the instincts. You’ll come back tomorrow, right?”
I want to throw my arms around him, but I stick my hand in my pocket and save the freaking out to annoy Gray with later. “Of course. I had a lot of fun today.”
“And Jonah?” He taps his arm, the dark, rich brown of his skin. “I know how it feels to try to fit into this business when you look different. Let me know if anyone in my shop gives you trouble, because I won’t stand for that.”
I can barely breathe around the happiness in my chest as I step out into the purple evening. It smells like smoke and gasoline everywhere in this damn city, but the thick, hazy twilight turns the buildings into something magical. I pull out my phone to check for any messages from my parents, but there’s only a news notification—Oliver Shaw Lawsuit Ends in Settlement.
I read it probably ten times over. I even fucking Google the wordsettlementto make sure I didn’t understand it wrong. Then I call Gray. He doesn’t answer. Goddamn it.
It takes me ten minutes to find a cab in this out-of-the-way neighborhood, and another twenty minutes to ride back to the apartment. My leg bounces restlessly as I dial Gray every five minutes. His place sits empty, lights off and the blinds down, some bread crusts and an empty lunch meat packet still on the counter. I dig through his desk drawers to find my old security badge, the one I gave back when I quit my internship, and jog to his office. My new boots are starting to shred the edges of my feet, but I’m good at ignoring pain.
I know which window on the tower belongs to him, because I’m weird like that, and I can already see it’s dark. Even so I take the elevator up, just to make sure. A headache throbs behind my eyes as I stand in the empty office and struggle to catch my breath, pulling in air with soft, choking gulps. I’ve never been good at thinking, and I’m all out of ideas. Before I know what I’m doing, I crawl under Gray’s desk and wrap myself around the rolled-up sleeping bag that smells like him. It calms me down enough to figure out what to do next.
I’m out of cash for cab fares, so I Google pictures of dog fountains in New York City until I find Cooper on a map. He’s not too far away. I limp downstairs and set out through the cold evening.
