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Lowell closed his eyes from his position in the divot of his gear bag, trying to pretend that there was a clear, wide-open blue sky above him, no walls or cars or concrete as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t as if he could just stroll out of the airport, dragging his bags behind him. The terminal itself was surrounded by airstrips, further surrounded by parking garages and surface lots, highways that curled around the property, leading to arrivals and pickup, probably full of families who remembered their loved ones at the airport instead of abandoning them to a cruel death beside the Mr. Toasty stand, which still was not open.
When the phone buzzed again, he ignored it successfully. It wasn’t as if it would make a difference. He was doomed to spend the rest of his brief existence roaming the halls of the empty airport, learning about the weather in places he would likely never get to visit again.
He hated this. He hated the uncertainty that had enveloped his life, hated being told that hecouldn’tdo something, that he couldn’t stay in his apartment, that his work visa was suddenly worthless. Every imprint at the publishing group that employed him was on hold, and all travel canceled as borders were closed because of the virus spreading through the human population, leaving him with nowhere he could go. All his work, a packed schedule that spanned months, was suddenly canceled. None of the friends he’d made across the world, who had so often stood in for the absent family he’d left behind, could take him in. He didn’t like being told he couldn’t do something, couldn’t go somewhere, the road in front of him suddenly curtailed. Lowell Hemming did not like standing still, and now that was all he could do — wait and be patient, two things at which he had never excelled.
“The current temperature in Phoenix is 82° with clear skies. Your local time is 10:02 a.m.”
He jolted when he realized how much time had passed since he’d dropped down onto his bag, getting lost in his head, as he often did. Time blindness, he once heard it called. Time usually meant very little to him, particularly when he changed time zones as often as he did, and even if he tended to let entire afternoons and evenings slip away from him when he was home, he told himself that didn’t matter. He was meticulous about setting multiple alarms and alerts to always be on time for flights and shoots. He never slept through an alarm. On the contrary, whenever he had something looming on his calendar, anxiety kicked in and kept him buzzing in an anxious state of waiting, too keyed up to even think about being late.
He palmed his phone when it buzzed again, realizing he’d never even looked at the previous message. The Mr. Toasty stand was still not open, and his stomach twisted in hunger.You’re not going to need to worry about your bags because you’re going to die of starvation first.
The message he’d not looked at had been from Trapp.
I’m pulling away to swing by for you, be ready.
Lowell read and reread the message several times, realizing that it had been nearly 40 minutes ago, and the second message that had just come through was also from Trapp.
If you’re not outside in two minutes, I’m leaving you
He sprung to his feet in one fluid movement, swinging his gear bag over his shoulder, scooping up his duffel, and grabbing the strap to his makeshift trolley of luggage. He knew this airport like the back of his hand, knew the fastest way to the arrival deck, and at that moment, his insider knowledge served him well. The outside of the terminal was just as eerily quiet as the interior, and even though the arrival gate was typically a congested mass of cars and trucks and busses, with travelers of every species pouring out of the doors and crossing through the lanes of traffic without heed, Trapp’s truck was the only one idling at the curb.
“You’d better hope like fuck there wasn’t a fire while I was gone.”
“Thank you,” Lowell blurted, slightly out of breath after racing to the exit doors from the main terminal and hauling his bags into the bed of the large truck while Trapp glowered in the rearview mirror. “Thank you for coming to get me. I hope this won’t get you in trouble.”
Trapp waved off the sentiment with a scoff, glancing into the rearview mirror before pulling away, leaving the terminal and the still-closed Mr. Toasty stand behind.
“The chief waved as I was pulling out, it’s fine. Why the fuck didn’t you let anyone know you needed to be picked up?! Like, yesterday before you left. None of us are mind readers, you know.”
Lowell blew out an exasperated breath, pulling the seatbelt across his chest as his brother navigated out of the winding airport road and back onto the highway.
“I’ve never had to make it a group project to coordinate before. Gray always picks me up! I texted him before I even left Tokyo! He never responded, and then he acted like it had nothing to do with him this morning. Healwayspicks me up. Why would I think this trip would be different? Why does he always have to be such a dick?”
Trapp’s wide mouth pressed into a hard, flat line, weaving through the meager traffic on the highway until he made it to the far left lane, accelerating substantially. Lowell glanced surreptitiously into the side view mirror, hoping his camera gear wouldn’t wind up bouncing out all over Bridgeton.
“Gray has a new job, did you know that? His office isn’t on Swansea anymore. So why are you staying with Jackson?” Trapp demanded, dark eyebrows pulled together in a furrow. “You just got done saying Gray always picks you up. And you’re right, he does. Because you always stay with him. So what made you decide to stay with Jackson this time?”
Lowell sputtered in outrage, realizing Trapp was turning this back on him.Fucking typical. Herefusedto take responsibility for this miscommunication. Jackson and Grayson had been ludicrously competitive over every little thing since childhood, and if they had not grown out of it, that wasn’t his problem.
“Because Jackson offered! He called me like two weeks ago and offered up their guest suite!”
Trapp shrugged. “Then I guess you have your answer. You should’ve made arrangements with Jackson.”
Lowell dropped his head back, closing his eyes. He was an adult, he reminded himself. He was an adult with his own life, far away from here, and he didn’t need to feed into the sibling dynamic he’d grown up with. It was astounding, he thought, just how quickly he regressed into a frustrated 10-year-old the second he was with any of his family.
“Fine, whatever. This is all my fault because I didn’t divine that Grayson was going to pick this random month to decide he has a singular feeling and that I hurt it somehow. How long am I going to be punished?”
Trapp shrugged again, grinning. “That’s going to depend, but you’re probably going to need to pick up some lip balm.”
Lowell closed his eyes once more, sighing. Grayson was, by fucking far, his most challenging sibling, the prickliest and most mercurial, with capricious moods. It would’ve been far easier to simply write him off as his least favorite brother, if Gray wasn’t also the only one who ever seemed to remember he existed.
He texted with his twin regularly, although phone conversations with Owen were rare. It was always a bit uncomfortable to tell strangers he was a twin. Popular culture insinuated he and Owen ought to have their own language, be able to sense when the other was hurt or sick, be each other’s constant confidant and the recipient of every secret, and reality did not match up to the widely-held assumption. Lowell didn’t tell Owen his every thought and innermost fear and wasn’t told his twin’s in turn. He suspected, as hard as it was to admit, that if they weren’t brothers, they’d likely not even be friends.
Liam was eighteen and in a world of his own, and Trapp, while being the most agreeable, tended to have a somewhat out-of-sight, out-of-mind mentality. He could count on one hand the number of times Jackson had called him out of the blue in the past six months, and it had been a surprise when he had offered up his home to Lowell last week.Should have fucking seen it coming.
Grayson, on the other hand, called him regularly. He kept odd hours, and tended to be up at the same time Lowell was on the other side of the world, texted to check up on him, to ask if he needed money or if he was traveling anywhere dangerous, kept him relatively up-to-date on the comings and goings of the family at large, and acted as an arbitrator between Lowell and their parents. Gray was and always had been the most difficult, but he’d always been the one Lowell had turned to, even when he was a child.And now you have to kiss his ass to get back in his good graces, just like you did when you were seven.He wouldn’t do it, he decided. He hadn’t done anythingwrong.
Grayson had never technically offered him a place to stay — he’d shown up on Gray’s doorstep shortly after his brother’s new house had been built, during a visit in which Lowell had decided that he would simply will himself out of existence if he had to stay under his parent’s roof, and Gray hadn’t said no.
