Chapter 20 Wes
THEN
The water is flat this morning. I shoot three frames from the balcony anyway. The camera finds the horizon. The horizon gives me nothing. Some mornings are like that.
Inside, Luca is on the couch with his laptop. The spreadsheet is open. He has been adjusting the weighted formula for fifteen minutes, muttering about a conditional override in a voice he does not realize I can hear through the open door.
"You can't add overrides without a vote," I call from the railing.
"The vote is me. I vote yes."
"That's a monarchy."
"A monarchy with a better spreadsheet." He glances up. "Your coffee is cold. I can see the steam not happening from here."
I bring the coffee inside. His hair is still damp from the shower, pushed up on one side. My gray T-shirt sits loosely on his shoulders. Saturday morning in this apartment.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Chapin
In town for Velasquez. Got your renewal extension papers. Mind if I swing by? Fifteen out.
I text back. Come up.
"Kyle's coming by," I say. "Fifteen minutes. He's got paperwork."
Luca looks up. "Cool. Tell him the Tempest's power play is an embarrassment and someone should answer for it."
"You tell him."
"Maybe I will." He goes back to the spreadsheet.
The buzzer goes. I open the front door. Kyle occupies the hallway, holding a manila folder, plus coffee from a place in Brickell.
"Wes." He grips my hand. "Thanks. I was going to mail them but since I was right here."
"Come in."
He walks past me into the apartment. Sets the folder on the counter. Sport coat over a polo. Phone in his back pocket. Kyle has been here before. He has sat on this couch. He knows the kitchen, the balcony, the view.
"Luca," he says, nodding toward the couch.
"Kyle." Luca raises a hand without getting up. "How's Velasquez?"
"Impatient. Which is normal for him. How's the wrist?"
"Good. Full rotation since last week."
"Glad to hear it." Kyle turns back to me and opens the folder. "Extension terms are clean. Same structure as last year. I flagged two clauses on page four, but nothing that should keep you up at night."
"Good."
He pulls the papers out and walks me through the playoff bonus clause.
I ask about the no-trade language. He explains the difference between a full and a modified.
Luca types on the couch. The apartment sounds like what it is.
Two men in a shared apartment on a Saturday morning while their agent handles business.
Kyle squares the papers on the counter. "Mind if I use your restroom?"
"Down the hall. Second door."
He walks past the kitchen. Past the living room. Into the hallway.
When he comes back, his face is different.
I see it before he speaks. The set of his jaw. The way he glances at Luca before looking at me with his hands at his sides and his posture careful. I don’t know what he saw, but that look tells me everything I need to know.
"Wes," he says. "Can I talk to you on the balcony for a minute?"
Luca's typing stops.
"Yeah," I say.
The balcony door slides shut behind us. The ocean is flat. The air is warm. Kyle puts both hands on the railing and looks at the water.
"Kyle."
"Give me a second." He does not turn around.
I give him ten. Fifteen. I let him have the water and the railing and whatever he is rearranging in his head. When he turns around his face is not angry. It is something I have not seen on him in the twelve years he’s been my agent.
"The guest room door was open. The bed had gear bags on it. Multiple. Nobody sleeps in your guest room, do they?" he asks.
"No."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Year and a half."
"A year and a half." He says it slowly. "And you told me it was a roommate situation. ‘The kid likes the setup. Saves him money.’"
"I know what I told you."
"I asked you to look out for him, Wes. I asked you to be a friend to a twenty-two-year-old kid who didn't know anyone in this city. I asked you because I trusted you."
"I know."
"And this is what happened."
I don't answer. I may not have broken a rule, but I broke Kyle’s trust.
"Why didn't you come to me?" he says.
"Because I didn't know how to say it. Because by the time I should have told you, it was already too late to figure out how."
"Is it serious?" He’s scrutinizing me.
"Yeah, it’s serious." I look him directly in the eye.
He nods. His hand goes to the back of his neck and stays there.
"Let's go inside," he says. "I want to talk to both of you."
We walk back through the balcony door. Luca is standing now. He has moved to the kitchen. His arms are crossed and his face is blank.
Kyle looks at him. Looks at me. Stands at the counter with the folder between us like a border.
"Luca," Kyle says. "I know about you and Wes."
"Okay," Luca says. He uncrosses his arms. Sets his hands flat on the counter. "So now you know."
"I need to say a few things," Kyle says. "To both of you. First, I am not going to be the person who makes this a problem. I need you both to hear that."
Neither of us speaks.
"Second, I represent both of you. That is a potential conflict I need to figure out. Whether I can keep repping both of you or whether one of you needs a different agent. That's my problem, not yours. I'll talk to the agency."
"Kyle," Luca says. "We don't want different agents."
"I hear you. And I'll try. But there may be questions I have to sit with and I'm going to give them the time they deserve. Fair?"
"Fair," I say.
"Third." He pauses. He looks at the hallway behind him.
"That guest room door was open. I wasn't looking for anything. I walked past it on the way to the bathroom and it was right there. Someone is going to visit this apartment, or ask the wrong question, or see something when you don’t think anyone is watching. "
"We know," Luca says.
"So you need a plan. And I don't mean eventually. I mean you need to sit down and decide how this comes out, because it is going to come out, and it should come out on your terms. Not on somebody else's."
The kitchen is quiet.
"We'll figure it out," I say.
"Figure it out soon." He picks up the folder. Taps it once on the counter. Looks at Luca. "You're a good player, Luca. I have never once regretted taking you on, so let’s figure out how to make this work."
"Thank you, Kyle."
"Let’s talk next week."
He grips my shoulder at the door. Firm. He holds it a beat longer than he has in twelve years. Then he is gone.
The door clicks shut. The apartment goes quiet.
Luca exhales. He leans back against the counter and his head tips toward the ceiling.
"Well," he starts. "That could have been worse."
"It could have been worse."
Luca brings his head back down and looks at me. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know yet."
He nods but doesn’t push. He walks to the couch and picks up his laptop and opens it, because that is what Luca does when the ground has moved and he needs a fixed point. The spreadsheet is where he left it with the conditional override.
A year and a half ago Kyle called me and asked me to be a friend to a kid who didn't know anyone in Miami. I said yes and meant it. I offered the guest room. The guest room became the story and the story held because nobody had a reason to look.
Kyle walked down a hallway on his way to the bathroom and the door was open because the door is always open.
I stopped thinking of that room as a bedroom over a year ago.
I did not think to close it. That is the part I am going to carry out of this morning.
Not that he saw it. That I forgot there was anything to see.
?