Chapter 28Cody
28
Cody
Sunrises from the deck of the cruise ship in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico had to have been stunning.
I couldn’t recall any of them. Not a single one.
This morning’s display was a different story, as were all the sunrises since I’d learned how Liem Lott looked when he came.
Fucking glorious.
I’d woken well before dawn each morning and had even yearned for the first subtle rays of the day.
And I’d never yearned for shit before. Not a damn thing.
But when, on the fourth morning of waking up without Liem, he sent me a photo of the sunrise at the exact same moment I was about to do the same to him, I both yearned and swooned.
It branded me. It became a core memory.
I’d taken the photo for him from downtown Bay Springs while running with Dad. We were getting closer to Mordor each day, and he’d blessedly made no comment when I’d suddenly changed course to trek through the dew-tipped grass of the town square. He’d just followed quietly and waited beside me, stretching his quads while I tried to find a spot where I could capture the stunning pink-and-blue sunrise while keeping the weathered gazebo in frame.
As if the sight of the worn, white wood might lure Liem back home sooner.
I sent the photo and then put my phone back in the holder strapped to my arm Dad had gotten me after our first run together and thought about the phone calls and texts I’d been exchanging with Liem since that night on the beach, the memory of them carrying me through the last half hour of our run.
Our cooldown lap ended on Main Street, and we slowly halted in front of Bay Hall.
“Whatcha think?” Dad asked, angling his head toward the tall brick building.
I braced my hands on my knees, pulling in a deep lungful of air. The morning runs were getting easier, but it was like Dad knew when I wasn’t completely struggling and took it as a signal to push our pace harder.
“I think,” I panted, straightening as I wiped my hand across my forehead. “I think I’d rather do squats than this.”
Dad chuckled and stepped off the sidewalk as some pedestrians approached, and I did the same. “Why not both? We can grab a snack from here and then get a quick set in when we get back to the house.”
“Oh my God.” I threw my head back and whined to the wispy clouds. “You’re insane.”
But contrary to my theatrics, I reset my head and agreed to the plan. We walked together up the steps to Bay Hall, and as we reached the top, a thought I’d had more than once came back to me.
“This place isn’t wheelchair accessible.”
Dad glanced over his shoulder and down the steep brick steps. “Not even the back entrance?”
That stairwell flashed in my mind, conjuring the memory of Liem straddling my lap there. “Nope.” I breezed past him and shuffled around a group of laborers as they exited the building, coffees in hand.
No, those brick stairs were good for a select few things, but wheelchair access wasn’t one of them.
Dad caught up to me in line then, muttering to himself about the macros and health benefits of the items they had on display.
It seemed his conclusion for most of them was “minimal” and “dismal.”
I took a quick survey of my nerves but was pleased to find that my mind was clear and grounded in the present, evidenced by the easy glare I produced when a gaggle of men in suits tried to crowd too close to my back to read the menu. Once they backed up, I returned my attention to Dad.
“You should open a gym.” It wasn’t the first time I’d thrown the idea out there since we’d been plotting our futures together. “With a snack stand of food that is”—I waved a hand at the pastries behind the glass case—“dismal in different ways.”
He snorted. “And should that be my business slogan?”
I nodded, then smiled at him so he could be certain I was teasing. “Honesty is the best policy.”
We ordered our drinks then, and to Dad’s delight, I let him choose my snack. I could almost hear Liem’s voice like the little angel on my shoulder as I choked down the bran muffin a few minutes later.
“ That’s kind of you, Dezi. ”
And then I indulged the devil in me, remembering Liem’s face in the throes of pleasure, his lean torso contracting, and the muscles around his narrow shoulders flexing.
The mischief in his eyes every time he stopped stripping off articles of clothes, waiting for me to catch on to the game.
Little Beast.
My Ti Bet.
“What’s that look for?” Dad asked, cutting through the lusty fog I’d started to get lost in.
I shifted on the lumpy couch we’d commandeered and contorted my expression, as if that could confuse whatever my dad thought he’d seen. Even though we’d lived in the same house at the height of my puberty and he’d survived my angsty, horny rages, it didn’t mean I wanted to scar him now that I was an adult.
I mentally patted the angel on my shoulder and took advantage of another opportunity for kindness. “Just thinking about our upcoming workout.”
“Hmm,” he said, wiping his hands on some napkins from the coffee table in front of us. “Whatever you say, son. Wanna go see that bulletin board I told you about?”
“Sure.” I rose gingerly from the couch, my thigh and calf muscles tight as I followed Dad down the hallway of Bay Hall, our drinks in hand. We stopped between a set of elevators, where a bunch of papers were haphazardly tacked onto a board in a glass case. I glanced over the expired information about the Mardi Gras night parade—the BTB committee and their activities and meetings took up the most space on the board—and eventually found the listing for which suites were occupied and which were for lease.
Below that was a glossy piece of paper with a grainy photo of an open room with exposed brick and wooden beams with text above it that read:
LOFT FOR LEASE
I pressed my hand on the glass like a kid walking by a toy store at Christmas and leaned forward, squinting to read the tiny text below the listing.
Dad nudged my shoulder. “You looking for a place?”
I glanced at him and then returned my gaze to the photo, not even sure what I was doing. “The boat is fine.”
“Really?” Dad prodded, moving closer as he leaned in to see the listing. “You know, you kind of have the same expression now that you had on the couch a minute ago. Like you, umm, want to, umm… marry whatever you’re thinking about.”
I let my head fall beside my hand and onto the hard glass with a thud. “Stop looking at my face.”
Dad snorted and pulled me off the display. “Fine,” he said, but he took a photo of the listing, then gave me a wry smile. “Maybe I want to move to a renovated loft with factory windows and rooftop access. I did say I’ve been wanting a change.”
I scoffed even as excitement lit inside me at the details he listed. “You can’t have Jeanne and the kids there as easily, and there’s no room for a gym either.”
He shrugged, not at all put off by my implications. Interesting.
“If I open a gym downstairs, it wouldn’t matter.”
I took a sip of my drink and stared him down. “And the other thing?”
He looked away, frowning at the cluster of pinned papers. “To be determined, son.”
Looking back to the bulletins, I focused on my indistinct reflection instead of beyond it, wondering what expression I could make that would encourage him to confide in me.
Shaking it off, I decided it didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to practice my expressions in the mirror. My face was my face. I’d just use words instead.
“You can tell me, you know,” I said casually. “Whenever you want to. If there’s something to tell.”
He took a long sip of his own drink before smiling at me. “As can you, son.”
I took out my phone and took a photo of the bulletins, too, and then the contact number for the BTB as well, the start of an idea brewing in my mind.
Once we finished our drinks, we got in our separate vehicles and drove back to his house for a weight circuit. Right as I pulled into Dad’s driveway, a call from Vinh came in. Frowning, I put the truck in Neutral and engaged the break, then hesitated with my hand over the ignition.
Doomsday thoughts swarmed, and my heart suddenly clenched at the idea of something happening to—well, anyone.
I snapped out of it and accepted the call. “Vinh? Is everything okay?”
“Where are you right now?” he asked tonelessly, which did nothing to calm me down.
“My dad’s. Why?”
He sighed heavily into the phone. “I’m sorry to have to ask this, and Dad’s probably going to kill me for it, but can you go to my parents’ house?”
“Yes,” I answered immediately. “What happened?”
Dad appeared at my window then, a concerned look on his face. I held a finger up in a “hold on” gesture as I listened to Vinh.
“Dad fell again,” he explained, the strain finally showing in his tone. “And Bree and I are meeting with attorneys in Gulfport today. Mom is with her ladies’ church group this morning, and Dad forbade me from calling her. But he didn’t say anything about calling you, and with Liem in Gulf Shores, here we are.”
“Hey,” I assured him, “I’ve got it, and I’m headed there now. I’ll update you soon.”
“Thanks, Cody. I owe you one.”
“You don’t,” I said by way of farewell, then hung up and rolled down my window. I assumed it wasn’t so bad, since Vinh hadn’t called an ambulance, but I still explained the situation to Dad quickly and declined his offer to ride along.
I didn’t know Monny Lott well, but I was certain even one person outside of his immediate family seeing him in such a state would be painful for him.
The short drive to the Lott house passed in a blur, and I wasn’t even sure I turned off the truck as I shot out of it and cursed myself for not asking Vinh where his dad had fallen.
“Mr. Lott?” I called out as I cut a path through the yard and to the back. “Ah, shit,” I muttered in alarm as I spotted a leg poking out from beneath a rosebush.
I hurried over to him, navigating my way through a myriad of yard tools scattered on the ground, and relaxed exponentially when I met his gaze, which was clear and alert.
We stared at each other for several moments—him stranded on the ground and covered in dirt and me hovering above him—as a wheel spun in my brain, whirring past the plethora of possibilities of what kind of tone this interaction would have.
I crouched down and picked up a red petal from the dirt. “Stopping to smell the roses, sir?”
He huffed and countered, “And you’re just by for a visit?”
I shrugged, pocketing the petal. “I had an envie for a biscuit,” I ventured, thickening my accent on the French Cajun equivalent of “hankering” before continuing, “With Ari’s closed, I thought I’d come looking for one here. But apparently the owners are on holiday, leisurely tending their gardens. I fear I’ll never get a biscuit now.”
Holding his gaze and my breath, I sent up a silent prayer to the universe that I hadn’t taken the wrong bet.
But then Monny snorted in amusement before turning onto his side and propping his head on his hand. “All right, kid. And remember, it’s Monny. Help me up, and we can get something going.”
“Sounds good, Monny,” I said through a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound too relieved. “Tell me what to do.”
“ Monroe Lott !” a voice called, startling us both.
“Ah, shit,” Monny cursed under his breath, exactly as I had. “Any chance you can bury me under these bushes real quick like?”
I grimaced at him before whispering back, “I don’t think there’s time.”
“ Oh ,” Mrs. Lott said in surprise, stopping a few feet from us. “Hello, Cody.”
I sent her a little wave from my crouched position, but for some reason, I didn’t stand up. “Hi, Mrs. Lott.” Why did I suddenly feel like a co-conspirator?
She smiled tightly at me and then turned her stern gaze to her husband. “Monroe,” she started, taking a few steps closer. “What did I tell you about doing yard work without someone here?”
“Carebear,” he responded. “How was brunch?”
She narrowed her eyes, and I felt that same wheel spinning again, so I made another bet.
“Mrs. Lott, I was just going to take Monny inside. He agreed to help me learn how to make biscuits today.”
She turned her gaze to me, her expression so fierce that I almost regretted speaking. But then Monny patted my shoe as if in silent thanks, and I stood up from my crouched position, knees popping as I went.
Mrs. Lott took us both in for a moment. “Very well, but remember your promise, Monroe.” She eyed him dubiously, but I thought I detected the slightest hint of amusement beneath it. Very far beneath it. “No more special biscuits until Easter.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.
“And no more yard work alone.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to me. “You’ve got him?”
“Yes ma’am,” I parroted, a good soldier right alongside Monny.
With a nod and a brief smile for me, she left us to it.
I glanced at Monny. “We better hurry. I’m getting peckish. Tell me what to do.”
And he did. With minimal fuss and a half dozen attempts at thanking me—each of which I ruthlessly cut down with idle chatter—we got him back into his wheelchair and inside. He took off his prosthetic once he was situated, and then I wheeled him to his bathroom, leaving him to clean up.
I shot a quick text to Vinh and then to my dad on the way outside to clean up the abandoned tools, letting them know all was well. On my way back in, I kicked off my shoes by the back door and then went to the kitchen to wash my hands.
Mrs. Lott came into the room then, her subtle perfume somehow comforting despite how intimidating she was. She squeezed my shoulder as she passed by. “Thank you, Cody.”
I stood frozen for a moment as the suds on my hands were washed away, and then I turned off the tap. Mrs. Lott pulled out several bowls from the cabinets beside and below me as I answered, “Any time.”
She placed the bowls on the counter, then leaned against it. “You don’t need to feel obligated to stay. I’m sure you have things to do today.”
My heart sank to the linoleum. Lowering my gaze as I dried my hands on the towel hung over the oven’s handle, I grappled for a response, unsure if she meant it as a dismissal or a blunt courtesy.
Or both.
The wheel spun for a third time as I scrunched my socked feet against the slippery floor before landing on honesty. This was Liem’s mother. Surely the person who made him was good. “I’d like to learn how to make the biscuits,” I said quietly, then raised my head. “If that’s okay?”
Her smile was reassuring. “That is more than okay. I did not mean to imply that you aren’t welcome.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that I had no choice but to accept her word. I smiled back, and she sprang right back into action. “I’ll get out all the items you will need. Do you have any favorite biscuits from the restaurant?”
I relaxed further as I answered that question, plus more of them that had nothing to do with biscuits, marveling at the way she seemed genuinely interested in my answers.
By the time Monny wheeled into the kitchen, I thought Cara Lott might know more about me than I did.
We both glanced at him briefly, on the same page about not showing too much concern, but he didn’t give us any reason to worry as he clapped his hands together. “Ya ready to learn the Lott family secrets?”
“Yes, sir.” He had no idea how true that was.
Mrs. Lott squeezed my arm once more as she left, and a couple hours later, I had a full stomach, sides that hurt from laughing at Monny’s endless jokes, and—most surprising of all—a freshly lit vat of outrage. After we said our goodbyes and I thanked them for the food they bundled into my arms, I drove right back to Dad’s house and had pulled into the driveway before I remembered that he’d be at work by now.
With a groan, I did the thing I thought I’d never do again and drove to Fortuna, where I walked straight to his office with a plastic container of biscuits in one hand and a glass jar of homemade fig preserves clutched in the other.
“Dad,” I said by way of greeting after he let me in, looking bewildered.
“Hey, Rich, I’m gonna have to call you back. No. Yes. I really am,” he said in a firm tone before clicking his earpiece to end whatever call he’d been on, then taking the piece out completely.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Those damn steps,” I said, plopping the biscuits and preserves down on his desk. “Why isn’t there a damn ramp? Someone could hurt themselves.” I started pacing his office, waving my hands in front of me as I spoke. “And not only that, but why can’t everyone just go in and get a damn coffee if they want to? Even if it’s not as good as Caffeina.”
Dad nodded slowly, doing his best to act like he was on the same planet as me.
“I need the name and number of that building manager, if you have it,” I said as I walked over to his desk and peeled off the lid to the container. “That’s what I meant to say.”
I shoved a biscuit into my mouth, hoping its half dozen fellows would make room for it in my stomach. “Want one?” I garbled around a mouthful, imagining Bree’s look of disgust. “They’re dismal.”
Dad laughed but accepted the biscuit and sat down at his desk to eat it with far more grace than I could muster.
Especially with the outrage still burning inside me.
I don’t know why it overcame me so suddenly or how its grip was so tight, but now that it was there, it would not be ignored.
Dad reached over and got another biscuit from the container as he scrolled his phone. “Here it is, though I’m not sure calling them will help.”
“Why not?” I asked, the fire under my ass cooling slightly.
“Because I already did.”
Stunned, I sat back in my chair. “When?”
“After you left. I called to gather some basic information and see how the downtown businesses were divided and how ownership worked.” He took another bite of his second biscuit and moaned obscenely, and I bore it as penance for my earlier lusty face. “That is so good. Gonna have to run this evening.”
“I’ll join you.”
“Right,” he said, dusting off his hands. “I already asked about the stairs. The gentleman on the phone said that Bay Hall was, in fact, accessible by wheelchair.”
I scoffed. “How do they figure?”
Dad looked more and more unimpressed the longer he spoke. “They say there’s a lift that can be used to get to the stairs.”
I threw my hands in the air. “And who operates it? Where even is it?”
“I asked the same questions,” he replied grimly. “Apparently it’s at the back of the connecting building, and you have to call ahead to request it.”
“That’s some bullshit.” I imagined Monny—proud, funny Monny—going through all of that for a fucking cup of coffee or an empanada. My mood wasn’t helped by the knowledge that before spending time with him, I’d only felt mild annoyance at the steps. “And they won’t put in a ramp?”
Dad was cleaning his hands with a wet wipe as he replied, “I asked that too. He said they were expensive.”
My first instinct was to take my anger out on Dad, but I knew he was on my side. He’d gone out of his way to check on something before I’d even realized how important it was to me.
I met his gaze across the desk, our positions so like my last visit, which was hardly any time ago at all but felt like a completely different life.
And maybe it was.
“We should buy the building,” I said as if I wasn’t a twenty-three-year-old without a job or degree.
Frank Desmond, on the other hand….
Dad took off his glasses, produced a lens cloth from his suit pocket, and cleaned them thoroughly. He put them back on his face, leaned forward on his elbows, and then stopped my heart with a smile.
“I think you’re onto something.”
I smiled hugely. “And I’m calling the head of the BTB committee.”