Chapter 29 Reeves
TWENTY-NINE
Reeves
The Open Procession: Strangers fall in from the sidewalks as the second line passes. That is the tradition. The procession belongs to anyone willing to walk it.
I pull into the dock parking lot and cut the engine, but don't move. The air conditioning dies with the engine, and the July Gulf humidity pushes in immediately.
My shoulder throbs in time with my heartbeat.
Two pain pills roll into my palm. I toss them back with a swallow from the water bottle I grabbed on the way out. The bitter taste barely registers anymore.
Damn, I missed these things last night. Shaking the bottle, I hold it up to look at the remaining pills. I have enough to get me through tomorrow night. Tuesday at best.
Through the windshield, I watch dock workers moving cargo containers with practiced efficiency. The giant cranes swing their loads over the water, precise and controlled. No wasted motion.
Meanwhile, I can't even get out of my fucking truck.
Benjy waving from the top of the slide flashes through my head. His smile. His perfect little face. His complete trust that I'll be watching.
I grip the steering wheel harder.
A sharp rap on the window jerks me back. Ridge stands outside, arms crossed.
I push the door open and step into a wall of humidity. My shoulder protests as I swing out.
"Brother. Thought you might've skipped town and run back to the Teams without saying goodbye," Ridge says as he goes in for a handshake and wraps his other arm around my shoulders for our standard brotherly greeting.
"Not yet. Friday."
Ridge's eyes narrow slightly. "Heard your truck got towed in Bay St. Louis. What the fuck were you doing there?"
I roll my neck, stalling. "You know those 'NO PARKING' signs at the beach? Yeah, they're legit."
"Keller said you called for a driver, then canceled."
"It made more sense to stay. The tow yard opened early."
"Wait." Ridge grabs my arm, and my instinct kicks in. His palm slips off as I turn to face him. "You're still not answering the question of why your truck was towed in Bay St. Louis."
We stand between two shipping containers, voices echoing off metal walls. A forklift beeps somewhere to our right. The sun bounces off the metal and burns my eyes.
"I told you. I parked in the wrong spot."
Ridge crosses his arms. His jaw works like he's chewing on beef jerky. "But why were you there in the first place? That's an hour away."
I shrug. "Needed to clear my head."
Ridge falls into step beside me. "Isn't that where Charli Parsons is from?"
Busted.
"Yeah. Good memory."
"So you just happened to end up in the same town where Charli lives to clear your head?" His voice drops on her name, watching for my reaction.
My pulse jumps. The pills haven't kicked in yet, and sweat drips down my back.
I step past him, heading toward the Stone Intermodal satellite office. He stops walking, but I keep moving because I want the questions to stop. He catches up in three long strides, planting himself in front of me.
"Please tell me you aren't jumping back into that drama cesspool with her. You two couldn't decide if you hated each other or wanted to jump each other's bones from one second to the next. Surely you've outgrown that bullshit."
Some things never change.
"There's no drama, Ridge. Except your reaction to me seeing an ex-girlfriend." My voice sounds hollow even to me. She’s not just an ex. Not even close. And I’m sure as hell not opening that door. And there's that tiny detail of the fact that we share a son.
"Holy shit." Ridge's eyes widen slightly. "You saw her, didn't you?"
The noise from the docks fills the space between us. Cranes swing overhead. Men shout instructions. Metal clangs against metal.
"Yeah. I saw her." The words are thin against everything I’m not saying.
"Jesus, Reeves." Ridge rubs his hand over his face. "You can't just relax and enjoy your two weeks off, can you? Why would you see her?"
I stare at the ground. Benjy's laughter rings in my ears.
"It's complicated. But it's fine."
It's so not fine.
"And you're shipping out on Friday. What's the point?" Ridge continues. "You looking for one last blaze of chaos before you disappear again?"
The question hits closer than he knows.
"It wasn't like that." It was nothing like that. It was pancakes and pirate traps and my son's fingers wrapped around mine. It was Charli's breath against my neck while she slept.
Ridge studies me longer than normal, like he knows there’s more. His eyes narrow. I'd bet a hundred dollars he's trying to decide how far to push this.
"Fine," he says finally, exhaling hard through his nose. "Not my business. Let's talk about the security protocols I wanted to go over."
Good. He decided appropriately. We start walking again, the moment broken but not forgotten.
Ridge leads me through a maze of shipping containers, nodding at workers who step aside with quick salutes. The noise is constant—metal clanging, engines rumbling, orders shouted over radios. It's organized chaos, which I understand.
We reach a small office building at the edge of the container yard. Just outside, a glass-enclosed bulletin board catches my eye.
An Army Tank Show flyer is taped to the glass.
Sunday. Gulfport. Real tanks, climb inside, military gear on display.
That's only about a half hour from Benjy. And it's today.
I push it away. If this were a different life, one where I lived here and actually knew my son, I’d take him.
But I don't, so it's a moot point.
Inside the office, the industrial air conditioning is a wave of relief.
"Reeves, this is Buck Danfield. Head of our logistics tracking."
A lean man with salt-and-pepper hair and a paunchy gut extends his hand. I shake it, noting the firm grip as pain shoots up my arm.
"Stone's younger brother, huh? Ridge says you've got security experience."
"Navy. Different kind of security."
Buck nods like this makes sense. "Military precision would do us good. We've got blind spots in our operation. Since the, ah… Since losing Robert the way we did, we want to make sure everything is tight."
No one acknowledges Buck's stumble over our father's murder. Everyone moves on like he didn’t just say it.
Ridge gestures to a wall of monitors. "Buck has been working on upgrading our tracking system. We're still using outdated protocols from when Dad ran things."
I scan the screens, noting the camera positions, the digital tags on containers, the real-time movement logs. It's impressive, but I see the gaps immediately.
"Your camera coverage on the northeast corner has a dead zone. And your digital verification happens too late in the chain."
Buck glances at Ridge with raised eyebrows. "Told you."
Ridge smirks. "This is why I want you here, Reeves. You see things others miss. And I don’t have to micromanage you. No disrespect, Buck."
"None taken, Ridge. I can focus on logistics tracking with someone over the entire security operation. That would be the best way to run this."
"Let me show you the rest," Ridge continues.
We walk through a series of offices and monitoring stations. Ridge points out weaknesses, explains their expansion plans, and introduces me to key personnel. I listen, ask questions, and absorb the information.
It's a good strategy, solid business. Nothing like the adrenaline of a mission that rises and then ends.
"You'd have full control of security operations," Ridge explains as we step back outside. "Build your own team, implement your own systems. Make it yours."
"I already told you. I need to see where I stand with the Navy."
"Reeves, I know you know where things stand. But I also understand you want some time to think it through. I just wanted you to see what we have here so you can make an informed decision when you do."
The truth sits between us, uncontested. I hate that he always sees through me.
"Think about it," Ridge continues. "Instead of another deployment, another temporary assignment, you build it and manage it.”
The words echo what Charli offered years ago. Stability. A future in one place.
"I'll think about it."
“Hey. Did you read that piece Gus Thibodeaux did on Dad’s memorial?” Ridge asks.
"Who is Gus Thibodeaux?"
"Journalist at the New Orleans Chronicle. He's been interviewing all of us and the workers for a few months. I was nervous he was going to deliver a hatchet job, but it was actually nice."
Oh, the guy who approached me when I flew in. I do remember him, now.
"I didn't. I try to avoid reading about our family."
“Talked about the company, about us keeping it going. You should take a read.”
Doubt it. I don't answer, and he leaves it at that.
Ridge nods and puts his hands in his pockets. "Like I said before, I only ask that you tell me when you know you won't come back. Because I need to switch gears if not."
I look out at the harbor, ships waiting to be loaded, containers stacked like building blocks. Everything in its place, secure and accounted for.
"I will."
I move through the water with military precision. Push off the wall, glide, stroke, turn my head to breathe. Repeat. The underwater lights of the bunker pool cast everything in an eerie blue glow. There are no windows, no distractions. Just water and tile and the echo of my own movements.
My shoulder loosens slightly with each lap. The pain dulls from sharp to bearable. The water holds me up, takes the weight off joints that carry too much.
Breathe. Pull. Kick. Turn.
This used to quiet my mind. The rhythm, the focus. Not today.
I see Charli's face when she caught me with Benjy this morning. The hesitation before she smiled. The way she stepped back when I moved close in the kitchen, her eyes darting to the hallway where Benjy might appear.
Breathe. Pull. Kick. Turn.
My stroke breaks. I swallow a mouthful of chlorinated water and surface, coughing.
Fuck.
I resume my stroke, harder now. Pushing harder, like I can outrun it.
I have five days until I report back. Five days before I'm supposed to prep for a deployment that might not happen. Command already hinted at a medical discharge, and I'm probably looking at limited duty at best.
I don’t even know what I’d offer. Occasional visits when I'm stateside? Child support payments to a woman who built a life without needing my money?
Ridge’s offer sits in the back of my head. Security operations for the family company would be permanent. It's also exactly what I've refused to be a part of my entire life.
I hit the wall harder than I intend, my palm stinging with the impact. I flip and push off, lungs burning now.
I tell myself I'm respecting her boundaries, that I’m not complicating things for Benjy. But that’s not the whole truth.
I want to see them again.
I want to hear Benjy ask his endless questions. I want to watch Charli's face when she's not guarding her expressions.
I finish my final lap and pull myself up on the edge of the pool. Water streams from my body, pattering on the tile. I reach for my phone on the chair beside me, droplets falling on the screen as I unlock it.
There's a text from Gabe.
Hey, bro. Where have you been? I thought we were going to hang out. You've been MIA. Hit me up.
I swipe out of his texts. I don't have the bandwidth to figure out when I'll see him.
I click over to Charli's name instead.
I can't stop thinking about yesterday. About you. About Benjy. I want more time with both of you before I go.
The words glare back at me, raw and exposed. My jaw tightens. I swipe my thumb across the screen, erasing every letter. That's too much, too fast. Like the kiss on the patio last night.
I roll my shoulders and stare at my phone. Water drips from my hair onto the screen. I open a search engine and type in "TANK SHOW, GULFPORT, MS"
The information about the show loads, and I read through it. Benjy would love this.
I go back to the texts and pull up mine and Charli's. I try again.
Hey. I saw a flyer for a tank show in Gulfport. Thinking Benjy might like it –
I send before I can talk myself out of it. Then I write another before she has time to answer.
I'd love to take him. Or we could all go together. I know military stuff isn't exactly your idea of fun, but it might be cool to see it through Benjy's eyes. It's this afternoon if he doesn't get home from the aquarium too late?
The messages show delivered immediately.
Then read.
The typing indicator appears with three dots pulsing.
I watch them, suddenly aware of how quiet the bunker is. Just the gentle lap of water against the pool's edge and my breathing.
The dots disappear.
Minutes stretch. The notification light doesn't flash.
I set the phone down beside me, pick it back up to check that I have service.
I do.
She read it and chose not to answer. Or started to, then stopped.
I'm not sure which is worse.