Chapter 5Cody
5
Cody
Fortuna Casino and Resort.
My place of work and play from age thirteen to twenty-two. Formerly.
Home of Lady Luck. Also formerly.
Comprised of two distinct structures with a road in between and an enclosed pedestrian bridge connecting them, the main arena of my adolescence stood wrapped in an insane amount of neon, flashing bulbs, and toxic nostalgia.
It was the first place I’d ever chased someone .
And punched someone.
Two separate someones, to be clear.
And it was stop one (of one) of my official breakup tour.
The forced air pressed against my newly exposed scalp on the sides of my head as I entered on the resort side, purposefully avoiding the main entrance. There were too many triggers and temptations to be found there, and I wasn’t sure of my limits yet. I ran my hand from forehead to nape, shivering at the short bristles as I amended my thoughts.
This was actually stop two of the tour, the first being the scene of my haircut.
I could only hope that the calm, sure energy that Liem Lott had graced me with then stayed with me for this one too.
A swarm of corporate types bathed in purple neon piled out of the theater’s double doors to my right, and I hurried my gait to avoid them, pulling the plastic grocery bag closer to my body.
I probably looked like a college kid working on a school project or something, but I would be more than happy to correct that impression the moment any of them looked sideways at me.
I was not in the mental space to be fucked with.
I was never in the mental space to be fucked with.
Being here, so close to the sets of my failed romance, put me on edge, but even as I waited for that edge to dull enough to give way to sadness, I sensed that it wouldn’t.
The Cody Desmond who last year had relentlessly pursued a contract musician while desperately hoping for change was gone. I left his remains behind when I disgracefully fled the cruise ship the moment my contract ended.
I sincerely hoped Austin would pour his ashes out into the Gulf so they could finally know peace.
Jesus. Fucking morbid.
I clutched the bag tighter as my gaze darted around the hallway before lingering subtly on the security camera in the corner of the ceiling, and I wondered if my dad was in his office, watching. Bree had subtly hinted a few times since I’d been back home that it might be good for me to talk with him, but I wasn’t so sure.
My circle of trust was a line, and it branched only to Bree.
A small voice whispered that I was starting to fold regarding both real-life Lott brothers, too, but I ignored it because even though I believed that Vinh was Bree’s endgame, what I knew for certain was that life was an asshole.
The patterned carpet on the next stretch of hallway always messed with my head, so I purposefully lifted my gaze to force it out of my peripheral as I made my way to The Magnolia Room, one of the seven convention halls on this side of Fortuna.
I shouldered my way inside, the sudden quiet of the dark, vacant room a contrast to the base-level noise of the main thoroughfares. I left the overhead lights off and went to the corner of the room purely on muscle memory, where I plopped down onto the blue-and-gold carpet that even darkness couldn’t mute.
With the plastic sack situated on my lap, I pulled out the small folded flyer announcing the summer-opening performance from Dyse — Austin’s band—and tucked it into the pot of the fake palm plant. There were no windows in the convention halls, so all the coastal-centric plants were artificial. So, as no one watered them, I had no idea how long it would take for my breakup talisman to be found—if it ever was—but that didn’t matter.
I was letting it, along with its few companions, go.
Resting my head back against the coarse, cool wall, I let the significance of the moment wash over me.
This was it.
This was the moment it would finally hit me that my first relationship was over.
That it failed.
That I failed.
Swallowing against the knot in my throat, I let the regret visit but shooed it away before it could linger.
Time ticked on, and my thoughts drifted to Bree and the new home she shared with the Lott brothers, and my eyes glistened as I thought of the family she’d made for herself in such a short time.
Ah.
I wiped at my face.
There was the sadness. It just wasn’t the type I expected.
After everything, Bree was happy. And I would only let myself be sad about that here, in the darkness of a vacant room.
Once I stepped out of here, I would carry only happiness about Cher finding her home without me.
Something bloomed at that thought, and it felt like a lifeline.
If your other half was happy, the distance to peace was surely closer to reach.
With only the slightest hesitance, I knocked on Dad’s office door before letting myself in.
It was second nature to will the whirring reels of slot machines and the sounds of casino games into the background, and I was relieved I hadn’t lost that instinct during my time away.
Even so, it was still a relief to close the heavy door behind me and silence the din completely.
I’d just finished my errand and had trashed the empty plastic bag on the way to Dad’s office. I’d visited each main set within Fortuna where I’d demanded Austin love me last summer, like some sort of fucked-up ghost of botched relationships past. The Fire and Ice bar, Caffeina—I had to hold my breath the entire time I was in there, lest I be tempted to give them my money—and two of the small stages tucked into corners of the bigger restaurants were all dealt with within half an hour.
It wasn’t all doom and gloom, though, as I got a little kick out of bewildering the people who recognized me each time I squirreled away an Austin talisman—which now basically functioned as grave markers—in locations that ranged from cleverly inconspicuous to awkwardly bold.
Like the broken drumstick I’d javelined into the middle of the Mardi Gras display in the center of the main lobby.
Dad sat back in his leather chair and grimaced at me as he held his phone pressed to his ear. Such a familiar sight, it was almost calming as I took a seat in front of his desk and cast my gaze around the office. Gone were the rows and columns of security monitors stacked along the wall that I associated with those scant visits here in my youth, the systems having been integrated and downsized to Dad’s three oversized computer monitors on one side of his massive desk.
Finished with my inspection of the room, I returned my gaze to my dad and paused at what I found there.
Frank Desmond had changed, though it had taken me until… this exact moment to realize it.
If I hit the gym more instead of just running off my carb binges on Mississippi’s man-made beaches, we would probably have identical shapes. Dad was a tall, broad-shouldered health nut with a penchant for overworking whose light-brown hair was rapidly graying at the temples.
He plopped his phone down amid the clutter on his desk. “Hi, son.”
I narrowed my eyes at the scattered papers. “Are you okay?” He was usually meticulous about keeping his working and living spaces tidy, so this clutter was disturbing.
His sigh was long, loud, and telling. “I’m fine. Just a long morning.”
Just a few months ago, I would’ve blown this off, but I was going to do things differently this year, dammit. So, I relaxed back in my seat, threaded my fingers together over my stomach, then raised my eyebrows at him.
And initiated a staring contest.
One that he, to my surprise and utter amusement, accepted after only a moment of hesitation.
I tapped my thumb against my stomach as the clock hanging on the wall ticked loudly.
The monitors on his desk toggled between cameras, flashing lights across his new wire-framed glasses every seven seconds.
His phone rang.
And was ignored.
He flared his nostrils.
I flared mine back.
His lips twitched, and something in my soul took a long overdue breath.
This may have been the longest I’d ever looked at him, which was maybe something worth thinking about.
Later.
Finally, he yielded the competition with a blink and a statement. “Work sucks.”
I nodded solemnly. “I know.”
A beat of silence followed before Dad thew his head back and laughed. “I don’t know if I feel cool or just old. You had that band’s poster in your room for so long.”
“Checkered Vans and Blink 182 were the foundations of my teenage aesthetic,” I agreed.
He laughed again and reached over his desk, turning a framed photo I’d never noticed before toward me. “I remember.”
I only let myself take in the photo briefly. It was me on my first day of eighth grade—the first school year after I decided to live with Dad and moved here from Louisiana—wearing a Hollister shirt with a bleach stain and frayed edges, a puka shell necklace, and a shitty attitude. Something intense must’ve shown on my face now, because my dad’s laughter abruptly fizzled.
“Why—” he started, but I stood up abruptly, and he didn’t complete his question.
It would be balls to sully my new leaf so quickly by ignoring myself, so I paced around the room and tried to ferret out the barrage of emotions that, once again, weren’t the ones I expected to feel today.
Tracing the gleaming wood of the high-backed chair with my finger, I rounded up my conclusions and gathered some courage. “I think I just….” I lifted my chin and braved his gaze. “I think I have just conditioned myself to not expect anyone but Bree to have, um....” I cringed at how I was about to finish that sentence and blew out a breath instead. “Talking is hard.”
His phone rang loudly again, and he reached out and silenced it. He didn’t even look to see who was calling.
The instant gratification that lit up inside me from having his full attention was like a boon, but then it fell in my stomach like a heavy weight.
“Cody, I notice you. I always have.” He ran his hand through his neatly styled hair, his eyes filled with regret. “I can only apologize that there was a time when you felt like I didn’t or wouldn’t.”
Nodding slowly as I processed that, it occurred to me that I said almost those exact words to Bree just a few months ago during one of my small breaks from the cruise ship. I brushed my palms down my thighs as if straightening my shorts. “I’m sorry too. I don’t think I gave you a fair chance from the beginning.”
His expression became sterner than I’d ever seen it. “I appreciate the sentiment, son, but no. You do not apologize to me.”
I swallowed thickly at the serious turn of this conversation. I really only intended to come in and say hey, like the smallest of baby steps. I’d stayed at his house some since being back, in my old room, but had barely seen him. Bree was going to have to pull out some embarrassing Polaroids of me in my early teens to even me out after all this vulnerability.
My stomach dropped out of my ass as I remembered that those Polaroids might be ash. The local fire department hadn’t allowed Bree to enter the remains of her grandmother’s house, and she wasn’t even sure if there was anything to salvage.
And probably never would.
Which bothered me. A lot.
“You’re wearing your Bree face.”
My eyes snapped up to my dad. “That’s a creepy thing to say,” I countered, rounding the seat and sitting again. “Tell me more.”
He snorted. “Whenever you think about her, you get this look. Kind of… hmm. How to describe it.” He threaded his fingers together and relaxed them on his desk. “Like a concerned dad who is also planning a bank heist.”
I slapped my hands on the arms of the chair and pushed off. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
And that’s probably the best note we could end this conversation on.
He stood up with me and rounded his desk. “Any chance you’re free for lunch this week?”
As we walked to the door together, I said, “Maybe. I’ve got some job hunting to do.”
“Well, you know?—”
I cut him a look, and he stopped mid-sentence, thankfully not finishing what we both knew would’ve been a fruitless offer.
I’d never work here again and would probably never come back after today.
Adolescence was truly over, and if there was one thing today’s excursion taught me, it was that the confusion and sadness I felt over losing and leaving this place was more intense, more painful than anything that happened on the cruise ship.
After a brief goodbye, I walked out of Dad’s office and through the flashing lights of the casino, only pausing briefly when I reached the magnolia trees inside the main lobby.
They looked awful. Sickly and wilted.
I wasn’t sure what my future looked like, but I knew what it wasn’t.
Grown indoors or lit by neon.