Barrett considered this, then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
He reached into his suit jacket, produced a card, and slid it across the table to me. “This is my private number. If you need anything—legal advice, a contact, anything—call. Don’t go dark again, all right?”
I took the card, holding it between thumb and forefinger. The weight of it felt like a promise, a lifeline I hadn’t known I’d been missing.
He turned to leave, then paused. “And Carter?”
“Yeah?”
Barrett’s face cracked a real smile. “You look good. Happier than I’ve seen you in years.”
He left without another word, the diner door banging behind him. I watched him cross the lot, then get in his car.
Macon then squeezed my hand. “You okay?”
I looked at the card in my hand, then at him. “Yeah,” I said, and for the first time, I meant it.
We left the diner and walked into the sunlight, two men and a future that suddenly felt possible.
It wasn’t until we were halfway to the truck that I realized I still had Barrett’s business card in my hand. It was heavier than I expected, thick as a casino chip, and when I looked at it closer I saw the name of his personal attorney embossed in gunmetal foil across the front. There was a number on the back, and in neat, all-caps pen: “JUST IN CASE.”
I turned it over once, then again, like maybe if I stared long enough it would turn into an apology, or a map, or a ticket to some parallel universe where brothers hugged at Christmas and nobody ever had to run away to find out if they mattered.
Macon’s hand was warm and steady at the small of my back. He kept a step behind me, close enough to catch me if I staggered. Neither of us said a word. The sunlight had burned through the cloud cover and made everything outside sharp, almost painful.
Barrett was already waiting at his car, standing with one hand on the roof and the other in his pocket. He watched us come up, sunglasses back on, like he needed the extra barrier between us and whatever emotions were still leaking out.
He looked at me, then at Macon, then back at me again. “I’ll keep Dad occupied,” he said, voice low. “Give you a head start. Just let me know if you need anything. Seriously.”
I nodded, still not trusting myself to speak. There was a prickle at the corners of my eyes, the kind that warned me to either make a joke or bolt for the nearest fire exit.
Then Barrett did something I wasn’t prepared for: he leaned in and gave me a hug. Not a real one—more like the kind you see in airport arrivals, quick and tight and over before it could be misinterpreted. He patted my shoulder, then stepped back fast, like maybe he was allergic to displays of affection.
“Take care, Carter,” he said, and before I could ruin it by saying something stupid, he got in his car and drove away. The Mercedes glided out of the lot, the taillights flashing once as he hit the road.
I watched until the car disappeared behind the bank building, then let myself breathe.
We made it to Macon’s truck without incident. The inside was still warm from the sun, and the faint scent of coffee clung to the upholstery. I got in, shut the door, and stared at the card in my hand.
For a few seconds, everything in me went very, very still.
Then it was like the inside of my chest had been hollowed out and filled with something raw and weightless. My hands started to shake, and I pressed my palms flat to my knees, willing it to stop.
It didn’t.
Macon slid into the driver’s seat and waited, engine idling, like he already knew this was coming. He didn’t say anything,didn’t try to force my hand off the self-destruct button. He just sat there, the quiet presence of him filling up all the corners I didn’t know I still had.
I tried to hold it together. Made it almost a full minute before the first tear cut loose, hot and embarrassing. I wiped it away fast, but another took its place, and then another, until the inside of the cab blurred out and all I could do was cover my face and let it happen.
Macon reached across and laid a hand on the back of my neck, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles just below my hairline. He didn’t try to talk me down or tell me it was going to be okay. He just stayed there, the anchor point in a world that kept wanting to unspool.
I cried for longer than I’d ever admit. Not the kind of crying that leaves you hollow, but the kind that makes room for something else to come in. When it was over, I leaned back in the seat and let my head thump against the headrest.
“Sorry,” I said, voice croaky and small. “I don’t usually—”
He shook his head, thumb still on my skin. “Don’t apologize. Not to me.”
I wiped my face with the heel of my palm. “I thought he was coming to haul me back. Or blackmail me. Or something. But he just—” The words choked off, and I swallowed hard. “He just wanted to make sure I was okay.”
