Carrson stays quiet, but I can tell he’s listening.
“Once you’re out of school,” I continue, softer now, “once you’re actually the leader you could change things like that.”
He doesn’t move, but his attention doesn’t waver either. “That’s not how it works.”
“Isn’t it?” I counter. “You said it yourself. Whoever wins leads.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m in charge of everything.”
“No,” I say, “But it means you’re closer to it than anyone else.”
He gives his head a dismissive shake, “It’s not that simple.”
“But itisthat possible,” I answer, keeping my voice calm. I don’t want this turning into an argument. That won’t get me anywhere. “You’re already doing the hardest part,” I point out. “You’re winning. The rest…” I let the words trail. “The rest is deciding it’s worth it.”
He studies me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m really saying, what I want from him. “What exactly do you think I’d do with it?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away.
Because this is the part that matters.
“You’d make things better,” I say finally.
It’s vague on purpose. Safer that way. But the truth sits just beneath it, he could decide what gets saved. Who gets saved. How to fix things.
A faint curve touches his mouth again, but now it stays. “You think I’d suddenly care about that stuff?”
“No,” I say honestly, thinking back to what Lou told me, about how competitive he was as a kid. “I think you’d care about winning.”
His attention snaps to me.
“And if winning meant building a thing that actually mattered,” I add, quieter now, “you wouldn’t ignore it.”
He looks at me, really looks. Without breaking eye contact, I lean forward and rest my head against his leg. I prepare myself for him to stiffen, to push me away, but instead his hand comes down to slowly stroke my hair. My eyes slide shut from how good that feels.
Since the night downstairs, I’ve been off balance, but right now everything is calm. Quiet.
Like it’s all going to be alright.
Chapter thirty-four
Dazzling
Becky
Carrson sits on the floor next to me, our shoulders brushing, and together we sort through the rest of the paperwork in the office. When something catches our attention, we hold it up for each other to see.
He lifts a sheet that reads:
Twelve bottles of rum, twenty cartons of champagne,two adult elephants, three bicycles.
“That must’ve been one hell of a party,” he says, as one brow tips, a crooked grin forming.
“Two?” I laugh. “Who even orders elephants?”
“People with too much money and not enough supervision,” he replies, eyes crinkling.
We both laugh and it’s easy. Uncomplicated in a way nothing between us has ever been before.
