Page 47 of The KING Review

Chapter Fifteen

Undivided Attention

Grant

My survival of the next two weeks isn’t to do with anything resembling self-possession. Work is an endless churn of meetings, forms, and the kind of student emails that make you want to fake your own death and move to a lighthouse in Alaska. But the undercurrent—humming beneath every minute—is Neve Hart, dangerous and relentless and everywhere in my head.

Changeover day arrives too soon, and with all the gentle subtlety of a migraine. Sera goes to Marie’s. I’m alone in the apartment, the silence a kind of tinnitus, and none of my tricks for coping work. I stare at the ‘prescription’ Neve gave me, trying not to think about how sad it is, having kept it. I’m supposed to do something to make it easier. Be kind to myself.

So, I text Cade.

Me:

Drinks tonight? I could use a couple. Maybe Sky Loft?

Cade:

Why the hell would we throw money away at a bar when I have top shelf at home?

Come over. I’ll make you something with a stupid garnish, and we can talk shit about my wedding budget.

I can’t argue with that, so I pull on a hoodie and head over.

The walk to their place is brisk, and I use it to rehearse my lines—pretending I’m not going to spend the entire evening bracing for Neve to come up in conversation—they’re both too good at their jobs to believe there’s nothing going on between us if the subject comes up.

It’s not exactly that I’m worried they won’t approve or some archaic bullshit—but I’d like to have the discussion with Neve first.

Cade is in the kitchen when I arrive. I step in without knocking, because he told me to. He nods to me, flashing a smile as he shakes a cocktail like the world’s most indolent bartender. The place smells like orange peel and something herbal. Fia perches at the end of the kitchen island, laptop open, spine straight.

“Hey, man. I’ve got a Dark and Stormy with your name on it.” Cade sets the glass down in front of me.

I take a sip. It’s heavy on the ginger, but even more so on the rum. “You trying to kill me?”

He grins. “You’ll thank me when you can’t feel your face.”

Fia glances up, studying her fiancé, then me. “Should I go and work in the office?”

Cade just wordlessly slides her a sleek-looking martini like she’s royalty, and the corner of her mouth ticks as she fights a smile.

Cade and I fall into our old rhythm, the way we always do. He sets up an impromptu tonic bar on the kitchen counter, parading his obscure gins and homemade syrups, each one with a story longer than the actual pour.

He launches into a playful rant about the commodification of weddings, but it’s mostly because he’s been cornered by Liv into helping her make centerpieces out of “upcycled” wine bottles, which Fia agreed to.

“I guess I just want to know if this is how it starts,” he says with a chuckle. “Am I going to be handcrafting birdhouses by the time I’m forty because my wife said so?”

Fia cuts him a look, but doesn’t speak. I can see the smile hiding at the corners of her mouth.

I snort. “Not what happened when I turned forty, but who knows if I’m a great example.”

Cade laughs, then sobers, and there’s a quiet beat between us that feels like the hinterland of a more honest conversation.

The kitchen fills with the faint shushing of the dishwasher, the wet rattle of ice cubes in the shaker, and Fia’s typing. I almost relax. Cade has always been easy to talk to, not just because he’s a good listener, but because he never expects me to say anything confessional. He fills the silences with stories and conjecture about wedding budgets, burning through topics like kindling. I let the conversation run, and the drinks run with it.

At some point, Fia starts fact-checking his more outlandish claims, occasionally interjecting with flat, surgical corrections. It’s enough to keep Cade honest, which is a full-time job.

We eat and talk and, for a few brief, bright minutes, I revel in what it feels like to have a real, unpunctured friendship. A lot of friends withdrew after my divorce—never asserting to picking sides in so many words, but they chose Marie over me.

When I don’t respond to some joke Cade makes about wedding DJ disasters, he shoots me a sidelong glance. “You’re quiet tonight.”