Chapter 40: Shadow Deal (Caleb POV)
Chapter 40: Shadow Deal (Caleb POV)
I am up early Monday, sitting in Diane's kitchen, coffee cold in my hand. The house is quiet, lights off, air still. Her words from last night, about meeting Miles tomorrow, are stuck in my head. My chest is tight, my hands are restless, and my boots tap the floor, soft but steady. The photo of me and Ryan is in my pocket, creased and warm, and my stomach twists, thinking about him, silent, sinking, with no call back. Diane's heels click down the hall, sharp and quick, and I stand slowly, the mug clattering in the sink.
She is in a suit, black and crisp, grabbing her keys, not looking at me. "Heading out," she says, her voice flat, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her hair is neat, her face blank, and she moves fast, like I am not even there. My throat is tight, and I nod slowly, watching her go. The door shuts, loud in the quiet, and I grab my jacket, worn and damp, slipping it on quickly. My truck keys jingle in my hand, cold metal biting my palm, and I am out, following her, needing to see this.
Her car is ahead, silver and sleek, pulling out smoothly onto the street. I keep back, my truck rumbling low, staying a block behind, my heart pounding hard. The city is waking up, cars honking, lights flicking on, but my eyes stay on her, tailing her tightly. Rain starts, soft at first, streaking the windshield, and I flip the wipers slowly, the glass squeaking. My hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, and my chest burns, mad and scared, knowing she is meeting Miles, about The Static, our loss.
She turns downtown, into a fancy part with tall buildings, glass shining wet, streets clean and wide. I follow slowly, parking roughly across from a sleek office, Carver Properties, his name bold on the sign. My stomach drops, cold and fast, and I kill the engine, sitting low, watching her park. She steps out, umbrella up, heels clicking, and heads inside, disappearing through the glass doors. My breath fogs the window, quick and hot, and I lean forward, fists tight, waiting.
The office gleams with big windows, lights bright inside, showing everything. I see her, Diane, sitting at a table, Miles across from her, his suit sharp, dark blue, tie knotted tight. Glass walls bounce the light, leather chairs shine, and papers are spread out between them, white and crisp. My hands shake, resting on the dash, and I squint, rain blurring the view, but I see it: Miles talking, his hands moving, pointing at the papers. Diane nods slowly, her face blank, listening like it is nothing. My chest burns hotter, and I mutter, "No way," my voice rough, low in the quiet cab.
I crack the window, cold air rushing in, rain tapping the roof, and I strain to watch. Miles leans back, smiling small, and slides a paper over, blueprints, maybe, with lines and shapes I cannot make out. My throat is tight, and I see The Static in my head, gutted, sign down, and now this, condos probably, his big plan. Diane's hand moves slowly, taking a pen, and my stomach twists hard, seeing her nod again. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms, and my breath is fast, fogging more glass.
"She is cashing in," I say loudly, my voice breaking, slamming a hand on the wheel. The horn blares, short and sharp, and I freeze, ducking lower, my heart jumping. They do not look, too far, too busy, and I sit back slowly, my chest heaving. The rain is heavier now, streaking the windshield, and my jacket is damp, sticking to me, cold and heavy. My mom, Diane, is selling out our fight, taking Miles's profit, and I am broke, stuck, watching it happen.
I grab my phone quickly, the screen glowing weak, and check for Ryan, nothing, still silent, drowning deeper. My throat is thick, and I shove it back in my pocket hard, feeling the photo crinkle against my leg. My hands shake, restless, and I wipe the windshield slowly, clearing a spot to see. Miles stands, shaking her hand, and Diane nods again, her suit crisp, like she is fine with it. My chest burns, hot and sharp, and I want to bust in, yell, stop it, but I am out here, useless, fists tight and empty.
The bar is gone, ours, Ryan's dad's, and now she is turning it into cash, her and Miles, laughing at us falling. My head is heavy, leaning on the wheel, and my breath is shaky, mad and hurt mixing up. The office shines, glass walls, warm light, and they sit again, papers piling, planning more. My stomach sinks, and I rub my face roughly, feeling the stubble, trying to breathe. Ryan is out there, no answer, no fight, and I am alone, watching my own mom stab us deeper.
I sit there, long, rain drumming steady, and my hands drop, limp on my lap. The truck is cold, the engine off, and my chest is hollow, watching them talk, maybe laughing, over our wreck. My throat is tight, my eyes stinging, and I blink hard, keeping it in. The photo is in my pocket, me and Ryan smiling, and my hand brushes it slowly, feeling the crease. My head is spinning, and I mutter, "She is killing us," my voice low, lost in the rain noise.
Then my phone buzzes sharply, cutting through, and I grab it fast, my heart jumping. It is Ryan, one word, Help, glowing on the screen. My chest stops, breath gone, and I stare, waiting, my thumb hovering. Seconds pass, five, ten, and nothing else comes, silence again. My hands shake, gripping the phone, and I look up, rain streaking, Diane still nodding inside, plotting with Miles.