Corrupt

by Chase Potter

  I swallow hard. It’s not easy to hear it like that. “Um, yeah. I guess.”

  Carson nods. “Cool.”

  * * * * *

  I’ve typed out and deleted messages three times, but finally I opt for something simple. Hey.

  Alex doesn’t make me wait long, and my phone buzzes with the incoming message. Three days and nothing from you. I was getting worried.

  That’s how long it took me to work up the courage to text him. I lie back on my bed, holding my phone above me so it’s outlined against the ceiling. My stomach churns.

  Sorry, busy at work. I feel guilty for the lie. Work is distinctly not busy these days. For all the time I’ve spent squirreled at home and in my office, I haven’t really made any recent progress on the loft project. Alex is primarily responsible for that, for various reasons.

  You doing okay?

  My thumb hovers over the screen. How can I answer that honestly? I think for a moment and then text him back. I’d be better if I could see you.

  I’m busy with work tonight and tomorrow. How about Saturday?

  Despite the nagging fear that Alex’s “work” might have something to do with digging through years of city records, I can’t stop the smile that sneaks onto my face, and I feel like a conspirator as I type out: Sure, Carson is on a field trip all weekend.

  Alex sends back a winking face, and now I’m grinning like a fool.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Friday, the first of December. Carson’s birthday.

  I’m up before he is, and I make sure to make the coffee good and strong. This is something in the kitchen that he still lets me do. The first rays of dawn tiptoe through the sprawling glass window as I wait for the coffee to brew. The maker sputters and gurgles, and the line of liquid black begins to fall into the pot.

  Leaning against the counter, I let the last several days roll around my head. I slept with Alex, got threatened by James, and had a more heartfelt conversation with Carson than I have in years. Maybe ever. After knowing him as a child for so long, it feels strange to see him suddenly as a mature young man. Of course he must have been changing all along, but until the other day, I don’t know if I ever saw it clearly.

  In a flare of understanding, I realize how proud of him I am, and that sentiment reverberates with warmth inside me. It’s the counterpoint to the nagging anxiety that Alex might be getting close to the truth about how I got to where I am. But then again, he might never come to the right conclusion.

  It’s that last part that I cling to, the hope that he’ll plod through his investigation — interrogate the city council members, pore over city records, turn over every loose stone — but find nothing. Maybe it’s foolish to think that, but it’s the only thing keeping me sane. And the only shred of hope that what I’ve found with him has a future.

  From the cabinet above the refrigerator, I take out the wrapped box I stashed there a few days ago. Setting it on the counter, I pour a cup of coffee, and the scent rises with a curl of steam. I add just a dab of cream — the real stuff, full fat heavy whipping cream — and then I tuck the box under my arm and lift the mug from the counter.

  At Carson’s door, I knock softly twice, and then I wait, because he’s a teenager after all. I remember all too well what that was like, and I’ve always been careful not to risk interrupting that, especially on his birthday of all days.

  When the safety fifteen seconds have passed, I knock again and open the door. The room is suffused in stuffy darkness and Carson is sprawled out fast asleep. He must have thrown the covers off in the night, and he’s wearing a pair of Donald Duck boxers he should have thrown away years ago. His arms are clutched around a second pillow, and his legs are spread out at awkward angles.

  I sit at the edge of his bed and set the wrapped package next to him. He stirs, and his eyes flicker open, settling first on me and then on the mug of coffee.

  “Matt,” he grumbles. “It’s early.”

  “Happy birthday.” I nudge the package closer to him, and the corner pokes him in the hip.

  Only then does he seem to notice that he’s half naked, and he pulls the sheet up to his waist as he sits up. “Do you have to wake me up every year at six on my birthday?” he asks through a yawn.

  “It’s tradition.” I hand him the coffee mug, and he takes a sip.

  “Shouldn’t there be some perk for being a teenager? We need more sleep,” he argues.

  “The coffee is a perk. And also that I waited after I knocked. You never know what I might walk in on.” I smirk.

  “Shut up.” He turns red and scowls. But he’s already eyeing up the package and the wrapping paper with blue and gold party hats. Carson sits up a little straighter and sets his coffee on the bedside table before pulling the box onto his lap. “It’s heavy,” he says, and the words betray his curiosity.

  “Yep.”

  He glances at me, but he knows better than to ask what it is.

  Like with everything else, he’s meticulous, and his fingers tug at the taped folds of the paper. One by one, they let loose, and under his insistent pulling, the wrapping paper shimmies off the box. In the dim morning light slipping through the blinds, he lets out a low whistle.

  “Wow, Matt. This is…” his voice trails, almost as if he’s afraid to say it.

  I’m grinning, and giddiness tingles in my fingers. I can’t help but finish the sentence for him. “A twenty-three piece German drop-forged steel knife set.”

  “I figured you’d get me knives eventually,” he says, turning the box with reverence. “But… this is like one of the best sets you can buy. You even got ones with blackwood handles. It must have cost a fortune.”

  “Nah,” I say, and I take a moment just to watch Carson. I like that his dark hair is a mess, and I like the way he smiles as he leans back against the headboard, and I like the way he looks back at me. Silence filters into the space between us, and I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of pride.

  “Thanks, Matt,” he finally says. “I love it.”

  For the briefest instant, I think he’s going to lean over and hug me or something. But then I remember that he’s a teenager and he’s already exceeded his yearly quota of affection. I’m okay with that.

  “I’m glad,” I tell him.

  “Too bad I won’t be able to use them until Sunday.”

  It takes me a second to recall that he’s leaving this morning for his weekend field trip to Chicago. “They’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

  “Quality knives need special care.” He levels his gaze against me, and he’s abruptly serious. “Don’t open them without me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I tell him, and I’m caught by the sudden desire to ruffle up his hair. I shouldn’t. It’s his birthday and he’s seventeen now, but I reach out and do it anyway.

  He pulls away. “Stop that!”

  * * * * *

  From the beginning of the workday when I pass Edith plugging away at her keyboard — I’m expecting at any moment that Alex will burst through the door. I have no idea if he’ll be charging in to have me arrested or confess that he can’t wait until after work to see me, but still I wait.

  I’ve stopped working on the loft project completely, and the hours spent in my desk are a façade. I’m not running a business anymore, I’m shutting one down. Even if Alex doesn’t end up bringing the swift hammer of the law down on me, I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to lie awake at night wondering what the hell Carson would do if I get sent to prison.

  Foster care? I can’t stomach the thought. Especially because I’m the one who put us in this situation.

  My gaze drifts from my desk and out the window. The dragging hours of afternoon have covered the city in a polluted haze, and it reminds me of how I feel inside. Not awful but not good either, and on the verge of a potentially serious problem. At the very least, I know that Carson will be taken care of financially. I’ve set up college funds for him that will cover tuition at
even the most expensive schools.

  But a free college ride can’t make up for having your only family broken apart. Again.

  Far in the distance, a 747 begins its decent toward the airport, and I watch as it sinks toward the earth. When it passes out of view, I pick up the pen I’ve been rolling back and forth on my desk. I haven’t had much work to do these last few days. I’ve let two potential clients know that I won’t be able to do any work for them, I’ve paid off all the outstanding contracts for my last completed project, and I’ve negotiated for other developers to take over a couple of nearly completed smaller jobs. It was lucky that I wasn’t in the middle of something big, because those projects are all but impossible to get out of.

  With the exception of Edith, I work almost exclusively with contractors. It was far more expensive to do business that way, but it always kept anyone from getting to know my company too well. And right now it’s convenient, because the sound of my company shutting down is nothing more than a morose silence.

  I sigh, and my eyes wander away from the city and to where Edith is working at her computer. It’s an unfortunate end to the business I’ve spent nearly a decade building, but I can’t pretend I don’t deserve it.

  * * * * *

  It’s a quarter past seven and the late autumn night has settled over the city when I buzz Alex into my building. Pacing back and forth as I wait for him to get to my condo, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. It shouldn’t take long for him to take the elevator up, but it’s already been like — I check my phone — two minutes.

  Jesus, Matt, settle down.

  I take a deliberate breath, and a knock on the door makes me jump. I wipe my hands on my jeans one more time before opening the door. I don’t know what I was expecting, but Alex manages to steal the breath right out of me. His coat is draped over his arm, revealing a black t-shirt that has to stretch just a little across his chest, and his jeans are filled out pretty damn well too. His short hair is styled immaculately, and that perfect stubble is somehow more manicured than normal. Golden green eyes press their gaze against me, and I can just detect the hint of cologne.

  He raises an eyebrow. “You going to let me in?”

  “Shit, sorry.” I stand aside and he walks past. I let the door shut, and the sound is too loud and too close. Obviously he hasn’t figured anything out yet. I vigorously rub my palms against my jeans again, but they’re still just as sweaty as before. Why am I so nervous?

  We’ve had sex once already, so I don’t get how this is any different. Inside, a tiny voice whispers, because he’s going to find out about you. I ignore it and take a pair of glasses from my liquor cabinet. “You want a drink?” I uncap my most expensive bottle of whiskey.

  “…sure.” Alex’s reply is distant, and I realize too late that he’s wandering into the living room and toward my Lego sets. Shit. Who knew that the sudden and bitter end to our relationship was going to be him realizing that I’m a colossal dork?

  “Um, those are…” I stutter, trying to head him off. “Those are just…”

  “Awesome.” He throws a hasty glance back at me, but only for a second because he’s drawn toward the sets like a bear to honey. “Dude, you have a Millennium Falcon,” his voice is humbled by awe. “These are so rare… How did you get one?”

  Letting down my guard, I allow myself a smirk as I drop a pair of ice cubes into each glass. “I know how to get things done.”

  “Yeah…” He sounds like he’s lightyears away.

  Coming up beside him, I offer him the glass. Distracted eyes jump to it and then to me, and after he takes a sip, he asks, “Can I touch it?”

  I grin. “You didn’t ask that last time.” I wait until his confusion turns into a blush before I add, “Of course.”

  I would tell him to be gentle like I always do with Carson, but the admiration in his voice is proof enough that he’ll be careful with it.

  Alex sets down his glass between the Death Star and the Rebel Snow Speeder, apparently not yet having had the chance to examine anything besides the Falcon. He lifts it off the shelf, and in his grasp it sinks half an inch like a stalled plane lurching in the air. “It’s heavy,” he exclaims.

  “Twenty-two pounds.” Basking in his appreciation of my dorky hobby, I take a drink. The dark liquor swishes across my tongue, and a smooth burn sinks down my throat.

  Alex sets the Falcon back down and for first time seems to notice the other sets. He gawks, and I take another drink. “Would you like some time alone with them?”

  He turns to me, blushing again. “Sorry. I just used to be super into these when I was younger, but I could never afford the big ones. And definitely not rare sets like these.”

  The look he’s giving me — that mix of admiration and wistful nostalgia — is so completely adorable that I can’t hold back any longer. And there’s really no point after all. I’m past trying to convince myself that this thing we have isn’t exactly what I want.

  Setting my glass on the mantle, I lean over and kiss him. Just once, a quick pull on his lips and barely a taste.

  “Is that all I get?”

  My fingers tug twice in succession on his shirt where the fabric crosses his stomach. “Come on.” And just in case I still need to convince him, I brush my lips over the stubble on his cheek. He nuzzles into my neck and lets me pull him toward me. Detouring around the coffee table, I pull him down with me onto the couch.

  He’s lying on top of me now, and he pushes himself up so he can look straight down into my eyes. “What?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been doing a bad job of hiding my grin. “What?”

  My amusement turns sheepish. “I kind of like that you always have to look up to see me.”

  He snorts. “I’m not that short!”

  I grin. “Pint-size.”

  Alex slugs me in the shoulder, and I groan. “Keep it up and you’re not getting lucky tonight.”

  Lifting my head, I playfully nibble the end of his nose. “I use skill, not luck.”

  He moves out of range of my teeth, and then he laughs. “You’re a bit of a cocky shit, you know that?”

  “So shut me up.”

  He does. And he somehow manages to get my shirt off while he’s doing it. His hands roam over my chest, paying particular attention to my abs, my pecs, and the v-lines that dip toward my crotch.

  “Hey,” I complain, breaking away from his delicious lips. “Not fair. You still have all your clothes on.”

  He flashes a smirk. “I thought you had skill?” And in retaliation from earlier, he sticks out his tongue and licks a line from the tip of my nose up to my eyebrows.

  The wetness tickles against the air, and I bring a hand up to wipe it away. Except I misjudge the distance and clock him right in the jaw. The sound of the impact is hollow for half a second before his mouth shuts and his expression reflects hurt.

  My eyes widen. “Oh shit, are you okay?”

  Alex opens his mouth and pulls his tongue to the side with two fingers, revealing a pair of dark red spots. Mouth half open and tongue held by the tip, he explains, “Ah bit ma tong.”

  A laugh sneaks out of me before I can silence it. “Sorry,” I say quickly.

  He lets go of his tongue “Snarky and a sadist? You are a bad guy, Matt.” He grins.

  “More true than you know.” I force myself to make a surly face to cover up the truth of what I’ve just said.

  Not wasting a single second, Alex leans forward to kiss me, swift and abrupt. He lightly bites my lip as he pulls away, and I get the clear impression that he’s not afraid of being with a bad guy.

  His hands are moving across my stomach again, tracing the lines they find there. What he’s doing is making things happen in my jeans, and unless he’s completely blind, I’m pretty sure he knows it. Unlike the last time we fooled around though, I’m not in the same kind of rush.

  I’m horny as hell, yeah, but mostly that’s just because Alex is, well… “You’re a fucking fox,” I tell him, giving him a
momentary glimpse into my thoughts.

  “Oh you think so, huh?” His fingers stop, the tips just under the top of my jeans, and silently I curse myself for halting his advance. Completely out of my control, my hips tip forward, lifting him up just a bit. He seems amused. “And what are you going to do about that?” he teases me.

  “I’m going to do unspeakable things to you until you can’t take it anymore,” I whisper, and I’m not really kidding. “And then I’ll keep going.”

  I push him back into a kneeling position as I sit up. He sits back on his heels, pinning down my legs as I yank his shirt up and over his head. I toss it onto the coffee table and then I just look. He’s in great shape, and since his muscles don’t have to spread across a lanky frame, they just bunch up next to each other. Just like his facial hair, his chest has this perfect covering of short hairs. They’re dark brown, and I’m convinced he could be a model if he wanted… in some magazine about gorgeous short guys or something.

  Because of the way he’s sitting, his skin bunches up along the waistband of his jeans, and he catches me looking. He moves a self-conscious hand in front of his stomach. “Don’t look at my fat,” he complains.

  “That’s skin.”

  “Seriously!”

  My hips stir restlessly, and I roll my eyes. “You have the body fat of a humming bird. Now come here.” He tries to resist, but I drag him back onto me and bring my lips to his. That stubbly chest just rubs against mine, and my dick fights to break out of my jeans. I grind my hips against his crotch, and he presses back. It’s a good pressure, but I want more. A lot more.

  My fingers are struggling with the button on his jeans, and suddenly I regret the decision to be on the couch. Pulling away from his lips for just a moment, I whisper, “Bedroom.”

  Somehow we get up, his mouth once more planted on mine and my hands still occupied with the button of his jeans. We walk together, our connection unbroken, and the button on his jeans finally relents. I tug down the zipper as we cross into my bedroom. He’s fighting to get mine off now too, but I’m ahead of him. Just as he gets my zipper undone, his own jeans drop to his ankles. He stumbles over them and falls backward onto my bed.