by Chase Potter
Then I force myself up from the chair because I’ve said everything I can. I give him a last look, and the same roil of emotion from earlier swells inside me, threatening to consume me. “Goodbye, Alex.”
Silent tears are dripping down his face and mine too as I leave the kitchen and let myself out of his apartment. It takes all my strength to stop myself from running back to him and pulling him into my arms, telling him everything is going to be all right.
If only I could do that. But I’m not going to lie to him anymore. Trying to pretend that everything might be okay is the worst kind of lie.
When I step onto the sidewalk outside, the frigid air tries to force clarity on me, but it doesn’t work. I have no idea whether I’ve done the right thing or not. I just gave Alex everything he needs to tear my life apart and take Carson away from me. I’m risking my life for a hope.
I drag an achingly cold breath into my chest, and I’m unable to shake the fear that I’ve just given up everything.
* * * * *
James is the last person I want to talk to right now, and some part of me is looking forward to when I’ll never have to see or talk to him again. Our tense relationship has never really been a friendship at all.
But I want him out of my life for good, so I wait as the line rings.
“Matt,” he answers. “You haven’t been answering your phone. What the hell is going on?”
A cool calm settles over my thoughts. For all the confessions I’ve given lately, this is the easiest. I care deeply about Carson and Alex, and laying my heart out for them was nearly impossible. This is simpler.
“I gave Alex Price everything.”
“Huh?”
“You should get a good lawyer. You’re probably going to need it.”
Fear skates through his words. “What are you talking about?”
“He has everything he needs to prosecute.”
James takes a breath, and then he lets loose. “You fucking cocksucker… I’m going to bury you with this. You think you can just walk —”
I hang up and my breathing comes easily. James was always a miserable shit.
Chapter Twenty-one
A knock on our door pulls me from the afternoon nap that started to linger into evening. My eyes blink open, and I step back into consciousness. Carson is curled up in the chair beside the couch, apparently reading a book on braising.
“You want me to get that?” he asks, not looking up.
I sit up, fighting a yawn. “Sure.”
He sets the open book face down on the coffee table and makes for the door. I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I hear the door open.
Carson’s cautious voice calls, “It’s for you, Matt.” Then I watch him walk away, leaving the door hanging open as he disappears into his room.
Alex steps into the condo and closes the door behind him. His dress shoes make sharp clicks across the hardwood floor, and he takes the seat where Carson just was a minute ago. He’s wearing a black pea coat over his suit, and for the first time ever, he strikes me as… intimidating.
“I just came from work,” he explains.
“Yeah, I got that.” I’m wearing sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, and the contrast makes me feel small.
His hands knead together, and he won’t meet my eyes. Is this what it looks like when the man you love tells you he’s going to prosecute you?
Alex’s determination not to look at me has led him to notice the cardboard box full of Lego pieces beneath the mantle. “What happened?”
I lift a hand to my forehead, as if I could hide from the truth. “I… um, smashed them.”
“Wow.”
“I’ve been a bit of a mess lately,” I say. Of course he knows that already.
Only now does Alex look at me. “I’m sorry.” His eyes are gentle with concern, and I remember what it was like to always see this side of him.
“Thanks. It’s not your fault.” I sigh. “I mean, it sort of is. But it’s also definitely not. I just…” My cheeks flush, and I shut my mouth before I can bury myself any deeper. My eyes drop to my sweatpants, to the light covering of bright orange dust on them.
Alex follows my gaze. “Cheetos?”
“It’s been a rough couple days.”
He clears his throat. “My office isn’t going to press charges against your bribe.” The statement hangs thick in the air, refusing to budge. But the statement is too… factual. Too sturdy and assured, and in a terrible instant I realize that this isn’t going to turn out how I wish it could.
“You… you aren’t? I mean, it isn’t?” Obviously he’s in charge of his office, but I don’t know if the distinction is important or not.
His gaze drops to the floor, and his expression ventures toward wistful. “No.”
“Is that the only reason you came here?”
Alex tries to put on a weak smile, but I can tell he’s just hurting.
I move over on the couch, enough so I can rest a hand on his knee. The fabric of his suit is smooth beneath my palm, and his warmth sinks into my skin. I squeeze, forcing his eyes to mine. They’re balanced on an indecisive edge, and I can see into him, into his expression. I know he’s slipping away. I want to reach out and hold on to him, to hug him tight and whisper in his ear that everything can go back to normal.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Matt.” His voice is as vulnerable as the failing daylight of late afternoon, but I’m even more powerless. Nothing I say could ever hold him here.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, and it’s so honest it hurts.
“I know,” he says softly. “Goodbye, Matt.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Two months later
My pencil hovers above a sprawling sheet of drafting paper, poised to create something great. Except this time it won’t be a sky rise, not condominiums or commercial spaces. It will be a place for us to live. A home for Carson and me. I’ve always wanted to design this, to build something for us and us alone, not motivated by profit or trend.
A breeze picks up, tasting of autumn as it whisks cool fingers across my desk and pulling at the edges of the blueprint draft. Autumn in March. It feels like we’ve gone back in time, if only that were possible. For the past week, the weather has hovered at the end of the southern hemisphere summer, but the cooler weather is coming. My gaze ventures out the window of the cottage we’re renting, into the autumn draped in the colors of leaves just beginning to turn. Rolling rows of grape vines extend into the valley, tumbling downward until they reach the sea beyond. Yellow and orange and green press against the blue in the distance, and it’s almost enough to pull me from my desk.
Carson is out there somewhere, walking the rows of vines. At least for another hour or so until he leaves for his cooking class. It wasn’t hard to convince him to take a semester off high school as soon as culinary instruction was involved. And that was before I even mentioned where I was hoping to go.
As soon as Carson heard Auckland, the discussion was over.
The wind presses more firmly against the cottage, and I have to spread my hands to hold down the drafting paper. I should shut the window but I won’t. I’d rather work slower and be able to savor every bit of this autumn air.
There was no need to run away, not after Alex decided not to file charges against me. But still I needed to get away, and I think maybe Carson did too. At least for a little while, and a shoulder season rental when the tourists were just starting to leave seemed perfect. The cottage is small, but unlike back home, I can breathe again. That must be worth something.
At that moment, Carson shows up breathless at the door. A sloppy smile matches his words. “I found goats! Like wild ones.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? In the vineyard?”
He shakes his head as he struggles to catch his breath. “Up in the woods. They were so cool.”
His eyes are shining with excitement, and I already have a feeling what’s coming.
Five seconds pass and then he a
sks, “After our vacation, can we move somewhere that we can have goats?”
“We’ll see.” I make a mental note that I may have to design a small barn too.
“Please,” he pleads. “They’re totally adorable.”
I want to tell him that at times, he is too. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Carson crosses his arms, suspicious. “Promise?”
I grin. “I promise to keep it in mind.”
* * * * *
The sun treks across the autumn sky as my pencil whisks across my drafting desk. Lines form, both straight and curved but always perfectly to scale. They plan and dream, daring to construct a world where Carson and I can live away from everyone and everything else. A life without high-rise condominiums or development projects, without a mess of traffic or a sky washed out by orange streetlights.
Why didn’t I do this years ago?
The thought grips me, and my hand stops, halfway through creating the circle for a spiral staircase with my compass. It becomes clear to me that I did wait too long. I dragged Carson along as I selfishly tried to build a company based on a crime. It was doomed from the start, that life I tried to build us.
But this time will be different. I promise it to myself and the setting sun.
A quiet knock on the open door steals my attention, and I glance up. My eyes narrow because I don’t like it when my mind tries to trick me. And it must be, because I can’t possibly be seeing him. But I am, and I don’t trust myself to speak.
Still I don’t believe it as his name slips from my mouth. “Alex?”
He looks tired but also… relieved. His shoulders seem lighter, his attempt at a smile less strained. “I thought I’d stop in,” he says, and his expression becomes sheepish.
“How did you…” my question gets lost as I just barely catch the scent carried on the soft breeze. Vanilla and mint, the taste of him that I thought I would never experience again.
My fingers tighten on the drafting compass, and sweat pours through my skin. I hold on to it as hard as I can because it’s the only thing keeping me from running to him. Letting him go was agonizing, every day, every hour, every minute. But now he’s here, just a few feet separating us, and still I don’t know if I’m allowed to hold him.
I swallow hard, and I feel my eyes filling with regret. I betrayed him in the worst way, and the intervening months have refused to let me forget. “I am so sorry,” I say, and tears threaten my voice.
Alex hasn’t moved his eyes from mine. “I didn’t come here for another apology.”
“What then?” My heartbeat pounds in my ears, in my chest, against my soul.
He sighs and his gaze drops to the floor. When he speaks, his words have an edge of stating the obvious. “For you.”
My sweat-slick fingers relax, and the compass falls onto the drafting paper. I’m pushing my chair out, standing up, crossing the creaking floorboards of the tiny cottage. So close now and then he’s pulling me into his arms, crushing me with every ounce of his strength. I squeeze him back, fingers clenching into fists as my muscles swell with a promise to never let him go again.
I breathe him in, savoring his closeness even as I can feel the wetness welling up in my eyes. Somehow he manages to pull me even tighter against his chest. Then the dam breaks, and I can’t stop myself from dampening his shirt with tears. My face pressed into him, he becomes my entire world.
We hold each other for what seems like moments, but when we withdraw, the sun has all but disappeared beneath the horizon. Alex’s features are etched with shadows, and I reach out to turn on a lamp on my drafting desk. If only to convince myself that he’s really there.
He watches me, waiting. I take a seat in one of the chairs by the empty fireplace, and Alex sits in the other. Our knees are close because the chairs are close. Almost touching but still an impossible gap. My lips part to speak, but I can’t find the right words. I want to tell him that I haven’t slept through the night for two months. I want to tell him that I’m not the same person I was. I want to tell him that we could create something, the two of us and Carson. Something like a family.
Instead, I ask him a simple question. “How did you find us?” The answer is obvious, but it’s a start.
“Carson. He found my email online about a week after you left.” Alex hesitates, then says, “He’s a determined kid.”
For a moment, I’m amused. “You have no idea.” Then I consider that Alex has known for over a month where we are, and yet no attempt has been made to drag me back to the States.
My question is tentative against the growing dark. “So what happens now?”
His gaze drops to his hands, and his answer is slow to come. “Nothing. I couldn’t have pursued charges against city councilman James Addison without dragging you into it too. So I did nothing.”
I can feel confusion pulling at my features. “How can it all just go away?”
He sighs, and his eyes have turned melancholy. “You’re not the only one who can shred documents.”
The seconds thud past like thunder. “You… destroyed evidence?”
“Yes,” he says quietly.
More than that, he compromised his principles. For me.
I watch him carefully, and thoughts pile up inside. “What about your career?”
“I resigned as district attorney.”
“Why?” I ask, even though I know.
“It was the right thing to do.” Alex almost smiles as he adds, “I am corrupt now, after all.”
“I am so sorry,” I say, even though those words could never be enough.
“I know.” The sounds linger, but nothing I say can change what has been done.
I don’t deserve him, but still my heart aches to touch him. He’s followed me to the other side of the world, but the last few inches between us feel further than all of that. I take a tentative breath, and my hand hangs in the air, almost still.
My knuckles brush against denim, against his knee. Softly.
He shifts, and the tips of his fingers touch mine. Slowly.
I look up, and my eyes find hazel. Pale green with flecks of gold. I’m falling into them but still not moving at all. The connection grows, binding us. I feel our fingers slide together, intertwine, but I don’t look away from those eyes.
I rise, and my hand begs him to come with me. He does, and cautious steps follow me through the cottage to the small bedroom I’ve claimed as my own. Over the threshold, Alex’s fingers twist in mine, drawing me toward him. He watches me, so vulnerable, and gravity shifts. Light as a breeze against my back, it nudges me toward the gold and faded green. Our lips brush, and then they crush.
But there is no haste. Our hands explore, hesitant as the very first time we touched, finding places familiar and new all at once. We move together, lying down beside one another. We exist outside of time, away from the world. And I think, we finally know somewhere we can’t be found. Our skin touches, everywhere, and although we find a cadence to our movements, still we do not rush.
The hours slip by but not away from us as we give and enjoy and love. Afterward, we hold each other, our bodies woven together but unmoving, and sweat rests on our skin.
“Promise me you aren’t just going to disappear on me,” I whisper to him, my lips just beside his ear. It’s the fear he always voiced to me, reflected back at him.
His eyelashes flicker against my cheek, and the seconds taunt my held breath. At last, his words find me, “I’m not going anywhere.”
The End
Chase Potter lives in Wisconsin on a small farm with his husband Mitchell and their dogs Alex and Charlie. Corrupt is his fifth novel. Raised in rural Minnesota, Chase has also lived in Germany and Austria. The experiences growing up in a small town and his struggles to adapt to foreign culture and language have served as inspiration in his writing.
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