by Alex Wolf
I just look straight ahead. I should be worried about Mom, and I also know he’s doing this to distract me, try to take some pain away. I’m sure it’s for his benefit more than mine, though. Everything is a goddamn transaction with him.
Covington tries to call three more times, and sends me at least six text messages, leaving a voicemail every time. I want to hate him for it, but I can’t. I listen to each voicemail and try not to crack because he sounds so worried.
The last one, I can hear the fear in his voice.
“Meadow, I’m really worried. Please call me back.”
I can’t.
I’ll break down if I talk to him before I know if Mom’s okay or not.
All I can think is what if this is it? What if she’s gone? I wasn’t there. I didn’t hold her hand or talk to her right before she died. I was on my knees, staring up at Wells Covington with his dick in my mouth as she left the world.
How will I ever forgive myself for that?
I won’t.
I just want to scream, punch someone, throw myself off a damn cliff.
As I work myself into a frenzy, a doctor walks out in his white coat, still scrubbed up for surgery in his PPE. He walks right toward us, and Dad and I leap out of our seats and run up to him.
He freezes in his tracks, like the fear of God just possessed his body.
“Is she okay?” Dad and I both ask at the same time.
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Oh no, fuck! Please no!
Wells Covington
It’s been twenty-four hours and I’m about to turn into a basket case. I’d forgotten all about this meeting with Dominic Romano, planned to cancel it even. Not now, though. I need a distraction and I need answers. I walk into the little coffee shop and have a seat across from him.
Despite the fact Meadow is clearly ignoring me, I still feel guilty for this. For having Dominic pry into her life to see what he can find out, but I want every advantage I can get. Plus, I have to know.
Romano fidgets with his cup a little. I’ve never known him to be nervous about anything. Usually he’s cocky as fuck, confident.
Surely he doesn’t feel guilty about doing his job.
“What’d you find out?”
“Nothing new, really. She has the impact fund which she keeps very discreet. You already knew that. All the money travels through a labyrinth of shell corps, dead ends. The blogs.” He shrugs like what the fuck, man? I already did this work. “The traffic to her sites is ridiculous. Either she’s a tech genius or has some serious money behind them. Her tracks are seriously covered on all of it. Domain names registered to different entities. Like I said last time, before a certain point, there’s nothing. Literally nothing. Like she appeared in the world out of thin air.”
“You didn’t find anything on her mother? I know she has a mom who’s still alive.”
“Nothing. I can’t even verify that her real name is Meadow Carlson.”
I straighten up and ball my hands into fists. “You think this is worth taking your fiancée out on my goddamn yacht?”
This time, his jaw clenches. “I’m getting you everything I can, asshole. This is the best you’re getting from anyone, trust me.”
I know he’s right. What the fuck is she hiding? Why do I care so much? I’m lashing out irrationally, something I never do.
Finally, I just nod. “Okay then.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Dominic gives me a dirty look, gets up, and leaves.
I sit there, contemplating. I’m frustrated, but there’s more to it than that. That’s the emotional reaction from my intimate connection with Meadow. There are other forces at play here. It’s my curiosity. I have to know more about her. When someone tells me the information isn’t available, I want it even more.
If there’s one thing I love about Meadow Carlson, it’s the fact she’s not boring. She’s the furthest thing from it.
Her pushing me away only ramps the intensity up to eleven.
I think about the way we fuck too. Never in my life have I experienced anything like being inside her, staring into her eyes, our hearts pounding against each other.
This whole goddamn thing is like driving in the dark toward a cliff, knowing I’m going off the edge at any second, but I don’t care.
That’s right. I don’t care. Not one fucking bit.
She’s mine. Maybe she doesn’t think we should be together, but I’ll show her, prove it to her, make her understand. When this is done, she’ll know I don’t give up, that I’ll go to hell and back if I have to, as long as I’m with her.
She can’t hide forever.
Meadow Carlson
It’s been days since the hospital incident. Dad and I are at home, and Mom is with us. They resected as much of the tumor as possible, inserted some radiation wafers, and want to start her on chemotherapy, but the doctor isn’t hopeful. He kept saying the word ‘aggressive’ over and over. “Too aggressive, very aggressive, aggressive and rapidly growing, abnormally aggressive.”
I wanted to claw his eyes out every time he said it.
Mom pulled through, barely, but hospice is taking over. She’ll have a nurse here full time. She’ll be on morphine and steroids to control the swelling in her brain.
It’s not good.
She has a month, tops.
The worst part is, I feel happy about it. Happy that she didn’t die while I was with another man, forty-five minutes away. I shouldn’t feel happy right now, feel the relief that I do, simply because it eases my conscience and I’ve been given a second chance to get this right.
I should be doing everything she needs, every second of the day. That’s what I owe her. That’s what I want to do for her.
After they have her situated in a hospital bed in her bedroom, the nurse and techs leave the room, and Dad and I walk up to her bedside.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Stop saying that.”
I shake my head and it takes everything to keep from breaking down. This shit is not fair. This whole situation, this world.
“It’s okay. You have a life.” Dad says the words from behind me.
I wheel around on him. “Don’t!” I point a finger up at him.
He takes a step toward me. His brow furrows. “It’s true. Stop beating yourself up.”
“You’re not my father. You don’t get to tell me how to feel.” I look at him and sneer.
“Enough!” Mom’s voice booms through the room.
It must’ve taken everything in her to get that out, and I immediately feel terrible that she had to do it. That I can’t just let this go with Dad. I just can’t.
Dad and I spin around and rush to the bedside because she reaches up for her head and winces in pain.
“Mom, are you okay? I’m sorry.”
We both lean over, probably too much, effectively smothering her personal space.
She waves us both back, then glares.
That’s the thing about my mother. She never glares. This is serious.
Her eyes dance back and forth between us. “I am tired of you two fighting, butting heads, being the stubborn—” She pauses like she doesn’t want to say it, but goes ahead anyway. “Asses that you both are. I am dying right now. Dying. I’m only going to get worse. All I want is for my old family—” She starts trembling, tears streaming down her eyes.
“Mom.”
Dad and I lean back over. He grabs a tissue, and I take her hand.
She waves us off and continues through the sobs. “My old family to just get along. Even if it’s fake, I don’t care, just fake it for me, please.”
The pain in her voice almost kills me on the spot.
“I want to remember what the best times of my life were like one more time before I’m gone. Then you can go back to whatever you were before all this.”
I nod to her and my eyes drift over to Dad, and he has tears streaming down his cheeks. Our e
yes lock, and in that moment, a deal is made. An understanding.
I nod at her. “Okay, I promise. I’m sorry, whatever you want.” I squeeze her hand a little tighter, willing to say anything just to make her feel normal and okay for a few more seconds, to ease her pain.
“Me too, babe. Me too. Anything you want. I’m sorry too.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother this upset in my life. I think it speaks to her character. She has to be on her deathbed with her loved ones ripping her heart open before she’ll lash out at anyone.
I think Dad and I secretly admire that she can control herself like that, forgive so easily, treat everyone with kindness. It’s just not in the two of us, and this is going to be a real fucking struggle to do this for her.
She deserves it, though. I should’ve never lost sight of that fact. I should’ve been pretending all along, even if I told my father to fuck off the second we were out of the room.
Mom waves us off. “I want to sleep for a little while. And pretend I didn’t just get angry at the two of you.”
“Mom…” My word trails off as I reach for her.
“Go, please.”
I glance over at Dad and it’s that look that says, yeah, we both fucked up badly.
He nods, and we walk out of the room.
As we head toward the living room, my phone rings, and I don’t think I can handle any more guilt than what I just went through. I need to answer. Talk to him.
I swipe the phone and answer. “Hey.”
It takes a few seconds for him to respond, like he’s surprised and expected it to be another missed call. Why does he have to be so perfect for me? I miss him so much. I never thought I could feel this way about a man. But how am I supposed to handle everything with my mom and be with him right now? I literally can’t. She needs every second of my attention.
Finally, he just says, “Hey.”
“Look, I’m—”
It’s like he snaps out of his daze and is fully cognizant now. “Doesn’t matter. Are you okay?”
His voice is so commanding, and his question says it all. The urgency in his words drives the point home even harder, and now I feel like an even bigger piece of shit for putting him through this. He sounds like he’s done nothing but worry about me, twenty-four seven the last few days.
“Yes. I’m fine, and I’m—”
“Can I see you?”
I glance around. Dad is pretending to ignore my conversation.
“I can’t—” My heart hurts so badly, the second I say it. It’s like the walls are closing in and I can’t breathe at all. “I just can’t right now, I’m sorry.”
Silence.
Deafening silence.
“Look, Meadow, if things are moving—”
“It’s not that.” I put anything I can into my words to convince him it’s the truth. Why can’t I just tell him? Why can’t I open up to a man I clearly care about?
I feel Dad’s gaze on me. I can sense him taking in every bit of information from this call that he can, filing it away in case it’s useful at some point in the future. The same way I do and Covington does.
But it gives me the answer to my question. Why can’t I open up to Wells?
I did that once before with a man I trusted, and he crushed me. I clearly still haven’t recovered from it, and I clearly can’t do this. I just can’t.
“Look, I’m sorry about everything, and you can do whatever you want with the real estate project. I just can’t see you anymore.” I hang up the phone before he can respond, and it’s like getting drop kicked in the chest. I have to be pale as a ghost, just anger and hurt ripping through my veins.
Dad starts to say something, and I walk into another room. I can’t with him right now.
I won’t lash out at anyone else. I won’t hurt anyone else today.
I think I’ve done enough damage.
Wells Covington
I walk through the bullpen when one of the analysts walks up to me.
“Hey, what do you think about—”
I freeze in my tracks and he stops his question mid-sentence at the sight of me. “What do I think about? More than you, apparently. If I wanted my own thoughts, I’d fucking ask myself, wouldn’t I?”
This kid, probably a Stanford grad, damn near quakes in his shoes.
Doesn’t matter.
I turn around, and everyone is staring right at me.
I point a finger at all of them and grit my teeth. “You will earn. Or you will get. The. Fuck. Out! Am I clear?”
About that time, Lipsy walks up and nudges me up to my office. “Hey there, boss, we got that thing, right?” He gestures over his shoulder up the stairs.
“What?” I squint my eyes and stare at him.
He repeats his little head gesture, urgently. “The meeting, with the fucking shit, c’mon man. You remember.”
I glare around at all the PMs and analysts and other bullshit positions at the firm, then follow Lipsy up the stairs to the executive level offices.
Once we’re in my office, I turn to him. “What the fuck is happening out there? Why don’t you have the troops in line?”
He snickers a little and holds up his hands. “Okay, Mussolini, I never thought I’d say this, but let’s ease up on the office fascism.”
I stare at him blankly, so caught up in my own little world. I feel like a goddamn irrational zombie, walking around in a daze, lashing out at anyone in sight.
I have to figure this shit out. I’ve always had a course charted, where I was going, a goal in mind. Now, I’m floating aimlessly in a fucking boat with no sail, no wind.
“Lips?”
“Yeah, boss?”
I walk up and put a hand on his shoulder, like all that other shit didn’t just happen in the office. “I’m fucked. My crystal ball is gone. You’ve gotta be my Dennis Hopper.”
Lipsy’s eyes widen, and pure panic spreads across his face. “No, no, no, I can’t be the Scooter Flatch. I may be a drunk but we’re not in Indiana.”
“You have to be. I have things I need to do. I need some time.”
Finally, he nods and heads toward the door. Once he’s there, he stops in his tracks and turns to me, his eyes glued to mine, then he smiles. “Okay, Kemo Sabe. I’ll be your Gene Hackman and measure the goal for the team. Just this once.” He starts to leave.
I holler, “Lips.”
He spins back around. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He tosses me a fake salute and heads out the door. I have to go see someone. I need to get my head right.
“This is normal. I know it will be hard for you to believe, Covington, but it’s called caring for someone. And even you are capable of it.”
I’m on the couch at Dr. Jenkins’ office, staring up at the ceiling. Haven’t been back here since I was a teenager. Never needed a shrink after that. It was the only place I could think to come that might give me any kind of answers.
I don’t respond to her. I already told her everything that has happened in the past few months of my life.
“That emotion you’re feeling—”
This time I interrupt. “Don’t even fucking say it.”
She laughs. “Okay, I won’t say the actual word. But I don’t have to. You’re the smartest man I’ve ever met. You were the smartest man I’d ever met when you were eleven. I’m sure you can figure it out. And whether you say it or not, you know it’s true. In fact, I’d be willing to bet you knew it before you came in here, and you were hoping I’d have a different explanation for you.”
“Doesn’t matter.” I sit up and stare at her. “She wants nothing to do with me right now. I can’t crack her shell. I’ve tried from every angle. Why do you think I’m here right now? Desperation. I thought I’d made my way in, got through her armor, but whatever happened, she’s replaced it with something even stronger.”
She stands up, walks over, and sits down next to me. She’s aged so much, but I still see the same woman who helpe
d me through my childhood, helped make sense of who I am. That I did in fact belong in this world.
“What would you do if there was an investment and nothing ever lined up right? They didn’t want your money, no matter how hard you tried, how many good offers you made, but you just knew, deep inside, it was something special? That the potential there was unheard of. Something that would change the world. A once in a lifetime opportunity.”
The light bulb goes off. I snap out of my daze because the answer is so clear and was always right in front of me. “I wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t rest. I’d think fifteen moves in advance, and be as patient as I needed to be, to let every single chess piece align exactly how I wanted them to, then I’d strike with full force until I’d pinned every person who told me no into full blown submission, and I wouldn’t take my heel off their neck until they gave me what I wanted.”
She lets out a small sigh. “Okay, well I like the intensity, but maybe, you know, adjust your approach to accommodate for a woman you care about. But I think you’ll be just fine. This is all normal.”
I look at her, and I want to believe her more than anything. I know I’m about to go all out, do whatever the hell I have to do. I will not fail in the effort department. I can’t.
Only one thing bothers me about the approach.
Meadow is just like me. It’s possible she might be uncrackable.
I guess I’ll find out soon.
She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I stand up and give her a hug. “Thanks, doc.”
“Any time. You know that. My door is always open.”
I walk out with a renewed confidence. This is a ballsy play, but you either go big or go home. Live by the sword, die by the sword. Pick your idiom. I won’t stop. I will never stop going after Meadow Carlson—ever.
Meadow Carlson
Dad does the dishes while I go over some work stuff on my laptop. I’m so far behind, I don’t know how I’ll ever catch up. I really need to hire someone to run things while I’m here with Mom, but by the time I train them…