More Than Everything

by Rachel Kane

  “Has Colby been up there?”

  “Of course. He sees him every day.”

  “Has…” He sighed. “Has he told him about the house? He probably has, hasn’t he. He loves dragging me. You’ll never guess what foolishness Dalton is up to now.”

  “I don’t know what they talk about,” she said. “But stop worrying about that. You can put this sibling rivalry of yours on pause for a while, can’t you? He needs both his sons by his side right now.”

  Half an hour later, he was standing at the opening doors of the private elevator. Press one button, and he would be rising, rushed up to his father’s floor, where he could sit with his dad, could watch his slow decline, the decline he didn’t want to think about, the one he’d give every last dollar to prevent. Press another, and the elevator would take him down to the parking deck. His driver would take him wherever he wanted to go. Back home. Or to a dark bar where he could drink in silence, and pretend that dying fathers and angry brothers and massive corporations weren’t his problem at all.

  His thumb punched the penthouse button, and he began to rise.

  12

  Noah

  When the flowers started arriving, it was puzzling because there was no card, no indication who they were from, or even who they were for. Noah thanked the little guy from the florist, and brought the roses inside. A dozen yellow roses, petals soft, with just a hint of pink on the edges.

  “Where’d you get those?” asked Judah.

  Noah shrugged. “Not sure. Random well-wisher? I don’t know where to put them. Maybe the kitchen.”

  Before he’d gotten out of the main hall, the doorbell rang again. “Could you get it?” he asked Judah. “My hands are full.”

  It was a second florist truck. “Hi, delivery for Superbia Springs?” said the guy at the door. Judah glanced at Noah, then turned back to the guy, accepting two vases, each with another dozen roses. Yellow again.

  “Kitchen?” asked Judah.

  “Yeah.”

  When the doorbell rang a third time, Liam poked his head out of his office. “Who keeps ringing? Isn’t anyone going to answer the door? Roo just went down for her nap!”

  Noah had a strange, sinking feeling as Liam stalked to the door, giving them a confused look at the armfuls of flowers.

  “Hello,” said the beaming woman at the door. “We have a delivery for Superbia Springs?”

  “That’s us,” said Liam, looking startled as the woman handed him two vases of roses…with two more sitting next to her, waiting to be handed off. “Guys…?” Liam asked.

  And now a fourth truck was pulling into the drive.

  And a fifth.

  “Somebody needs to explain what’s going on,” said Liam.

  “A hundred,” Noah said, looking out over the kitchen, where every counter, every table, was covered in vases. “A hundred?”

  Judah counted again. “Yup. So, assuming each vase really does contain a dozen roses, that’s one thousand, two hundred—”

  “Yes, I can do math, thanks.”

  “But why do we have twelve hundred roses?” asked Liam. “No note? No card? No anything?”

  The air of the kitchen was full of the scent, a cool scent, sweet and light and wet, a heady scent that reminded Noah of spring mornings, the crack of dawn, when the grass was still shining with dew. It was powerful though, concentrated into this one room.

  “Clearly it’s from one of my many secret admirers,” said Noah.

  Judah nodded. “Probably so, since I don’t have any, and Liam’s admirer spends all his money on new tool-belts, not flowers.”

  “Mason is perfectly romantic, thank you very much,” said Liam. “But…yeah. I’m sure he didn’t order all these. Although I think we know someone who would order them.”

  “Oh, no,” said Noah, the realization hitting him.

  Some part of him had suspected, since the moment the doorbell first rang this morning. It’s him, he’d thought, with a rush of emotion, some mix of fear and hope and terror and curiosity. Of course it wasn’t Dalton. There was no way he’d show his face again, after that performance. Noah would tear him up if he came around.

  Both Judah and Liam looked at him. “Now will you tell us what happened between you two the other day?” Liam asked. “Because if these are apology flowers, I have to assume it was something awful.”

  Days had passed, and that initial anger and hurt had settled back down. Noah was able to pretend nothing had happened, really. Because had anything happened? A billionaire had taken a walk with him, and their conversation had gone badly. The end. If you forgot the part about how they were going to lose the house, it would’ve been just a funny, random story, something he could tell at Toady’s some night.

  But had Dalton been thinking about it all this time? Did he feel bad about what had happened, the line he’d crossed? Did he even realize the line he’d crossed?

  “Does this mean Dalton is coming back?” asked Judah, poking at one of the blossoms. “I mean, is it a good sign or a bad sign? Do we keep the house or lose it? Surely there’s a message here. What do yellow roses mean?”

  “Why are you looking at me?” Noah asked.

  “Well, you know. You’re kind of…flowery. You know this stuff better than me.”

  “I just don’t want him coming back in here with his offers to buy the place,” said Liam. “I still feel torn up from that presentation.”

  “Yeah,” said Judah. “Noah, can you find out what he wants?”

  “Me? What am I supposed to do, shine the bat-signal up into the sky? I don’t have his number, Judah. I don’t want to talk to him.”

  To Liam’s confused look, Judah said, “Dalton mentioned that Noah grew up poor, and Noah can’t handle that.”

  “Why would that even be a topic of conversation?”

  “Ugh, you make it sound so stupid when you put it like that,” said Noah. “You don’t understand, the guy’s a control freak. He likes to take charge. You’ve met him, you know what I’m talking about. He treats everywhere he goes like he owns the place!”

  Liam rubbed his eyes. “You guys wear me out sometimes. I’ve got that woman’s number…Marcia? Was that her name? I’ll give her a call and try to reach Dalton.”

  Noah sighed. “No, I’ll do it. This is all my fault. I’ll take the bullet.”

  “If he hurt your feelings before—”

  “I said I’ll do it. Just give me the number.”

  But before Liam could get back to the office, the doorbell rang again.

  This had better not be any more damned flowers, Noah thought. “Look,” he said, opening the door, “it’s enough, I’m sure you florists are very nice people, but—”

  “They are,” said Dalton, standing on the porch holding a single yellow rose. “They’re very considerate. They’ve put up with some amazing demands I’ve made. You’d be surprised by how complex the supply chain is for flowers. Auctions, wholesalers, a very tight deadline because you’ve got to deliver them before they wilt…”

  Noah realized he was standing there with his mouth open. He wasn’t looking at the flower, he wasn’t looking at Dalton’s suit, nor his thick, brushed-back hair.

  It was those eyes again. Those strange, green-ringed eyes.

  You hate this guy, remember? And no amount of roses is going to change that.

  “I don’t even like roses,” he said. “If you’d really done your research on us, you’d know that.”

  Dalton lifted the flower to his nose and gave it a gentle sniff. “Did you know there’s no particular color of rose that symbolizes an apology? I thought there must be. There are colors for marriage, for seduction, for revenge. But nothing to simply say I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you for driving down to tell me that rose fact. Have a good day.” He began to close the door.

  Dalton’s hand was there, clutching the edge of the door. “You see, I was trying to apologize.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have to find a hundred si
de-tables in need of a flower vase.”

  “Noah, come on.”

  He was supposed to be enraged. That’s what he should have felt right now. This interloper was coming in to take away the house, the one moment of real security Noah had ever felt in his life. Worse, he’d reminded Noah of the bad times, reminded him of all the things he spent his life trying to forget. Worse-worse, he’d done it so nonchalantly, like Noah’s life didn’t matter at all, like since he was just a commoner, his feelings didn’t count for anything.

  The anger just wasn’t there, though. He still hurt, and that pain and remembrance exhausted him, but he wasn’t mad.

  “I don’t know what to say. We don’t know each other well enough to have a conversation about this, okay? Thanks for the flowers, but I’ve got to get back to work. We’ve got to figure out how to run this mansion without your foundation’s help.”

  He knew he’d struck a nerve when Dalton’s face darkened. Whatever brief storm had lurked behind his eyes passed quickly, though, and soon those eyes were back to playing over Noah’s face, over his morning outfit (loose-fitting yoga pants, a thin wool sweater that clung to his shoulders), and they brightened into a smile. “Sure,” he said. “You’re right. It would be weird to have that kind of conversation. But I’m a businessman, Noah, and a deal’s a deal. You owe me dinner.”

  “Dinner.”

  “It’s a gentlemen’s agreement. A contract.”

  “It’s eleven in the morning.”

  “It’s dinner-time somewhere in the world. I’m sure Renee won’t mind.”

  “You’re serious. You expect me to take you to lunch at the Red Cat after…after all that.”

  What was it with this guy? Didn’t he know this wasn’t the way the world worked? You didn’t just get what you wanted all the time.

  Maybe you do, when you’re a billionaire.

  Well, he wasn’t going to get it from Noah, that was for sure.

  “Dalton—”

  “I was hasty. I did everything wrong. Everything. I came in here with a lie. Made you think I was going to save the day with the grant money, like a bait-and-switch. Then when I pulled you away from your friends… I don’t know what that was. I’ve been thinking about the bridge ever since. I did so much wrong. Come on, give me some way to make it up to you.”

  Noah scowled in confusion, in a welter of feelings. But why? Why should you want to make it up to me? Why aren’t you inviting Liam and Judah out instead, it’s their house. What am I, just some random guy you met, I don’t own the house, I’m not part of your world…

  In the end, though, he found he could ask none of this. They remained as unspoken questions, lingering in the air between them. Finally he sighed. “One meal. One. And it better not be anything fancy, I’m on a budget here.”

  “I’m really just here for the meatloaf special,” said Dalton.

  “The meatloaf? Billionaires eat meatloaf? I guess they don’t have that in your Michelin-starred restaurants?”

  Dalton smirked, content now that he’d finally gotten his way. “Billionaires eat whatever they like, Noah. It’s one of life’s rules.”

  “Mr. Raines, this won’t do at all, I can’t accept it,” said Renee. She slapped a small envelope on the table in front of him. “Hey, Noah. How’s that baby of Liam’s?”

  “Growing too fast, same as always. We think she’s going to skip being a toddler and go straight to teenager. What’s in the envelope?”

  Renee blushed, a first for her. Noah felt like he should notify the town historian. Nothing flustered Renee. She knew everybody—and knew everyone’s secrets—and nothing ever got to her. But clearly something about Dalton had.

  He has that effect on people.

  “Just something Mr. Raines left behind when he and his brother came by,” she said.

  “Come on,” said Dalton. “I’m allowed to tip, aren’t I? That’s for you. You keep it.”

  She shook her head resolutely. “Nope. There are people starving in the world. I can’t accept a…” She leaned closer and continued in a harsh whisper: “I can’t accept a five-hundred dollar tip!”

  Noah felt like a cartoon character, his eyebrows rising high enough to pop right off his head. “You better keep that,” he told her. “You don’t know when the next billionaire will be coming to town.”

  “I don’t care if he’s a billionaire or a thousandaire, it’s too much.”

  Dalton crossed his arms. “Sorry, I’m not taking it back. You can’t make me. I’ll deny it was mine. I’ll bring twenty lawyers down here to prove I never gave you a dime of it.” His lips were pressed together, but even so he couldn’t hide his smile.

  “I swear, I’ll just drop it in the offering plate at church if you don’t take it back.”

  “Then your pastor is going to be very surprised Sunday morning,” said Dalton. “Now look, what’ll it take to get another of those meatloaf plates like I had the other day? Plus whatever Noah here wants.”

  Renee huffed. She wanted to be offended, but she’d never been able to turn down a hungry customer. “I’ll put the order in. But Noah, honey, you’re in charge of the tip this time. At least I know you won’t be leaving anything extravagant.”

  “Hey, I leave twenty percent!” he said.

  “Bless your heart,” she said, nudging him with her hip. “Just the usual for you?”

  13

  Dalton

  There was something enjoyably fatalistic about being here. He knew Colby would freak, if he found out Dalton had made his way back to Superbia. There was so much to do back at work. So many projects. He’d made calls on the way down, but nothing replaced having the CEO at his desk.

  He found he didn’t care.

  He liked the idea of getting in trouble for this.

  “Let me say one thing about the other day,” Dalton started. The food had arrived, the scent driving him crazy. He’d had his chef try to replicate the recipe, but to no avail. The kitchen had been full of the smell of freshly ground Kobe beef, the soft hiss of breadcrumbs being grated, the clank of pans and the warmth of ovens, but not one single dish had matched the Red Cat’s. But he found he couldn’t eat until he’d said this.

  “Do you have to? I’ve already accepted the apology,” said Noah. His lunch was nothing. Literally nothing. A cup of coffee. No wonder he was so thin.

  Dalton had the odd, grandmotherly urge to fatten him up. To push his plate over and demand Noah take some sustenance. He knew that wouldn’t be taken very well.

  “You need to know, I didn’t have anyone investigate you.”

  Noah lifted the coffee to his lips and blew on it. Dalton tried not to look too closely at those lips. It was hard. He didn’t dare admit to himself how much he’d wanted to come back to see Noah. How much this place felt like an escape.

  “So you just knew about my childhood through your acute observational skills,” Noah said.

  “I do my homework,” said Dalton. “I know the history of the house, the economy of the town. I know to the dime how much it’ll take to bring the house back up to its former level. But I save oppositional research for Colby. I don’t like that stuff. Pulling skeletons out of the closet. Dramatic surprises. It’s all stagecraft, not business. So yeah. I guess I’m just a great judge of character, because I didn’t look into your past at all.”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “So I just look poor. Thanks, Dalton. You’ve made my day.”

  “You’re really not going to accept this apology, are you?”

  “If you can look into my mind so well, then you already know the answer to that.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with coming from…from lesser circumstances.”

  Noah nearly dropped his coffee, and laughed so hard it ended with him choking. “Lesser…circumstances…oh my god…you really are the most stuck-up, self-centered—and I don’t even mind people being stuck-up, god knows I can be judgmental, but you! I don’t think you even realize how privileged you sound! Maybe if you’d spit that
silver spoon out for a second—”

  The laughter was infectious, even though it was directed at Dalton himself. He couldn’t take offense; every word was true. “It’s awful,” he said. “All these years, and I still don’t know how to talk to the proletariat! Your impoverished grunts and mumbles are incoherent to me!”

  Noah lifted his sleeve to dab at his eyes; his face was red, breath fast, recovering his oxygen after laughing that hard.

  I wonder if that’s what you look like in bed, Dalton thought, then banished the image from his mind. Thinking like that wouldn’t do him any good. Even a billionaire can’t always get what he wants.

  “I have to ask,” Noah said. “What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?”

  “Your life. Never having to worry. Never looking over your shoulder, wondering if one wrong move might lose you everything. What’s it like to have that kind of security?”

  The laughter died in Dalton’s throat, and he set his fork down. “Money doesn’t change that. I worry all the time. The business world is ruthless. You really can lose everything. Even beyond that, we’re still human. My dad—”

  He stopped.

  No. Not going there. Not at all.

  That last visit. The aching in his father’s voice. Son, do you think I’ll ever leave this room?

  Of course you will, Dad. As soon as the doctors say you’re well enough—

  I’m not asking what the doctors say. I’m asking what you think. Look at me. I can barely lift my arms. I can barely speak.

  Noah was studying him intently. “Your dad?”

  Dalton shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind. All I’m saying is, we all live in a world full of risk. That doesn’t change, just because you’ve got money in the bank.”