William stood underneath a polished ladder in his dad's study and squinted up.

"Dad, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"For the third time in as many minutes," his father said, sliding a large box down, "yes."

"Ma has, like, forty different services to handle these things," William said, fingers secure on the rigid supports. "You could just go play golf and have one of them prep this for you."

David Bauer raised an eyebrow, his clean-shaven jaw tight at the idea. The dark blond hair characteristic to all Bauer men had silver stripes at his temples.

"Son," he said, setting the box on top of the pail shelf, "if your mother offered to hire a service to help you go through your office, would you let her?"

Point made.

William grunted and held his hands up to take the box.

"I got it," David said, coming down the rungs on wobbly knees.

"You want my help, but all you're letting me do is hold the ladder."

"You don't need to be straining your back."

"Hate to break it to you," said William, "but I've lifted and hauled a hell lot more weight than that before 7:00 am."

"Then think of today as light duty," said his dad serenely as he stacked the box on top of the four others he'd retrieved.

William looked around his father's office. When he'd been growing up, all David had was a little wooden desk in the middle of the guest room, which he'd slid to the side when there was company. His current office could eat that old suite and still have space for William's childhood bedroom, part of their old hallways, and more. Bay windows gave a view of the golf course connected to his parents' neighborhood. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the dark-paneled walls, full of art, ledgers, and other curiosities he'd acquired in his work as a financial adviser. William leaned against one of the monster shelves with crossed arms.

"So why are you cleaning out your office today?"

"It's usually a step one takes when one begins to think about retirement."

William felt something in his stomach drop. "What?"

"I said—"

"Are you sick?" he demanded.

David's shoulders shook in silent laughter as he started up the ladder again. "No, I'm healthy as a horse."

William glared at his back, and returned to holding it still. "Speaking from an agricultural background, horses will turn on you as soon as you blink, so forgive me for not finding that comforting."

"I'm not sick," Dad said, pulling another box down.

William's mind reeled.

His father had been working as long as William'd been alive. Hours of his childhood were spent with the glow from his office acting as his nightlight. His first memories of outings had been combination business and pleasure, his dad showing him new things while also trying to seal accounting contracts. Secretaries had come and gone, each one a pseudo-babysitter on the days he'd been stuck at the firm after school. He'd run down hallways and been chided by men and women in three-piece suits, all tolerating childhood brattiness because he was their boss's kid.

He stared at his dad's black loafers, shiny from a recent polishing. When he'd been small, he'd shoved his feet into them and tried to walk around, one of his dad's ties around his neck as he pretended to 'work.' They'd slipped and he'd fallen down, too big to fit.

"When?" he asked into the silence.

"End of the year," his dad said.

William stepped back for the final box. Dates were written on the sides in his father's neat and type-writeresque print. He pulled a lid off the top and looked down into a tightly packed bin of tabbed manila folders, each one labeled in that same blocky text.

"So, what's all this?"

"Well," David said, pulling his handkerchief out and mopping it over his forehead, "I am getting old files to be scanned into the computer system that my successor can access, if she ever has the need."

"She?"

"Yes!" David said, enthused. "Bright girl. Just a little older than you, actually. Came into the firm under your mother's scholarship program. I have every faith that she'll run it well."

"So," William said, trying to puzzle out how this was going to change things. "Why? I thought you'd be working at that place until Ma was forced to shoot you."

"I'm turning sixty in a few months. It would be nice to join your mother on vacation."

"You're going to hand the reins over?" William snapped his fingers. "Boom, just like that?"

"It will be a bit of an adjustment. Your mother is thrilled. I thought you would be too."

"Dad, you're not old. Old people retire."

"Tired people retire," his father said, sitting down and pulling a box over. "Here, now you can help. Start sorting these by year and surname."

William frowned at the folders. "What'd you do, just throw them in without a system?"

"Those files have been with me for longer than you've been alive, son. My system's changed."

"Is the company okay?" he asked.

David stared at him over his reading glasses, amusement painted on his normally stern and austere face.

"William, I'm not dying. The company is fine. No one is blackmailing me. People retire."

"You're a workaholic," William said stubbornly. "I do not have a single memory of my childhood that didn't involve you working six days a week, and half days on Sundays."

"I took half Saturdays too," his dad said, unruffled by the accusation. "And I've been taking Sundays off for the last five years."

"Not the point." William stacked folders to one side. "You do that because of Ma."

"I do a great many things because of your mother," his father agreed. "But it is time."

They sank into comfortable silence, the only sound the flip of paper and the slide of manila folders.

His dad, taking time off? It wasn't like it had never happened. As workaholics went, Dad had tried his hardest. William's birthday? Never missed. When he'd played baseball as a child? Dad had been at every game, even if he was half working in the bleachers. High School events that involved fathers? Done. He'd dropped William off at the station for boot camp, and been in the stands for graduation, too. During his stints of active duty, they'd coordinated vacation time—taking trips to the gridball stadium, going to his old batting cages, and once visiting Pops together down at his farm, camping out in the country where the trees were big and the stars bright.

After his incident, Dad was at his side every day, fingers clutched white against Ma's. He'd taken months off during William's recovery. Had been one third of the support team that helped him go from side of hamburger to a person pretending to be whole once more.

And now he was retiring.

"How is the farm?" Dad asked, breaking through the memories.

"Running. Got morning milking done today, and got to go and do evening milking before bed. The retail side is chugging fine. My branding guy you recced is a genius."

"Marketing usually pays for itself," his dad agreed. "Are you enjoying it?"

William raised his head. "Huh?"

"The work, son. Are you enjoying it?" His dad focused on flipping through some contracts and payment slips. William swallowed, looking back down at his own folders.

"Some days." Like the days he wasn't at odds with the person he had the hots for. "Some days it's good. Some days your irrigation system explodes, and you wind up with over a thousand dollar repair bill."

"How's your employee working out for you?"

Fuck. That was what he wanted to know.

It'd been nearly four days since he and Shane had said a word to one another. It bothered him how easy Shane found it to come in, do his job, and leave. Did he miss hanging out, or was he relieved? After all, it was William who'd shoved them out of a comfortable working relationship and straight into the 'it's complicated' deep end.

He shuffled the files in his hand, slipping a 'Stuart' after a 'Smith.' "Fine."

He felt his dad's eyes on him and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up. Even if he hadn't said anything, Dad had a way of knowing when shit was going down.

"Your mother said he was a very polite man. Didn't say if he was smart."

"He's smart," William said, defensive. "Knows the work. Practically a savant in terms of experience. I'll tell you what, you can definitely tell the difference between an urban moron teaching himself agriculture and someone raised on a ranch."

"So. Smart. Polite. Works. He single?"

"Dad," William said, flushing under the question. But then again, what was he supposed to think with William singing his praises like that?

"It's a fair question, Will. Something your mom said..."

"Said?" William's head snapped up.

David looked at him with easy brown eyes. They were eyes that comforted and accepted, even as they reflected your idiocy back at you. "Said he seemed to be playing on your side of the field."

William's palms began to sweat. "She can't know that."

"Is it true?"

He coughed.

Was it true? Well fuck. He'd thought so. From the first time they'd glared at each other against that tree and Shane's body responded to his, to the time Shane had touched his scars and given him soft eyes. He remembered how it felt to find his shirt folded on the steps, and how Shane hadn't pulled away at his depression-fueled grab later the same day. When he'd surged against him in the spa, receptive and warm. When Shane had kissed him first on his porch. When they'd come together on his bed, heartbeats in sync, breathing a mingled cloud of shared passion. He'd thought Shane was afraid, but that underneath his fear, they'd wanted the same thing.

But how was he supposed to explain that to his upright and responsible father? No way he would approve if he knew. Dad lived in a world of absolute right and wrong, and fraternizing with underlings? Definitely wrong.

"Probably, yeah," he hedged. "But he's not out, and it's not my place to get into his business."

David shook his head and went back to filing.

"Your mother and I worry about you all alone out there. And if you've got a single man who shares your orientation, it would only be natural—"

William's ears burned in mortification at the blunt approach. Apparently, as circumspect as he was trying to be, he wasn't fooling anyone.

"Dad," he muttered, "are you saying you think I'm the type of asshole who would do that?"

Because he was totally the type of asshole to do that.

"No," his father said. "I'm saying that if you're developing feelings for this man, it would be natural."

Hope surged through William as he laid files into the box. Natural? Yeah. It did feel natural. When Shane wasn't fighting what was between them, it was the most natural fucking thing in the world. His heart pounded. Had he been anxious for nothing? Maybe he'd sold his dad short.

Still, immediate acceptance felt too good to be true.

"It wouldn't be ethical," he ventured, wary of a trap.

"No. No, it wouldn't be."

William's hands stilled at the sliver of iron behind the words. He raised his head and met his dad's eyes. A wall of morality stared back at him.

"I was a CEO for a company with over eighty employees. When you are in a position of power, it's important you never forget that the people working for you are dependent on you for a paycheck."

William's stomach dropped.

Was it really like that? Ever since Shane's pullback after sex, he'd been as jumpy as a damn cricket. Was he worried William was going to cut him loose if he didn't give in? Was he a creep taking advantage of Shane's vulnerabilities?

"It would be natural," his dad continued. "But it wouldn't be ethical."

"Doesn't he get a choice in what he wants?" William asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His mouth felt dry at his father's conviction, his stomach tight. Because it also felt true, in a sickening way.

"Can you trust that his choice isn't compromised by his position underneath your authority?" David volleyed back.

It wasn't like arguing with Ma. Arguing with Ma was like two roman candles shooting at one another, mostly sparks with very little impact.

Arguing with Dad was like trying to climb a wall made of slick glass.

"If there was something going on," William said, "and I'm not saying there is, it would be consensual. It would be because maybe, it's hard out there to find someone you connect with. And maybe you just accept it if that connection falls in your lap."

There was one box left between them. William stared at it.

"William," said his father, pulling it over, "you are a grown man who can make his own decisions. But you also must deal with the consequences of those decisions. So, if you think that a relationship between you and an employee could end in any way other than disaster, you are of course welcome to walk that thin line. But remember, whatever ends up happening? You're responsible."

"Right."

The word tasted like chalk. That was it, he realized. His father wasn't going to bring it up again unless he did. Though it was obvious that, like Shane, he thought the idea of a relationship beyond farm work was a terrible idea.

"I'm thirsty," said David. "Why don't I finish this box, and you go down and get me something to drink? Oh, and tell your mother what time your fair is tomorrow. I'm going to try to get time off to see that grange display."

William nodded and pushed to his feet, his hands cold and mouth dry.

Hours later, on his way back home, he drove with no radio.

When they were moving furniture and carrying boxes to the garage it'd been easy to ignore the conversation, but driving home left him prisoner to his thoughts.

It had to be more than a bad idea. They'd told each other things; things that William had never told another living soul. Sometimes it felt like Shane could read his damn mind. Sure, he'd given hints to back the fuck off this week. But was it so unreasonable to hope that after he'd had time to think, maybe he would want to try again?

William passed a billboard promoting the autumn fair in Pelican Town tomorrow. He gripped the steering wheel.

After the fair, Shane would be back on normal hours. They just had to get through tomorrow and they could talk. What was between them might blow up in their faces, but what if it didn't? The chemistry they had was unique. Special. Sure, there were consequences to breaking the so-called sacred bond of employer/employee, but what about the loss of never trying?

Better to take it head on than spend the rest of his life wondering 'what if.'

"Lewis was so excited," Marnie said, digging in the cupboard. She retrieved a canvas grocery sack and went to the fridge, pulling out several containers of food. "He went to Pierre's first thing this morning and bought a bunch of fall flowers for them to plant together. I swear, he was meant to be a grandfather. Shame Stacey never had children."

Stacey, Shane knew, was Lewis's daughter from his previous marriage. Who lived in Zuzu. Where they were currently headed.

He waited against the counter while she tucked a few water bottles in the bag, continuing to ramble.

"Jas was excited, too. He had a corner already cleared in his flower bed just for her." She stood, blowing a frizzy bang from her face. "I ought to make a plot for Lewis to garden here at the ranch. If Jas enjoys today, it could be a fun little project for them, don't you think?"

Shane stared at the tile, grid swimming. "Yeah."

If he had any reason to object to Jas and Lewis bonding, it evaded him today. Marnie's nerves were too distracting. Not that he hadn't been the same an hour ago, but when she'd left to drop off Jas, he'd found his relief—10:00 am, and he was drunk as shit.

Right now it was a good thing. Shane didn't often see himself as steady, but while Marnie blustered and babbled around he felt like an anchor against her nervous energy. It'd probably bite him in the ass later when he sobered up, but that was a problem for two hours from now.

Marnie patted her pockets, her purse, her canvas bag, double checking she had everything. She'd dressed up today in black slacks and a mauve blouse, her hair braided with care. Shane hadn't bothered, defaulting to jeans and a t-shirt that didn't have farm crap on them; he had no one to impress. When assured nothing was missing, she grabbed her keys from the counter and they headed out the door.

The ride was silent at first, Pelican Town sleepy on a Sunday morning in autumn. Barely a soul stirred, though Haley wandered alone near the town square with her camera, taking nature shots in the angled sunlight.

Everyone is a fucking photographer now.

The universe and its jokes.

He stared out the window as they passed onto the highway, thinking, in a cold and detached way, of the last time he'd ridden passenger down this stretch of road. Six days ago, trapped in a different truck, William asking Shane if he'd known about his sexuality before their kiss. And he did know. So did Corey, who hated him for it. But Shane didn't kid himself—Corey would hate him even if he wasn't gay, because he resented his son's entire existence.

Marnie usually filled any journey with happy chatter and gossip, but today she let the radio do the talking. It was over an hour before she spoke, when a song ended and an advertisement came on.

"You shouldn't have drank today."

Shane stared impassively out the window. "Yeah."

She said nothing more.

They listened to music for the final hour of the drive. The truck was warm despite blowing AC, sun beating down on Shane's side, and he'd almost fallen asleep when Marnie turned onto the exit leading to Zuzu's west end.

After the monotonous stretch of freeway, Shane's nerves prickled back to life. They were met by huge billboards at towering heights; gas stations and fast food places; bridges and roundabouts, funneling into a half-dozen lanes of traffic. Vehicles were stretched back-to-back for miles and as Marnie's pick-up merged to join them, Shane was struck by intense claustrophobia. The further they drove into the city—the buildings growing taller, tighter, closer—the more pronounced it became.

He hadn't been to Zuzu in over two years. When had it become so cramped?

Restaurants and subway stations gave way to office buildings, then condos and high rises. Skyscrapers spiked in the distance, though before reaching them they met a large blue sign: Patterson Regional Medical Center. Marnie slowed, following its arrow. Another ten minutes down a winding side road led them to a massive grey and white building.

When they pulled through the entrance, Shane's slow-building nerves turned into a rushing wave of panic.

It wasn't the hospital. Zuzu City had a wide sprawl, each district getting their own, and this was not the one that haunted his dreams. But Harvey's clinic notwithstanding, Shane hadn't been to any type of hospital in over five years, and the sight of it rose bile from his stomach. Agreeing to this had been fucking psychotic. He'd lost his goddamn mind, and so had Marnie, for that matter. So much for being the 'normal' ones of the family; they were both clinically insane.

His panic was at odds with her calm hands on the wheel, steering them into the dim parking garage, daylight blocked by the narrow concrete. Shane stared at the floor mat. He didn't want to see the rows of vehicles, somewhere among them a beat up black Chevy with the license plate 08LWE2.

"Shall we?"

He blinked and looked up. The engine was quiet, the keys in Marnie's hand. They'd made it to the far side of the garage and parked without his notice. She gathered her bags and Shane opened his door, stepping out.

It's only for Marnie. You don't even have to look at his stupid face.

They walked through the electric sliding doors and were met with a whoosh of central air, cool and mingled with hospital scents. A big, open lobby greeted them. Shane followed Marnie down the hall toward the elevators, staring at the floor. If he focused hard enough maybe he could close off his nose, block out all those smells that made him queasy.

It worked until the elevator doors opened. A nurse walked out wheeling a gurney, her patient asleep and hooked up to tubes and IV bags. Shane's breakfast churned. He turned, using the back of his hand to plug his mouth.

Marnie's fingers closed over his shoulder. "Shane?"

The nurse disappeared around a corner and they stepped inside. The doors slid shut and he shook his head, forcing his hand to drop: Forget it.

For once, Marnie was attuned enough to leave it alone.

The elevator pinged open to reveal a shiny waxed floor, and a world inhabited by aqua-scrubbed nurses and white-coated MDs. Several were clustered around a station of monitors, telemetry readings running across black screens. To either side were hallways lined with empty gurneys and chairs, visitors meandering between the medics. The air was full of more toxic smells, and Shane tensed as they went to the main desk to ask for Trudy's room.

"This way," Marnie said, nodding him forward.

Her door read "Daniels" on a little magnetic strip, and on the wall beside it were several posted papers. Mostly colorful graphs Shane could make no sense of, but also warnings: patient was a fall risk, oxygen tank in use. From behind the door came an awful hacking cough, like dry vomit.

Shane felt certain the room didn't want him to enter. There was an invisible forcefield pushing him back, like two negative ends of a magnet rolling against one another. Marnie must've felt it too, hesitating with her fingers on the door, but then with a deep breath she pushed it open and stepped inside.

Shane dutifully followed.

The room was long, a double, the first bed empty. Curtains divided it from the second, and Shane found his steps slowing as Marnie walked past them to the other side.

"Hi, Mom," he heard her say, timid but warm. Then, more brittle: "Corey."

Shane stopped.

"Sis," said a gruff voice. "You made it."

"Yes, we did."

The voice turned sharp. "We?"

Heart drumming, Shane tucked his hands in his pockets and forced himself to take those last steps forward.

Grandma Trudy lay pale and emaciated on white sheets. Marnie stood on one side of the bed, bent over and placing a kiss on her frail cheek. On the opposite side, in a stiff hospital chair, sat Corey. His thighs were spread wide open, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other, like he wanted to take up more space in the room.

He stared at Shane with dark, sunken eyes.

"Well…" he breathed.

He was thinner than Shane remembered. His hairline had receded the last few years, the dark strands peppered in dirty grey and slicked back with too much product. He said nothing, just bored a hole into Shane with his stare. Total stillness, like the earth had forgotten to spin.

Stillness broken by Trudy hacking up a lung.

Three heads swiveled toward the violent wheezing. Shane—pulse racing as the moment caught up with him—took a good look at her for the first time.

She was a far cry from the grandmother he remembered as a boy. Back then, she'd always been done up like a caricature of a housewife: hair looking fresh from the salon, a cigarette dangling between her lips as she scolded him for breathing too hard on her plants.

Today, she was bald from chemo, wearing a knit cap with the hospital's logo. Her skin was almost translucent and covered in bruises. She was attached to oxygen and IVs, a half-full bag of dark urine hooked to the side of her bed. Four different monitors lined the wall, flashing heart rates and O2 levels, the lines on one of them spiking as she coughed.

"Well," she creaked, voice so raspy it sounded like it might break. "I've got one daughter and one grandson. What a lucky day for me." She turned, scowling at Corey. "See? It's not hard. Took me one call."

"Guess you were lucky enough to get her at a better time," Corey said easily.

Trudy's gnarled finger pressed a button. Her bed lifted to its upright position with an electric hum.

"Well?" she snapped. "Are you going to have a seat? Can't stand you all looming over me."

Marnie quickly sank into an empty chair beside the bed. It was the last free one, and while Shane knew there were spares around the partition, he didn't feel like making himself at home. He crossed instead to the window, leaning against the radiator that ran its length.

"You look good, Marn," said Corey, reclining in his seat. "All that farm fresh air, eh?"

His arms rested akimbo behind his head, sweat spots dotting the pits of his denim shirt. Slowly, his gaze slid to Shane.

"What?" he said with mock surprise. "Not even hello?"

Shane looked away, saying nothing.

"Oh, shut up, Corey. You're like a big old dog, barking all over the place," Trudy grumbled, before succumbing to another coughing fit. As she spit blood into a bedpan at her side, letting it dribble into a pool, Shane remembered her words over the phone.

Good-for-nothing, piece-of-shit brother.

If she was berating Corey just as much to his face, and he was fucking putting up with it, not even barbing back? Well, that was a golden confirmation of Shane's suspicions. There was a prize at the end of this, and Corey was going to squeeze it for every penny he wasn't worth.

"So," said Trudy, giving a long wheeze. "I'm assuming your brother told you they gave me a few months?"

"He told me what the doctor said, yes." Marnie touched her arm.

Corey's chair squeaked as he eased back more. Shane could feel the dark eyes still on him, his dad's gaze as tense as his body was relaxed; he tried to focus on the gross little glob of blood in the bedpan.

"Oh, I've brought you something," Marnie added, reaching into the canvas bag at her feet. She pulled out a tupperware of fresh cut melons, grapes, and strawberries. "Here. The fruit hospitals serve might as well be rubber."

Trudy looked at the fruit, then at Marnie. "Sweet thought," she said, patting her hand. "I'll try to eat it in a bit. Chemo hurts my stomach. Mostly on those nasty protein shakes."

"Only if you can manage it," Marnie agreed, setting the container down on the side table, along with a fork she'd brought.

Trudy coughed and closed her eyes, strength clearly ebbing. "How are things down on your little ranch, Marn?"

"She's—well, she's doing." Marnie glanced at Shane. She gave him a brief, encouraging smile before looking back at her mother. "It's been wonderful having Shane's help. He does so much of the labor these days, I'd have to downsize without him."

Liar. We're struggling, and you have to downsize even with my help.

But Shane didn't blame her for not leaking blood into shark-filled waters.

"Well," said Trudy, a measure of cheer touching her voice. "Looks like Jessica did something right, even if Corey didn't."

Corey cleared his throat but Trudy ignored him, rusty wheels barreling on.

"Look, I won't waste your time. My estate? It's going to fall on you kids. Corey thinks he can handle the last of my care and carry out my wishes on his own, but I'd prefer to see you more before the end, Marn."

"Yes, of course," Marnie said, adjusting her legs in the uncomfortable chair. "Of course I'd help, Mom."

Shane listened carefully to the estate talk, despite trying to blend in with the sterile walls. Trudy was being reasonable, much as it clashed with his boyhood memories of her.

So far…so good?

He wasn't sure, and kept quiet.

Corey leaned forward and uncrossed his legs, resting his elbows on his knees. "And I've been telling her that you're damn busy on that ranch. You got a whole operation out there. Me and my little job at the factory? I got the time, and I'm right close by."

Yeah. Close by, and full of fucking bullshit.

Marnie looked at him, steady. "If it falls to us, I'm going to help."

"See, Corey?" Trudy reached for the side table, changing her mind about the fruit. She grabbed the fork in a liver-spotted hand. "You were so worried about Marnie being overwhelmed, you forgot she's got your boy helping out."

She squinted at the fruit and speared a slice of melon, holding it up to sniff before taking a nibble, as if it might bite her back. When it didn't, her face relaxed; she chewed and swallowed.

"The house," she said, setting the fork down, "needs to be boxed up. Someone needs to oversee the sale. Corey is keeping the yard cut, but I'm sure there are some repairs that need to be handled before it can be sold."

"Of course," Marnie repeated.

Trudy looked at Shane. Though she'd verbally acknowledged his presence, it was the first time her rheumy eyes had fixated on him. She inspected slowly up and down, then frowned.

"He sure does look like his daddy when he was that age, doesn't he, Marn?" she said, sounding disgusted.

Marnie fidgeted in her seat. "Well, um. I suppose he does."

Shane's face burned, and he made the mistake of looking at Corey—who stared back with a smirk, the apple of his cheek meeting his eye in dark amusement.

"Chip off the old block, all right," he said.

There was a beat of tense silence.

"The um, landscaping," said Marnie loudly, steering back to the safer topic. "And the sales. I could help with those. We'd have to make some arrangements, of course. Maybe ask my part-time help to come in extra days…" She glanced at Shane. "Perhaps if you talked to William?"

Hearing his name in that room, in front of everyone, Shane felt like his clothes had dropped. He could still feel his father's eyes.

"Who's William?" Trudy asked.

"Oh, sorry," said Marnie. She smoothed her pant legs, then her blouse. "Was just thinking aloud. William is Shane's boss. Shane helps on the ranch during the mornings and weekends, but his day job is for one of the local farmers. Our neighbor, so it's quite convenient. Very nice man." She turned back to Shane. "Was just wondering if you might take some more half days. Then, maybe not. I know it must be a strain for him…you boys have such a big load there."

It was like Marnie's visitor-mode had kicked into gear. She'd finally found her voice, and was rummaging in her bags for more food as she spoke. Shane wondered if she'd also been expecting the vicious, predatory woman he remembered, and had relaxed at finding her helpless in bed, fangs and claws removed.

"Corey?" Marnie said, surfacing with more fruit and some sandwiches.

Corey's gaze slid off Shane.

"You know?" he said, sitting up straighter. "Think I just might."

He pushed out of the chair, reaching over Trudy's bed to accept the sandwich container. Halfway there he met Shane's eyes—the smirk gone, and a dead, cold look in its place.

Shane felt trapped. He was as helpless as a little boy,no one else in the room, just him and his dad and whatever came next. Stale whiskey coated his tongue like sandpaper but his buzz was long gone, along with any backbone he'd scraped together that morning. He'd been determined not to give into his dad's bullshit games, to not even look him in the face, yet here he was, stuck—

Corey broke the line of contact, easing back in his chair as if nothing had happened.

"Thanks, Marn," he said, cracking open the container. "This'll hit the spot, all right. Always been the thoughtful one of the family, eh, Mom?"

He took a big bite.

"She sure is. Best thing ever came out of your father, that's for sure." Trudy turned her head, absently snapping her fingers at Shane. It was something she'd done often when he was small: snap for her cigarettes, her purse, the TV remote. The call to order broke him from his frozen state and he blinked at her.

"Shane, get grandma some water."

A beige pitcher and stack of plastic cups sat on the table closest to him. Feeling like someone else was controlling his limbs he freed one of the cups from its crinkly wrapper and began to pour, the trickle of water noisy in the quiet room. His blood was rushing back in, and along with it the hyper-awareness of his surroundings.

Then his dad spoke. The words were sticky, too-sweet:

"How's Jas doin', Shane?"

Shane's hand jerked, spilling water down the side of the cup.

"Fine," he said quietly.

It was the first time he'd talked to Corey in over two years. Not looking up, he grabbed napkins from the tray, mopping the spill with trembling hands before passing the water to Trudy.

She took a small, careful sip. "Who's Jas?"

"What, never told you, Ma?" Corey swallowed a bite of sandwich, then dropped the half-eaten thing back in its container, wiping crumbs off his jeans to the floor. "He's got a kid."

He shot a sharp look Shane's direction.

"Hard to make time out of thin air, boy. Job at a farm, working at home, taking care of a little girl? Awful lot on one plate."

"Who's her mother?" Trudy snapped.

Shane's palms glazed with sweat. "She's not—she's not mine…"

"Mom," Marnie said, with a nervous glance at him. "Jas is Shane's goddaughter. He was friends with her parents."

"Huh," said Trudy, squinting. "Well, good luck, Shane. Kids aren't easy. You never know what sort of person they'll be when they grow up, no matter how hard you try."

Shane didn't know what to make of this statement from the woman he'd once regarded as barely a step above his own father. Yet before anyone could respond, she rubbed her forehead and spoke again, exhausted.

"Corey, Shane, could you give me and Marnie a minute? There's something I need to talk to her about in private."

Corey gave an exaggerated stretch.

"Right you are, Mom," he said, the words as easy as his mannerism. He took his time getting up, closing the half-eaten sandwich container and setting it on the chair.

Shane's eyes darted between the three other people in the room, heart hammering.

He'd come today to protect Marnie, and had thought that meant not leaving her side. Not letting her vulture family swoop down to make carrion of her during a vulnerable time, when it'd be easy to play on her soft nature. Until this morning he would've trusted Trudy as far as he could throw her.

Turned out in this fragile state, he could throw her pretty damn far. Dying had given her bitter, abusive old ass some clarity. If anything, Trudy asking for the room—along with her blatant lack of patience with Corey—was a good sign. It meant she wanted to discuss business where Marnie had a chance, and that it wasn't his grandmother he had to worry about anymore.

Just his dad.

The opportunity to corner Shane seemed sufficient compensation for them being shooed away, and he could feel the lasers of smug satisfaction from across the room. He also felt Marnie's softer stare, full of concern, silently questioning if he was okay with this.

Refusing to meet any of their eyes, he jammed his hands in his pockets and headed past the curtain toward the door.

"What, you ain't even gonna wait for me?" Corey said, hot on his heels, "We gotta give them a minute, son. That means you and me, we got some catching up to do."

"Like hell we do," Shane muttered, rounding into the hall.

"Yeah?" Corey caught up to him, and within a few paces snagged Shane's arm with enough force to spin him around. "Like hell we do."

Shane jerked from the grasp and kept walking. He had no idea where he was going or what he was doing—only that he had to get the fuck out of this hallway, because standing around with his dad was not an option. He was here for Marnie, not this. This could fucking wait. This could fucking wait forever.

Corey laughed. "You gonna make me chase you all around the hospital, boy? 'Cause I got fucking time. I got all the time in the goddamned world."

Shane sped up, but Corey kept pace at his side.

"How 'bout you tell me why your ass showed up today?" he continued, poison inside the taunt. "'Cause I sure as shit know it ain't out of love for your fucking grandma."

"Fuck off."

"You ain't going anywhere, Shane. You're waiting on Marnie, so you and me, we're gonna fucking talk. So what is it? Why the sudden need for closure with dear old gran?"

Shane's head was going into a tunnel. For the second time that day his surroundings were closing in, but rather than the anxious walls of claustrophobia, now it was blackness. He focused on walking ahead, weaving between the nurses, trying with a childlike foolishness to pretend if he couldn't see his father, his father couldn't see him.

Corey stepped in front to cut him off, hand on the wall. When Shane tried to dodge, his path was blocked again.

"She's not mine," Corey mocked in an artificially high voice. "You wanna tell grandma why that is, Shane? Wanna tell her why a sweet little girl like Jas"—he tilted his head—"can't possibly be yours?"

Shane was not about to do this. He wasn't going to play chicken in a hospital hallway with his dad, with nurses milling about, those fucking empty gurneys lining the walls like they'd just finished dropping off their dead to the morgue.

Though it made him want to puke, he stood his ground, lifting his head to look Corey in the eye.

Corey stared back.

"My sister know?" he demanded, jabbing his face closer to Shane's. No more of the smarmy sucking up to his mother, or pretending he cared about his sister. No, he'd chucked all that aside before he was even out of the room. Too much work to keep up any mask of decency.

"I asked you," Corey repeated, louder, "a goddamn question, Shane. Does my sister know? Because I swear to fucking god, if you're sniffing around here for money—"

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

A nurse appeared behind them, face nervous but voice firm. She avoided looking at Corey, addressing Shane. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask that you keep it down."

Corey's sneer rearranged into an unpleasant smile.

"'Course, sweetheart," he said, voice like grainy honey. He turned to Shane. "C'mon, son. We'll discuss this away from these nice folk."

With that, he draped an arm over Shane's shoulders and led him down the hall.

It was like being in a dream that he knew was a dream, and yet couldn't wake up from or control. He'd been here before, floating down surreal hospital hallways where people came to die, where blinding white and beeping red lulled one softly from dream to nightmare. And now he was here under his father's arm, trapped, a caught fucking mouse.

Stop it. Snap out of it. Push him off. Call the fucking security and tell them he's psychotic. Go back to the room. Do fucking anything. Anything.

But Shane did nothing.

Corey led him the rest of the way down the hall, and only once they'd turned the corner did he jerk back his arm, like he'd been touching something disgusting. The area was deserted by nurses and visitors alike, and in the privacy he rounded on Shane, index finger out.

"Telling you," he hissed, pointing it in his face. "You get involved in this? You make it so I don't get what's fucking coming to me? Your ass will pay."

Apparently it was only disgusting to touch Shane, not to be close. It was a stare-off, the tunnel of black closing in again; Shane wanted to close his eyes but was afraid, and Corey was right up in his business, inches from his face, breathing the same air as him, performing the one trick that had never failed, this silent intimidation—

Then a cruel grin twisted over the dry lips. Corey eased back.

"Boozing it up before you came, eh?" He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Tsk, tsk. Then again, some things ain't never gonna change. What was the fucker's name? William? That your new Gary, Shane?"

Though the arm wasn't over Shane's shoulders anymore, the ghost of its weight still pushed down. The room pulsed, and the black tunnel swirled.

He'd left this before, he remembered, in some vague corner of his brain while the rest of him shut down. He'd walked out on this. But here there was no chance of that. He was disappearing, trying to pull himself out of the suction of a whirlpool while situated right over the drain.

Gary. Corey had called him that, when Garrett was alive. Shane hadn't known whether it was to piss him off or because he just didn't care. Probably both.

And now William.

The new Garrett?

William.

Shane had been fucking right all along these past few days. It was written all over him, wasn't it? Like in hotels, when black light was shone over the sheets and carpet, revealing the sins of anyone who'd stayed there. Corey's eyes were like that—seeing William's fingerprints.

For several seconds Shane lost contact, forgetting where he was. He wasn't in the hall. He wasn't in the hospital. He wasn't touching ground. He was just existing, floating here in front of his father's face while loathing dripped down like slime. He tried to find the thread again—William?—as Corey's words continued to pour, more vitriolic than before.

"—because you fuck this up for me? Trust me, Shane, ain't nobody want a perv watching a little girl. You know that, right? Ain't nobody gonna let you near her after that. So you will watch your fucking step, and if I see so much as a hair from your head on that estate—"

Footsteps padded closer and Corey paused, listening to their cadence. Familiar.

"If you're smart?" he hissed, voice dropping to a whisper for his final thoughts. "You do everything you can to keep my sister away, too. 'Cause I fucking swear, I can make your life hell."

The footsteps approached the corner and Corey backed off.

He hadn't been touching Shane, but he'd eaten up all their surrounding air, and when he stepped away the rest of the world rushed in all at once. Shane was lightheaded when he heard Marnie's voice.

"Shane? Oh, good, that's where you are! I went the wrong way at first…"

She slowed as she neared them. Corey had slipped back into the mask of ease he'd worn in Trudy's room, while Shane remained against the wall.

"Shane," she repeated, eyes flickering between them. "We can go now."

Corey leaned back on his heels.

"Leaving already?" he said, his tone overly casual. "Finally got you up here, and can't even stick around for a game of cards?" He laughed, then clapped Marnie's shoulder. "Was good to see you, Marn. Still make a mean sandwich too."

Tilting in, he brushed a kiss to her cheek.

For the first time since arriving at the hospital, Shane could finally fucking move of his own accord—and it took everything in him not to jump his dad then and there. Marnie looked as uncomfortable under the kiss as Shane felt watching it, and neither of them breathed easy until he'd backed up.

"Good talk, son," he said, giving a genial nod to Shane. "Don't be such a stranger, yeah?"

With that he walked back to his mother's room, whistling.

When he was gone the hallway fell quiet but for soft hospital sounds. Marnie looked at Shane, and this time he looked back. Her warm, tired eyes greeted him like a flame after he'd been trapped in ice.

A lump rose to his throat.

"You, um. You ready?" he asked, pushing off the wall, trying to swallow it.

Marnie nodded. "Very much."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. Her gentle perfume wafted over him, and together they walked to the elevator.