Page 99 of The Logic of Loyalty

After I place Beth’s items in the back, I pull out the tire iron and prowl up the drive.

“Trevor! What are you—oh.”

My mother is inside the house, so she doesn’t have to watch as I raise the iron like a baseball bat and swing it into the back corner, shattering the taillight.

Incredibly, no alarm goes off.

Satisfied, I stride back to the Suburban to see a smirking Paige and a smiling Bethany.

Perfect.

I spin in my seat again, the blurry vision of my office whirling past until it slows enough for it to come back into focus. I pause for a beat, then do it again.

“What am I even doing here?”

All of my accounts are done. My two weeks are being processed by HR, I have everything submitted to the authorities. I’m literally waiting.

A knock at the door precedes the quiet huff of a blurry shape standing in my office. I stop to see Asher standing with his hands in his pockets. “What the hell are you doing?” He shuts the door behind him and crosses his arms, leaning a hip against the desk.

I stand, only to stumble back into my seat. “Fuck, I’m dizzy.”

His eyes widen before he leans over the edge of the desk. “Don’t tell me you’re drunk.”

I give my brain a second to stop spinning and try again—only slightly stumbling this time. “Nope, just bored out of my mind and ready to finish this shit.”

“We’re really only waiting for the right signatures and some forensics and paperwork to go through. It’s basically crossing the Ts and dotting the Is.” He taps and slides his fingers across the gaudy desk until he stops at my framed photo of Paige and Jacob. He spins it around and peers into it. “You didn’t have to hit the car, did you?”

I snort. “Yes.”

He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have helped you out. With that.”

“Probably shouldn’t have.”

He taps the frame. “Good-looking family.”

“Thanks.” My fingers itch to snatch the frame, but I pick up another pen instead and click it multiple times.

“Jesus.” Asher jerks the pen out of my hand and slaps it onto the desktop. “You need a timeout—or some sleepy time tea.” He opens his mouth, possibly to suggest a brand or something else he probably assumes is witty and funny as fuck, but he’s interrupted when my office door swings open again, this time without a knock.

“William.” I barely hold in my snort. Back to William. “I need to see you in my office. Ten minutes. Don’t be late.” Dick turns around, but pauses at the sight of Asher. “You, come with me.” I bite back my grin at the grimace on Asher’s face as he slumps, places the frame back, and follows my father out the door.

“Sounds like I have ten minutes to kill.” I’m not even worried, and that is liberating as hell. I barely sit down and open up a game of solitaire, along with a set of The Shop concept drawings and marketing strategies, when my office line rings. Goddammit.

I answer the phone, resigned to what is coming next. “Trevor. I need to see you in my office.” Even Bobby’s voice sounds punchable. He hangs up before I get a chance to answer, and I’m perfectly happy with that. Being anywhere near him with his false sense of superiority after yesterday’s meeting sounds horrible.

Only two more weeks. I can do this. I’m confident my father is going to start hanging the stupid, illegal fucking loan over my head after what went down with my mother and the missed meeting. Bobby is likely going to try to dump grunt work on me.

I look around my closet-sized office. I worked my ass off for this space that overlooks the brick of the neighboring building. It’s clean, simple, and not worth all the time I’ve spent in it. “Fuck it.” I grab my work bag and fill it with a few of my personal items. My framed photos of my family go first, my notepads next, then my favorite pen, a couple of drawings by my boy—our stick figure family smiling under a doodled sun and standing on squiggly grass.

It takes less than three minutes to pack everything important, and it all fits into my work bag. I sling it over my shoulder and walk straight to Ms. Tyson in Human Resources. She’s a badass, and I’m one of the few who stay on her good side, though she gave me some side-eyes and gruff dismissals over the summer and leading up to now. I raise my hand and knock on her already open door. When she looks up at me with a don’t fuck with me face, then smiles at me, I flashback to all those years ago.

“Trevor, what are you doing here still?” Ms. Tyson hops out of her chair and rushes to my side—her hand hitting my forehead. “Boy, get your ass home. I’m calling your momma.”

“No! No, please.” I cough and shudder. “I have to get this taken care of before the end of the day. My father⁠—”

“Is a prick. You’re going home, and he’s being served a paper with a reminder that we can’t have sick people in the office.” She feigns a small cough. “Old women like me could get deathly ill from just a silly ol’ cough.” She throws her arm around my back and pulls me into her office, settling me on the small couch she has against the wall. “I’ll make you a deal. You lie down here for a spell, and if your temperature goes down after you take this—” she pulls out a bottle of pills from her giant purse and shakes it at me, and like magic, a cup of apple juice is shoved into my hand. “Then I won’t tell anyone.”

“What if he finds me? He will”—cough—“lose his mind.”