Page 37 of Rhodes

Deuce buried me on squats, and I let him. Then I buried him on the last set just to keep it even.

It's a good morning, the kind that leaves me loose and stupid and thirsty.

My phone buzzes in the bag. I bend down, unzip it, and pull it out to see a text from Deuce.

nash wants to go out tonight. u in or u gonna be boring?

Miss me already?

Then I give a thumbs up on his text, walk to the kitchen, and drop the phone on the counter. The house is still, with the fridge hum being the loudest thing in it.

Her truck is parked in the driveway, where it always is. I saw it coming up the walk. I peek down the hall and see that her bedroom door's shut.

Is she sleeping in after the before-dawn start we pulled yesterday? That would track. Or maybe she's sitting at the desk, working through her shell counts. She could be getting ready to go somewhere later, dinner with Trey, whatever weekend she's got that I don't know about.

I look away from the door. My phone buzzes again. It's Deuce again. Goddamn, he's annoying.

so??

So, what?

what time can you meet up?

You're the one who told me Nash was making plans. You tell me. I have to go by the office shortly, but I doubt I'll be long.

working on a saturday?

You know better than that. Ridge asked me to swing by to talk about something.

oh, right. ridge is working. OK, text me when ur done. b ready to drink.

I leave it there and head for the shower.

The water runs hot. The steam fogs the mirror while I scrub the salt off my skin. My forehead resting against the tile, I let the water run over me.

Twenty minutes later I'm dry, in dark jeans and a clean button-down that still smells like dryer sheets, boots on, and keys in my hand. My legs ache in a way I earned.

I have no idea what Ridge wants, but I plan to be in and out of there quickly, and then I'll hook up with the boys.

The hall's quiet on my way out. Her door hasn't moved.

The elevator opens into an eerily quiet fiftieth floor. There are no keyboards clicking or assistants behind the reception desk greeting me. Saturday has emptied out the top floor, leaving nothing but glass, polished floors, and a bird’s-eye view of the Delta.

The Mississippi fills the windows on the far side. Beyond it, cranes move over the terminals, and container stacks line the docks, ships sitting low in the water while the whole Stone Intermodal machine keeps running whether anybody up here is working or not.

My boots hit the floor loudly because there is nothing to drown out the noise. I walk around the corner to Ridge's corner office and tap on the door.

He's behind the desk, our father's desk, with his sleeves rolled, showing off his forearm tattoos, and his laptop open to the side. A folder is open directly in front of him.

"You know normal people take Saturdays off," I say, dropping into the chair across from him without being asked. "There are laws. Labor laws. I could report you for harassing me."

He doesn't look up from whatever it is he's reading. "You're eight minutes late."

"I lifted this morning. It was a big leg day, so I'm moving a little slowly. I didn't know you summoned me for a hard time. Sorry, bro." I stretch my legs out under the desk and grin at him.

"Do you think you're the only one whose time is important?"

"Chill, Ridge. Jesus. I need to call Coco and tell her to keep you home on the weekends, at least. Get that corncob out of your ass."