Page 47 of Double Exposure

Chapter Thirteen

Carter Weston

Jade spends the afternoon with her parents at the hospital and then texts that she and her mother are dining in at the hotel. I had to leave around one just to get work done.

I already miss her.

That night, Codie drops off leftovers from the night before. Though grateful, I’m not particularly hungry. I text Brock to see if he and Savi want to come over and help out.

But instead of just Brock, it’s Ryan and Brock. Together. Savi pants in the doorway as they shed boots. Ryan has even more food packed in a flat glass baking pan. We heat up food, crack open beers and Brock gets into it fast.

“Don't know,” I say, tipping the beer bottle, in an attempt to answer his question.

“What do you mean, you don’t know,” repeats Brock. “I can tell the way you look at her.”

“Am I getting in on bro talk?” Ryan taps the neck of his bottle to both of ours.

“She's driven. Her career is everything to her. She needs to travel. A lot.”

“So?” Brock shrugs. “You’re not marrying her. You’re just seeing if there’s something there, right?”

I nod.

Brock is relentless. “It’s called ‘dating.’ It’s where one person takes another person and—”

“I know what dating is.”

“Just checking. Haven’t seen a whole lot of it in the last three years.”

I try to explain. “I don’t know if it would work.”

“I know one thing, it sure won’t unless you try.” Brock sits on a bar stool at the counter and starts peeling the paper off the bottle. Our dad used to do this, a long time ago.

“Just don’t get ahead of yourself.” Ryan stands in front of the fridge trying to decide on what to eat. He’s hungry already. I glare at him. Ryan is in and out of love on a weekly basis.

“See, spoken by somebody who's been there,” says Brock. “Don’t worry so much about the logistics. Just enjoy it.” He pats me on the shoulder.

My brothers mean well. But they don’t understand. This isn’t about dating someone.

This is about loving someone. The rest of the evening deteriorates into a deeply rhetorical analysis of what male-female relationships should be and how they function.

It’s too much and I drink too many beers.

΅

Early the next morning, my phone goes off. The digital clock on the nightstand, sears red numbers into my brain: 4:43. Almost five o'clock. I groan, the talk with my brothers the night before, a soggy memory. I roll over and sit up, peering at the phone.

It's a number I don't recognize and it's coming through on an app for overseas calls. The only reason I have this is so I can talk to my friends in Canada, but it's not them. I turn off my phone, roll over, and pull the covers over my head. Within seconds the phone rings again.

A small worry suddenly festers.

“Hello.”

“Is this Carter?”

It takes me a second to register who this is. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone.” Ruth Choi’s voice is low.