Trade Me (Cyclone #1)

“I just wanted to say that. I’m proud of you, asshole.”


It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And maybe that’s why I can’t make myself say it. Dad, I have a problem.

I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to ever doubt me. I’m stuck between two things I cannot do, and in the end, my dad’s strength of will is going to win out.

“You’re going to kick everyone’s ass,” he says. “Hell. Maybe I won’t bother coming back at all.”

I manage a smile.

And as soon as I cut the video, I go for a run.

When I come back, Tina doesn’t ask me what I was thinking. She doesn’t berate me. She doesn’t tell me I’m an idiot. She doesn’t say any of the things that I’m thinking to myself.

She doesn’t even look at me, as if she knows our time is already over and she’s just waiting it out. She bends over her laptop, frowning at the launch script.

I’m losing everything.

I slide by her into the shower. I’m marshaling my arguments, getting everything in order. We’re good together, I should tell her. I’m only fucked up half the time. Chances like this don’t come along very often, and I’m not about to give this one up. Don’t make me lose you, too.

The soapsuds sting my eyes. I can’t tell my father what he needs to hear. Maybe I can tell her.

But when I come out of the shower, she’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. She’s wearing yoga pants, and she’s holding a single sheet of paper.

“I have something for you,” she says.

“What’s going on?”

“Your life.” She swallows. “You promised me we’d trade lives through the launch, right? That means your life is still mine for the next two days. And I’ve realized the launch is completely wrong.” Her chin goes up. “The Adam and Blake show is not what it needs to be. You want a true construct? To hell with everything I’ve written so far.”

She hands over the paper. “I don’t have a whole lot yet. This isn’t a script. But what I do have starts like this.”

I take the paper from her hands.

She’s right. This isn’t a script. It’s a single line of dialogue.

Blake: Dad, I can’t take over for you. I have a problem.

Fuck. I can’t breathe. I can’t do this. I can’t say those words to him.

But Tina taps her watch as I’m struggling. I don’t know who she could be calling—not at first, not until the person on the other end answers.

“Hi, Tina,” my father says, as if they video call all the time.

“Adam.” Tina doesn’t look at her screen. She looks at me. “We need to come down the night before the launch. Blake needs to talk to you.”

Dad pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is low. “Is this urgent?”

“It is,” Tina says calmly. “It’s going to take a little time, too.”

And this is my dad, so he doesn’t question. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t say that the night before a launch is always taken up with a thousand little details, all of which require his attention. He doesn’t ask to reschedule. He just says, “Fine. I’ll make it happen.”

“Thanks.” She pauses. “Asshole.”

“Ha. He told you about that?” My dad laughs. “God, I corrupted such a nice kid.”

“Shut up, Adam. We’ll see you tomorrow.” She cuts the connection. “There.” She presses her lips together and looks at me.

I should be mad. I should tell her she has no right to interfere. And I would—except that what I feel is not anger, but the complete absence of weight. For the first time in a year, I’m experiencing the unbearable feeling of not being crushed, of seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s dim, but I can see it. If I can tell my father the truth, I can tell her. There are a lot of things Tina and I haven’t said to each other. With the end of the relationship assumed, there’s no point in saying them. But there are a lot of ways that you say you care about a person. And that? That was definitely one of them.

I take her head in my hands and kiss her.

I don’t know what she’s thinking. I don’t know what she’s feeling as our hands caress each other, as we strip to nothing. As she climbs on top of me.

I can only guess from the clench of her fingers on my shoulders, from the catch of her breath, from the way she looks at me.

From the bedroom window, I can see the scattered grid of the city lights below. They spill out onto bridges, stretch into distant buildings across the water.

She takes me and I hold her. I pour out everything into her. And I think about the stars.

18.

BLAKE

My father has conquered the world.

It’s all I can think about when he hugs me at the door. He’s conquered the world and I’m not even master of myself.

“Hey,” he says roughly, punching me on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”