Chapter 2 · The Ring She Broke

My phone buzzed three times in my inside pocket.

I pulled it out and saw a message from Tom Porter.

Tom wrote, [Mr. Grant, Jennings Corp is pushing again. They want the LOI for the Smart City Initiative, worth 3.3 billion dollars, signed this week. Harold Jennings himself has called three times.]

I stood in the hotel corridor, my reflection staring back at me from the floor-to-ceiling windows at the end.

My suit was crisp, my tie perfectly straight, but my eyes were bloodshot.

I typed out a short reply.

I typed back, [Give it to Sophie Reed.]

Three seconds later, Tom called.

"Mr. Grant, this project is worth 4 billion dollars. ReedTech is barely a third the size of Jennings Corp. Can Sophie really take this on?" Tom asked.

"That's her problem," I said.

"But..."

"Tom."

He went quiet.

"You've been with me for six years. When have I ever had to repeat myself?" I asked.

"Understood, Mr. Grant. I'll draft the LOI tonight," Tom said.

I hung up and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

The sharp click of heels echoed down the corridor, Lydia hurried after me.

"Lucas. Wait. Tanya's stubborn. Cut her some slack, " Lydia called after me.

I didn't look back. I pushed open the fire door and took the stairs down.

My shoes hit the metal steps, each step echoing through the empty stairwell.

Fifteen years.

That's enough.

*****

My car was parked in the hotel's underground garage.

A black Maybach with a custom plate Tom made sure I got. No one at The Grove had ever seen this car, whenever I went back, I switched to my old Toyota, the one I'd been driving for five years.

I opened the door, slid inside, and the moment I closed it, the world went quiet.

I leaned back into the leather seat and closed my eyes for a moment.

My mind was a mess of memories.

When I was five, we moved into The Grove. The little girl from the Jennings family next door, her hair in pigtails, was peeking over the wall, watching me.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Lucas Grant," I said.

"Lucas, do you have any Transformers?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's be friends."

Just like that.

There was an old locust tree between our yards. I nailed some planks to the trunk to make a ladder. She'd climb over from her side, I'd climb over from mine, and we did that for fifteen years.

When her mom, Lydia, made beef stew, she'd bring over a bowl. "Here you go, future son-in-law. Try my cooking," she'd say.

When Susan baked cookies, she'd have me take a plate over. "Take these over to Tanya for me."

Tanya.

She was four months older than me, and when we were kids, she always used that to boss me around.

"Call me sis," she'd say.

"No way," I'd reply.

"Are you going to call me sis or not? If you don't, I'll tell your mom you stole some of her homemade pickles."

"Sis."

But then, at some point, she stopped letting me call her sis.

I think it was at the New Year's party in our sophomore year. She was up on stage in a white dress, singing, and in that packed crowd, her eyes locked onto mine like I was the only person there.

After she finished, she ran over to me, her face glistening with sweat from the stage lights.

"Did you like it?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was great," I said.

"Don't call me sis anymore."

"Why not?"

"No reason. Call me by my name."

From then on, I called her Tanya.

And she called me Lucas.

We'd been calling each other by our names for so many years that everyone took it for granted, Lucas and Tanya, it was only a matter of time.

But "sooner or later" is the biggest lie there is.

Because "sooner or later" really means you're not in a hurry, and not being in a hurry is another way of saying it's not something you really want.

It was our senior year when Simon transferred to our school.

He was lean and fair-skinned, always spoke in this slow, unhurried way, and whenever he smiled, there was a tiny mole at the corner of his eye.

The first time Tanya brought him over, she said, "This is Simon, he sits next to me in class. Lucas, show him around, maybe shoot some hoops with him. He just got here and doesn't know anyone yet."

I spent the whole afternoon playing ball with him.

When the game was over, I spotted Tanya sitting on the steps by the court, resting her chin on her hand, watching us the whole afternoon, but she wasn't watching the game. She was watching Simon.

That look, she'd never given me that before.

There was curiosity, a little caution, and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on.

It wasn't until much later that I finally understood what that feeling was called.

It was falling for someone.

Chapter 2

My phone buzzed three times in my inside pocket.

I pulled it out and saw a message from Tom Porter.

Tom wrote, [Mr. Grant, Jennings Corp is pushing again. They want the LOI for the Smart City Initiative, worth 3.3 billion dollars, signed this week. Harold Jennings himself has called three times.]

I stood in the hotel corridor, my reflection staring back at me from the floor-to-ceiling windows at the end.

My suit was crisp, my tie perfectly straight, but my eyes were bloodshot.

I typed out a short reply.

I typed back, [Give it to Sophie Reed.]

Three seconds later, Tom called.

"Mr. Grant, this project is worth 4 billion dollars. ReedTech is barely a third the size of Jennings Corp. Can Sophie really take this on?" Tom asked.

"That's her problem," I said.

"But..."

"Tom."

He went quiet.

"You've been with me for six years. When have I ever had to repeat myself?" I asked.

"Understood, Mr. Grant. I'll draft the LOI tonight," Tom said.

I hung up and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

The sharp click of heels echoed down the corridor, Lydia hurried after me.

"Lucas. Wait. Tanya's stubborn. Cut her some slack, " Lydia called after me.

I didn't look back. I pushed open the fire door and took the stairs down.

My shoes hit the metal steps, each step echoing through the empty stairwell.

Fifteen years.

That's enough.

*****

My car was parked in the hotel's underground garage.

A black Maybach with a custom plate Tom made sure I got. No one at The Grove had ever seen this car, whenever I went back, I switched to my old Toyota, the one I'd been driving for five years.

I opened the door, slid inside, and the moment I closed it, the world went quiet.

I leaned back into the leather seat and closed my eyes for a moment.

My mind was a mess of memories.

When I was five, we moved into The Grove. The little girl from the Jennings family next door, her hair in pigtails, was peeking over the wall, watching me.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Lucas Grant," I said.

"Lucas, do you have any Transformers?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's be friends."

Just like that.

There was an old locust tree between our yards. I nailed some planks to the trunk to make a ladder. She'd climb over from her side, I'd climb over from mine, and we did that for fifteen years.

When her mom, Lydia, made beef stew, she'd bring over a bowl. "Here you go, future son-in-law. Try my cooking," she'd say.

When Susan baked cookies, she'd have me take a plate over. "Take these over to Tanya for me."

Tanya.

She was four months older than me, and when we were kids, she always used that to boss me around.

"Call me sis," she'd say.

"No way," I'd reply.

"Are you going to call me sis or not? If you don't, I'll tell your mom you stole some of her homemade pickles."

"Sis."

But then, at some point, she stopped letting me call her sis.

I think it was at the New Year's party in our sophomore year. She was up on stage in a white dress, singing, and in that packed crowd, her eyes locked onto mine like I was the only person there.

After she finished, she ran over to me, her face glistening with sweat from the stage lights.

"Did you like it?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was great," I said.

"Don't call me sis anymore."

"Why not?"

"No reason. Call me by my name."

From then on, I called her Tanya.

And she called me Lucas.

We'd been calling each other by our names for so many years that everyone took it for granted, Lucas and Tanya, it was only a matter of time.

But "sooner or later" is the biggest lie there is.

Because "sooner or later" really means you're not in a hurry, and not being in a hurry is another way of saying it's not something you really want.

It was our senior year when Simon transferred to our school.

He was lean and fair-skinned, always spoke in this slow, unhurried way, and whenever he smiled, there was a tiny mole at the corner of his eye.

The first time Tanya brought him over, she said, "This is Simon, he sits next to me in class. Lucas, show him around, maybe shoot some hoops with him. He just got here and doesn't know anyone yet."

I spent the whole afternoon playing ball with him.

When the game was over, I spotted Tanya sitting on the steps by the court, resting her chin on her hand, watching us the whole afternoon, but she wasn't watching the game. She was watching Simon.

That look, she'd never given me that before.

There was curiosity, a little caution, and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on.

It wasn't until much later that I finally understood what that feeling was called.

It was falling for someone.