But while seeing Clay had shocked me in the moment, it also brought up a sadness I didn’t know was there until it was already stabbing me in the chest. I had shaved some dead weight off over the years, sure—in the world of money and business and the self-proclaimed familial elite, bad people came out of the woodwork. But every once in a while, there were good people, and thenreallygood people.
Clay Ferguson was a really good one. Upfront and real as they come, he was also kind to his core. Something I knew many people didn’t see at first glance. And while I was settling into Seaside fine, having been in the town for three years now, there was something missing with the friendships I had cultivated here.
Relatability and understanding. I missed that. Being understood, if only a little.
My knuckles connected with a solid fist as I sauntered up to the waiting form on the street. Tall, light in complexion, curly hair and dressed casually, Clay Ferguson stood with the biggest smile on hisface as I approached him. “Montez! Give me a hug man, stop playin’ around.”
I laughed and did as the man said. He was right after all, there was no reason to act like a stranger when we weren’t. He was my only friend from summers that I ever kept up with throughout the years. We had even visited each other in college a few times. Everything only went dark because, in the wake of losing Mar, it sort of had to. But now, in the light of his sunny face I couldn’t help but feel sort of excited. Because mean as he was, Clay was a big softy at heart.
“Still a hugger,” I said as I pulled away from him. “I knew you were in love with me.”
“Ah, shut the fuck up,” he said. He took a long look at me and then whistled. “You’ve changed.”
I shrugged, “So have you.”
He shook his head, pointing at my sleeves of permanent art. “You’ve changed more. They’re going to have a field day with you in there. I get shit for just the one.”
Holding up his arm, he displayed a large forearm tattoo that spiraled up his elbow and into the sleeves of his shirt. I nodded at the ink. It looked well done and was well placed for him. If he was a suit for his family’s company, he would need something he could hide easily.
“Where’d you get that done?”
“Oh, a pretty cool guy, name is like Tore, I think?”
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Man, fuck Tore. Come to me next time.”
Clay huffed, “What’s wrong with Tore?”
“What’s not wrong with that asshole?” I grumbled. “I’m just better, come to me.”
“Alright,” he put his hands up in surrender. “Would’ve anyway if I’d known.”
If he’d known what I did for a living—who I was now. Theguilty thoughts filtered through my head and I tipped a thumb over my shoulder, “I have a jacket in the car. I can cover them if?—”
“Hell no.” He clapped a hand over my shoulder and started leading us forward. “Let’s give the stuck up pricks something to talk about. I might even take my shirt off, since I noticed you checking me out.”
I elbowed him but looked up at the tall building we were headed into. We were deep into downtown Seaside. I usually stayed around the outskirts where the beaches were, my home residing there too. Busy areas and corporate skeletons like this one tended to make me itch.
“Where are we going anyway?” I asked even as we walked through the revolving doors of a pristine lobby straight to the sleek elevators. Inside, he pressed a lone button opposite to the rest of the floors. Then he punched in some code on the keypad before sliding back against the wall.
“Knights. There’s a small charter here. Not as big as in the cities, but we take what we can get,” he said.
My eyebrows knit together. Knights was a popular members only bar. Membership criteria couldn’treallybe bought, though they had everyone’s black cards on account year round. There was more to it than money, though. Only a certain number of membership slots could be taken each year and those were generally reserved for people of power and influence. It made sense that Clay, a Ferguson, would want to come here, but me…
I looked around the elevator car apprehensively. “Uh, I don’t have a membership anymore.”
He looked at me for a second. “Why?”
“I just don’t hang around like that anymore,” I said, kicking at nothing. “Like you said, I’ve changed.”
Clay hummed thoughtfully as we rode the rest of the way up in silence. When the doors opened, I felt another pat on my shoulder. “Try it. I bet you’re still in there. If not, I’ll tap you in as a guest.”
I don’t know if I was more annoyed that I actually wanted to know if I was still a member, or that when I gave my name to the host at the front I found that I was. The easy way in which he said, “Welcome back, Mr. Harper,” unsettled me at the same time it eased something in my chest.
That call from my mother had shaken me up. When I left home I also left my family’s company in a less than amazing place. We weren’t in financial distress by any means, but my father had always wanted me to take things over–not as acting CEO, the running a corporation thing was never really for me– but something better suited to my strengths like the head of design. I left before that title could be given to me.
They’d needed me, and I left. I just couldn’t stay. But that didn’t mean I wanted them to be doing poorly. And when mom called me, I worried that maybe that was the case.
So while being let into the members only club after ten years of my self-proclaimed detachment from the world that had driven my sister away was sort of irritating—suffocating in a way that ocean water never let you go once you were in its clutches, it was also relieving to know my family was still doing well enough to keep up with non-necessities.
