The truck pulled away from the curb, engine humming steady as they merged into the afternoon traffic. Kota's phone was already out, thumbs flying across the screen while his dad rambled about the new contact. He typed fast to Theo, heart still racing from the name drop.
Plans to come over have been compromised. Dad's buddy is Riley's dad. We're heading there now. I'll explain later. Sorry.
He hit send and shoved the phone into his pocket just as they turned onto their street. The apartment complex looked the same as always, faded brick and chain-link balconies, but everything felt heavier now. Khalil killed the engine in their usual spot and hopped out first, heading straight for the back of the truck bed. He yanked out two full 24-packs of beer, one under each arm like they weighed nothing, muscles flexing under his work jacket.
"Grab your bag, kiddo. We're not staying long. Just freshen up and head out," Khalil called over his shoulder, already walking toward the stairs.
Kota followed, legs heavy, the text to Theo sitting like a rock in his gut. He unlocked the door while his dad set the packs on the counter with a loud clink of cans. Khalil disappeared into his room for maybe two minutes, changed into a clean polo, then grabbed the beer again on the way out. They were back in the truck in under ten minutes, the packs rattling in the bed as they pulled onto the main road. Kota stared out the window, watching the strip malls slide past, his mind spinning through every worst-case scenario. Riley at home. Riley knowing his dad was friends with Riley's dad. Riley with leverage. It felt like a trap closing slow.
The drive to Eli's house took twenty minutes through the suburbs. Nice neighborhood, two-story homes with fresh lawns and basketball hoops in every driveway. Khalil whistled low when they turned onto the street, clearly impressed. "Eli's done well for himself. Said he bought this place last year after the big contract. Good man."
They pulled up to a clean white house with blue shutters and a wide front porch. Eli was already waiting outside, leaning against the railing with two open cans of beer in his hands. He looked younger than Kota expected, maybe early thirties, slim waist that tapered into wide hips in that universal post-Vanishing way, fluffy short hair that caught the light, light freckles across his nose, no beard at all. Abs hinted under the tight shirt when he moved. Huh. Interesting. Kota's brain filed that away even through the panic.
Khalil parked, hopped out fast, and clapped Eli on the back with one of the 24-packs still under his arm. "Buddy! How's it goin'!" The two men laughed like old friends, clapping shoulders and cracking jokes about quotas and late deliveries. Kota stepped out slower, backpack left in the truck, and watched his dad light up in a way he rarely saw. This was the first time he had ever seen Khalil be buddy-buddy with another guy, all easy grins and back slaps. It felt weird, almost wrong.
Eli noticed him right away and walked over, extending a hand. "You must be Kota. Heard a lot about you. Eli." The handshake was firm, calloused from work, and then Eli tossed him one of the open cans like it was the most natural thing. "Here, get started."
Kota caught it on reflex, cold metal slick in his palm. "Uh, I'm not old enough to drink."
Eli laughed, easy and loud. "Wuss. Your old man said you're basically a man now. Right, Khalil?"
Khalil grinned wide from the porch. "Drink up, son. One won't hurt. Builds character."
Kota stared at the can, then popped the tab because both men were watching. He took a swig. The taste hit like a slap. Actual ass. He had never eaten ass in his life, but if he ever did, this had to be what it would taste like, bitter, metallic, sour, with a weird chemical afterburn that coated his tongue. Ew. He fought the gag rising in his throat, forced a fake smile, and gave a thumbs-up.
"Wow… I uhh… I'm feeling the buzz already." The words came out strained, but the men bought it, laughing and clapping him on the back as they headed inside.
The house was kinda cozy once they stepped through the door. Painted walls in warm tones, lots of orange everywhere, orange throw pillows on the couch, orange accents on the shelves, even an orange rug in the living room that made the whole space feel bright and lived-in. Family photos lined one wall, mostly Eli with a younger kid and what looked like Riley in the background. Eli headed straight for the kitchen, opened the big freezer, and pulled out a giant rack of ribs wrapped in foil.
"These bad boys are going on the grill tonight," he said, setting them on the counter. Khalil followed him in, already rolling up his sleeves, and the two men started chatting about meat prep like it was the most important conversation in the world—rub recipes, smoker temps, how long to let them rest. Kota stood there awkwardly, beer can still in hand, the sour taste lingering on his tongue.
Khalil glanced over after a minute. "Kota, why don't you head upstairs and hang with the kids? Eli's boy Riley's up there, and the little one too. Get to know them while we handle this."
Kota's stomach dropped again. He cleared his throat. "Dad, Riley's umm… weird. Like, really weird. I don't think—"
Khalil waved it off without looking up from the ribs. "All kids are weird at that age. Go on. Learn something. Eli says the boy's got hustle. Good influence."
Kota sighed, long and defeated, the weight of the day crashing down all at once. He set the half-empty beer can on the counter and turned toward the stairs. The wooden steps creaked under his sneakers as he started walking up, each footfall feeling heavier than the last. The hallway at the top was dim, doors lined both sides, and he could hear faint music coming from one of the rooms. His hand gripped the railing tight. This was it. His doom. He kept climbing, one slow step after another, the orange walls closing in and the sound of his dad's laughter fading behind him.