Page 41 of Antagonist

I look around but can’t find Fletcher or Sage. When I come across the stairs to the second floor, I stop, and for a split second, I’m tempted to go up.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely stunning.”

I recognize one voice as Sage’s and follow the hall to an open door.

“Harrison, dear, look at this masterpiece,” Sage and Indy’s mom says, pointing at a painting on the wall. “Isn't it the most perfect wedding anniversary gift from my two boys?”

Now the amount of people in the house makes sense, and I'm going to kill Tate for not warning me that this was an anniversary celebration. I didn't even bring a gift.

The painting looks like a tie-dye spiral, but when you look closely, you can tell it has a lot of detail that couldn’t possibly be made using the technique.

“It’s amazing,” I say.

“It's one of Fletcher's works,” Sage says.

“Fletcher…did that?” I ask.

Sage gives me a strange look. “Yeah, that’s what he does. He’s an artist.”

“I thought he painted houses.Thatkind of painting.” I know how stupid I sound.

It doesn’t matter what Fletcher does. Whether he paints houses or canvas, he’s still the same man. But I feel like this particular piece of the Fletcher story is important.

Then I remember something.

“Is he going to teach the new art classes at your store?” I ask Sage.

“Nah, Arlo is doing that. It’s something he’s really passionate about, and I’m so excited to give the store another purpose. Stella came over to enroll Megan this week. I’ve never seen someone so happy,” he says.

“I know. She’s been crazy about painting ever since Arlo helped us with that paint-by-numbers kit.”

Sage nods for me to follow him out of the room.

“Where are we going?”

“Plausible deniability,” is all he says as he leads me to his car.

Twenty minutes later, I’m helping him carry a large box up to Indy and Tate’s apartment.

“What the hell is this? It’s fucking heavy,” I say.

“Just a little present for Tyler’s birthday.”

“Tyler is what, five months?”

“Hey, I’m a loving uncle. I don’t need to wait for society to tell me when it’s okay to give my nephew a gift.”

I want to laugh, but I’m afraid of throwing out my back. “Fair enough.”

As soon as we’re inside the apartment and put the box down, Sage goes to the kitchen.

“Fuck yeah,” he says, and a moment later, he’s stuffing part of a muffin in his mouth.

I’ve heard all the stories from Tate about Sage breaking in and leaving them with unwanted gifts, but watching the guy do his thing in person is a new level of entertainment. I just hope Tate doesn’t kill me.

Once Sage is done ransacking their kitchen, we take the box to the nursery.