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Denise’s voice was in his ear before he even had a chance to get into the car, exasperated and demanding. “Casey? Casey, my goodness. What on earth is going on? It’s completely unlike you to miss so many calls.”

“Denise, so sorry.” Casey tried to turn on the regular charm, but he felt like a kid sitting in the principal’s office. His heart was pounding, his hand clamped around the steering wheel. “It was on silent.”

“Well, that’s unacceptable. You know I need to be able to reach you.”

“Of course.” He looked up at the lit kitchen window of Melody’s condo, searching for movement. No one seemed to be watching.

“To be honest, Casey, I haven’t been very pleased with your performance lately.”

Casey leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes. His brain conjured up a rude comment about what her son seemed to think of his performance , and he nearly giggled, even though that was the last thing he should be doing right now. God, he was exhausted, and it felt like he had no control over his emotions. Every nerve was raw, and things were bubbling up in the back of his head that he hadn’t thought about in years.

Denise continued. “We don’t seem to be on the same page about the ball at all, even though I was very clear on my expectations for the decor.”

Your expectations for the decor were fugly . He ground his teeth. “I apologize, I must not have understood—”

“And that isn’t all. I heard some very concerning news just now about your behavior downtown.”

Casey’s stomach dropped, and he realized his fingers were shaking on the wheel, though he wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety or anger. His behavior , like he was a child instead of thirty-fucking-two-years old. God, no wonder Laurel couldn’t stand this woman. He thought about hanging up. Racing back up Melody’s stairs and hammering on the door until Laurel answered, grabbing him by the shirtfront and kissing him as hard as he could.

But you couldn’t exactly do that to someone when they were helping their best friend through a mental breakdown. Melody needed Laurel. Laurel didn’t need Casey.

“Denise, whatever you heard—”

“I really don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be spending so much time around my son.” He could picture her narrowed eyes, the nail of her index finger tapping the table. “Especially when he and his friend are causing scenes out in public. To be honest, you’ve seemed distracted since he came into town, and I don’t like it. You’re working for me , so there’s no reason you should be concerned with him at all. People assume things around here, Casey, and when Laurel is seen with—with—”

“With what?” he asked flatly.

“It’s just inappropriate,” she said.

“Right.” Casey didn’t recognize his own voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, sparks popping behind his eyelids. “Well, Denise, if you actually gave a fuck about Laurel, instead of just caring about what the local gossip mill thinks of him, you’d know that he’s got a huge heart, and he was just helping his friend, and that Howie Bonard is a massive shitbag who started the whole thing, and—”

“You’re fired, Casey,” Denise said tightly. “I’m sorry.” She hung up.

*

Casey drove. He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the car. He’d meant to go back to his apartment, but somewhere along the way, he seemed to have forgotten a turn, or taken the wrong one. The night was a long tunnel, lights and highway signs passing occasionally, and though he could look down and see his hands on the wheel, the greenish cast of his knuckles, there was nothing in his head but a kind of dull buzzing. At some point, he had the foggy recollection of stopping for gas, the night air hot and smelling of humidity and exhaust. The rain had stopped, or he’d outrun it.

It wasn’t until he saw the pink fingers of dawn tracing across the surface of Lake Okeechobee that he realized how far he’d gone.

Casey pulled over at a rest area, mouth tasting sour, skin greasy and wan-looking in the rearview. Jesus. He wasn’t sure if he had said it out loud or not. It was quiet in the cab of his little used Volvo, the only sound the ticking of the engine as it cooled.

The clock on the dash read 5:45am. He’d lost hours of the night, and he was back in Florida.

Blearily, he fumbled for his phone. There was nothing new, just the string of missed-call notifications from Denise, which made him turn the phone off with more force than was necessary. Laurel didn’t know he was gone, and he was probably sleeping, anyway. There was no reason for him to have called.

Unless something had happened with Melody, unless she was in the hospital after all and Laurel needed help and—

And what? Casey would ride in on a white horse and tell him, Sorry, your mom fired me and now the party you were counting on to repair your friend’s reputation is fucked?

He could go back. He could be in Bonard by that afternoon. But it wasn’t like Laurel would welcome him with open arms, right? Without the party, Casey had no purpose. They had agreed to keep everything casual, and it made his skin crawl and his heart hurt to think of hanging around town, just waiting for Laurel to occasionally hook up with him again. No, there was no reason to go back. No reason besides his expensive skincare products and the nice clothes he’d spent so much time finding. But he could find more. He always did. He always managed, somehow.

Casey pulled back onto the highway, heading south.

*

Jamie was doing Tai Chi on his deck when Casey pulled up, in a silk bonnet and what Casey knew were very expensive prescription sunglasses, the swamp behind him sparkling in the early morning light, lily pads and algae crowding the dark surface of the water. As Casey got out of the car, he straightened up to his full height of roughly five-six, waving.

“I knew you were coming, CJ,” Jamie called. “I can always tell. You start ignoring my texts, and then you tell me everything is going fine, and the next thing I know, you’re on my doorstep.”

“Oh my God.” Casey made a face. “I told you not to call me that.”

“You’re CJ when you fuck up,” Jamie said, hopping off the deck of the houseboat and onto the shore. Casey saw how the marshy ground sank under his feet and said a brief prayer for his own nice loafers. Jamie was wearing those weird toe-shoe things that were half athleisure and half sci-fi.

“I hate your shoes,” Casey said.

“I hate your choices. Come here.” Jamie swept him into a hug, and Casey allowed himself to sink into it for a moment, breathing in his familiar smell and the bright green scent of the swamp, his chin resting against the top of Jamie’s head. The difference in their heights had always been a source of unwelcome irony growing up, everyone thinking it was hilarious to comment on how it was the white kid who would be good at basketball. As if there was a single sporty bone in Casey’s body.

“So what happened?” Jamie asked, pulling back.

“I got fired.”

“Fired!” Jamie raised his eyebrows. “Not what I was expecting. Did she figure out the scam?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Please. No, she didn’t like that I was hanging out with her son.”

“ Hanging out .” Jamie put air quotes around the phrase.

Casey rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well.” He was already getting sweaty, and the bugs were coming out, midges circling in his peripheral vision. “Can we go inside? I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Sure.” Jamie clapped him on the back one last time. “Do you like kombucha? It’s home-brewed.”

“Of course it is.” Walking gingerly across the spongy soil, Casey followed him onto the houseboat.

*

“He still hasn’t answered his phone.” Laurel glared down at his cracked screen, trying not to think about the feeling of Casey’s fingernails against his scalp, the hot smell of jasmine. It had been a week, and he was sure that Casey was avoiding him. Laurel’s messiness had been too much, probably. He squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment, heat creeping up his neck. There was a reason he didn’t do relationships. He didn’t seem to be built for them.

“Could it be a family thing? He seemed stressed about that phone call he got.” Melody was cuddled up on the couch, hair piled on top of her head, Luna a round, purring lump on her lap. She had been alright so far, just some mild stomach problems and headaches. The largest issue had been keeping her busy; she got anxious when she had nothing to do, and there were hours of the day to fill. They had done a lot of puzzles and watched a lot of True Crime documentaries.

Laurel shook his head. “I don’t think he has any family to speak of.” On his last food run, he had even—shamefully, desperately—driven past Casey’s apartment complex, hoping to catch a glimpse of his car, but it hadn’t been there.

“He might just be super busy. It’s getting down to the wire with the party, right?” Chip had come over with a crockpot of soup, his mom’s meatball and rice recipe, and the condo was full of the smells of tomato broth and cilantro.

“Yeah, but—” But I was supposed to be helping him with it . Laurel hadn’t spoken to his mother since that disastrous day at Landry Hall, and he really had no desire to reach out to her. But Chip was right, maybe she had just commandeered all of Casey’s time and attention. He frowned, feeling a little pang of jealousy. Which was silly; Casey had no obligation to spend time with Laurel, because they weren’t anything, not really.

Sighing, he sank into a chair. “I’m being stupid, right? It’s not like we’re dating, or something. He doesn’t have to call me back.”

Melody rolled her eyes. “Laurel, you are thirty-fucking-four-years-old, and I’ve never seen you gaze at someone the way you do at Casey. Even the other night when I was completely plastered, I could feel the chemistry between you two. There’s got to be a reason why he hasn’t been in contact.”

“Chemistry doesn’t—” Laurel tried. The collar of his shirt felt far too tight all of a sudden.

“Uh huh. You like him. Why not give it a try?”

Laurel cast a desperate look at Chip, but he just held his hands up. “Could be worth it. Just saying.”

“Ugh, you two are the worst.” He stood up, running his hands through his hair, a panicked, hopeful little feeling fluttering in his throat. His fingers were trembling. “Okay. Okay fine, I’ll call my mom.”

He went out onto the balcony to do it, but he could feel Melody’s eyes on him through the glass. Denise answered on the first ring, and Laurel’s mind went blank, anything he had planned to say bleached white and scrubbed out of his head.

“Laurel?” Her voice was oddly cold. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I—” Laurel licked his lips, trying to find words. He thought of Casey’s hand on his shoulder at the Belmont Inn, how his touch had infused calmness into him. “I um—I borrowed something from Casey.” Borrowed something ? How stupid could an excuse get? “I haven’t been able to get in touch with him to give it back. I was wondering if you’d seen him?”

“Honey, Casey didn’t work out.” She said it with the same unbothered tone she’d had when she had told him she had sold his horse. “I had to let him go.”

Laurel felt himself sway a little against the balcony railing. “Let him go?”

“Yes. But don’t worry, the ball is still on. Lavinia Bonard has been kind enough to connect me with an agency in Charleston, and they’re just fabulous .”

As if he gave a single shit about the ball! Laurel could hear his voice rising in pitch as he said, “Well, where is he? What—”

“Well, I certainly don’t know.” He could practically feel her shrugging down the line. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been in touch. Since you two are such good friends now.”

Laurel hung up in disgust, stomach churning, a cold sweat breaking out on his lower back. Casey was gone. He must be; his car hadn’t been there. Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t he told Laurel that Denise had let him go? Did he think that Laurel wouldn’t want him anymore without the ball? Did he think this was purely transactional and now that he wasn’t getting money out of it there was no reason to stay? Laurel didn’t even know Casey’s real name, let alone where he would have gone. He knew that his eyes got soft when he talked about his grandma, and that he liked sugar but didn’t allow himself much of it, and that he could rattle off flower names and varieties with ease and delight. He knew that he took his coffee black and his tea unsweetened, and that when he smiled, really smiled, it was gorgeous enough to rival the sun. And now Laurel might never get to see him smile again. He had fucked up, hadn’t he; he should have said something, he should have been clear about his feelings instead of just dancing around them. He didn’t want it to end this way, whatever it was. Casey showing up in town had felt like a second chance, and Laurel couldn’t just sit back and let it slip through his fingers.

Melody was tapping on the glass, a worried expression on her face. Everything ok? She mouthed.

Laurel shook his head.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, opening the screen door.

“Denise fired him.” Laurel ran a hand over his face. “And now he’s gone. I don’t know where.”

“So you’re just going to let him disappear?” She crossed her arms.

Laurel felt woozy, his stomach weak. “I have to take care of you. I don’t have time to go looking for him, even if he did want to see me again.”

Melody sighed. “Laurel, no you don’t. I know you feel guilty about not always being here. I feel guilty, too. I haven’t been a great friend to you, either. But I would feel even worse if you missed out on something good out of some misguided sense of obligation.” She put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “You don’t need to save me. That’s not your job. And I guess I have more support here than I thought.” She nodded at Chip, back through the glass.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” She smiled. “Maybe we both need to give ourselves a chance, yeah?”

*

“So what’s your plan?” Jamie asked. They were deep into a Mario Kart tournament, and he tossed it out casually as he steered Princess Daisy around an obstacle, but Casey could hear the edge in his voice.

“Still thinking.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t look pleased by the answer. It had been nice at first, sinking back into the friendship like a warm bath, each of them following their comfortable patterns, giving each other affectionate shit. Now it was starting to pinch, the two of them getting in each other’s way.

He had been there for about a week. Jamie made his own hours, so when he wasn’t working, they played video games, like they had as kids, or drank kombucha and looked out over the swamp. They’d gone on a Walmart run earlier that week to get Casey rubber boots, a toothbrush, fresh produce (Jamie insisted he was going to get scurvy if he kept living on Diet Coke and instant noodles), and pimple patches (he’d been breaking out like crazy without his snail mucin and royal jelly eye cream and other K-beauty products). He had been skeptical about the boots, but they had come in handy when they fed the babies, squelching through the wooded edge of the marsh and watching their eyes light up like lanterns out in the trees. It smoothed something out in Casey’s heart to hear the snuffly smacking noises the raccoons made as they demolished what seemed like truckloads of cat food and hot dogs and grapes.

On days when Jaime was plugged into his work laptop, Casey tried to stay out of his way, reading Jamie’s collection of dogeared vampire novels, trying to fill his head with anything that wasn’t Laurel or Melody or the shitty memories of his dad that had started coming back without his permission. When the restlessness became too much, he picked at his face in the bathroom, or paced around on the dock, the bugs and humidity feeling like some kind of penance. But the houseboat was small, and it was hard to have any privacy.

“You’re going to have to do something.” Jamie glanced at him through his thick glasses, fingers working automatically on the controller. “You know I love you, but I can’t put up with your ass for much longer.”

“I know, I know. You need your space.”

“I’m a solitary creature,” Jamie agreed. When he spoke again, there was a faraway softness in his voice that Casey hardly ever heard. “I thought about it, you know. Well, not really, not a traditional relationship. You know I’m asexual as fuck. But I thought about how nice it would be to have someone to watch the sunset with. Someone’s hand to hold. But then I thought about them being in my space all the time, and I just couldn’t do it.”

Casey chewed his lip, not sure what to say and not sure where this conversation was going. “I mean. I’m sure there’s someone out there who would fit your—unique situation. If that’s what you wanted.”

“And what about you? Did Hot Adult Son fit your unique situation?”

Casey dropped his controller in frustration. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can you stop calling him that?”

Jamie leaned back. “The question stands.”

“I don’t know. No. Maybe.” Casey groaned. “But it would never work.”

“Because you were stealing money from his mom.”

“No, he knew about that. It wouldn’t work because—because I’m not the right kind of guy for him.” Casey’s heart sank as he said it, but it was true. There was no way a shitty little white trash kid with a stained past could keep Laurel’s attention, let alone keep up with him. He needed someone whose designer clothes weren’t secondhand, someone who knew the rules of a polo match and could discuss French poetry. He needed a good person, which Casey wasn’t. He was no Robin Hood, no matter how much he tried to justify it to himself. He was no better than his dad: a thief and a fraud, and apparently not very good at either.

Jamie paused the game, turning to look at him. “I’m sorry, run that past me again? He knew the whole time?”

Casey scratched at a scab on his chin. “Not the whole time, but he figured it out. And then instead of telling his mom, he offered to pay me extra to follow through. So I went along with it.” For the money, he’d told himself. But of course, if it had only been about the money, then why had he involved Laurel in planning the party in the first place? Why had he made excuses to spend time with him? No, he realized now. Casey had wanted to keep him around, because Laurel was special. He’d known it since that first night, as much as he’d tried to pretend otherwise. He sighed.

“Okay.” Jamie pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, frowning. “So this guy finds out your dark secret and is apparently fine with it, and also you’re hooking up with him, so I assume the physical connection is there, but you say it wouldn’t work out?”

“I didn’t mean to hook up with him again,” Casey insisted, though that probably wasn’t true, either. “It just happened. It all just happened, and now it’s out of control and I—I don’t have anything to offer, without the party. I wanted to help him.” Casey hadn’t really heard himself admit it, not even in his own head. “He thinks it’s his friend’s last chance to get her reputation back, to be accepted into society again. He wants her to come and show everyone up, I guess.”

“How weird and elaborate,” Jamie said mildly. “You two sound perfect for each other.”

“We’re not.” Casey pressed his lips together.

“Well, has he tried to get in touch at all?”

“I don’t know.” His phone was dead, had been for days. He hadn’t brought a charger, and although he could have gotten one at Walmart, he almost didn’t want to know. If Laurel hadn’t called, it would be humiliating. But if he had, Casey didn’t see any point in calling him back.

“You’ve got to make a decision, CJ. And stop picking at your face.”

Casey dropped his hand away from his jawline guiltily. “I will,” he said. And he looked at his dumb little avatar in its dumb little pixelated car on the screen, the edges shimmering as the game sat still, and felt just as stuck.