Page 36 of Absolution

Kyle ~April, 2024

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just move to New York,” Kenton Greyson says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. I'm surprised he waited till we finished eating to bring it up.

I sip my water and keep my voice even. “Texas has one of the best paediatric transplant centres in the country. Levi’s doing well, but I’m not about to gamble with his health.”

“There are hospitals in New York too,” he says with a snort. “We’re not practicing medicine in the dark ages. I’ll find him the best doctors. He’s my grandson.”

For someone who didn’t even meet him until he was nine, he sure acts like Levi is the centre of his universe now. I watch him excuse himself to the restroom, adjusting the cuff of his shirt like this whole conversation was a boardroom formality.

While he’s gone, I check my messages. A missed call from Jackie. A couple texts from the girls. They don’t have phones yet, but we do have a kids tablet that they can use. Jemma sent me a picture of Levi holding a lizard. He looks happy. That’s what matters.

The truth is, Texas was supposed to be temporary. But now? I can’t imagine moving back.

The firm is considering opening a satellite office in Austin. That’s the real reason for all these trips. Their main office is in New York, but they already have branches in Chicago, Boston, where we are right now. And yeah, it’s nice to get away. Jackie came back after her little break like everything was fine, but it wasn’t. Not for me. I tried. But something had cracked and never quite sealed.

Now, I go home for the kids. I stay married for the routine, for the stability. For them.

My father returns, wiping his hands with a napkin. “I’ve paid the tab,” he says, walking past me. “You flying out tonight?”

“Tomorrow,” I say, standing. “Figured I could use a day.”

He claps a hand on my back, smirking once we get outside. “Have fun,” he says as his driver opens the door.

I watch the car pull away before walking back towards my hotel. The street is warm and loud with the city’s chaos, but inside, it’s quiet.

He thinks I’m just like him.

Maybe I am.

What my father doesn’t know is that my marriage ended long before I ever thought about walking away. Jackie left first, not for good, but enough to hollow the whole thing out. And when there’s nothing left to betray, can it be called cheating?

Sure, I could have said something. Made it official. But why rock the boat? Why blow up the only structure holding our lives together?

It’s been weeks since we touched each other. She must know what that means.

And even if she wanted out, what would she take with her? The prenup’s ironclad. And after her little breakdown, any lawyer would tell you the same thing: she’d be lucky to get visitation.

So, she won’t leave and neither will I.

We’re stuck.

I walk through the hotel lobby like I belong here. The Langham smells like money, old and new. The kind that’s inherited and the kind that’s clawed for. You can always tell the difference. The ones who grew up rich, walk like the world owes them everything. The ones who dreamed it all up move like they’re afraid it’ll vanish.

The concierge nods at me. I nod back. No words. Just another man in a suit, going through the motions.

In the elevator, I lean back against the mirrored wall and catch my reflection. Still sharp. Still commanding. Even tired, I look better than half the suits in this building on their best day. The tie’s snug against my throat, a power statement I didn’t bother loosening. There’s a line between my brows now, stress, maybe age, but it just makes me look more serious. More seasoned.

I rake a hand through my hair; let it fall the way women like. Jackie used to run her fingers through it, back when she still looked at me like I hung the damn moon. Most of them do, eventually. They always want the sharp one in the room. The man who doesn’t beg or break. The one who walks like he owns the ground under him.

I exhale slowly. This city knows me. So does this mirror. And I still like what I see.

Fourteenth floor. I slide my keycard into the door, and the lock clicks open.

Inside, it’s cold and quiet. I kick off my shoes by the couch and toss my blazer onto the armrest. The silence wraps around me, thick and familiar. I walk to the minibar, pour a glass of water, and turn the TV on to some late-night recap, muted commentary, just the low hum of something to fill the space. It’s habit more than interest. Background noise against the louder quiet in my head.

Heading to the bed, I start peeling off my shirt, then my pants. They land in a pile on the chair. I grab a towel from the rack and sling it over my shoulder, walking into the bathroom.

I don’t bother with hot water. Not anymore.

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