Flowering - Part Twelve
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
The adrenaline crash is extreme.
Aiden, Ralph, Calla, and I are too worn out to even talk. Very few words have been spoken since we were all dropped off at Ralph’s car.
Ralph wouldn’t let us stop moving until we reached the very edge of the city, where we pulled over at an all-night food truck.
I was still in a haze of relief over our narrow escape, so I only vaguely remember it. The illuminated neon letters of the food truck fizzing in the rain, casting their colorful glow over us. The way the droplets sprinkled down softly onto us as we sat on and around Ralph’s car to eat. The food was cheap and hot and greasy, and it hit the spot perfectly. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until Aiden put it into my hands. I think everyone else was starving, too, based on how fast the shared french fries disappeared.
Now we’re all just exhausted.
We’ve been driving for hours. The gentle rain has followed us out of the city and onto the open road, quietly chasing us through field and forest. The droplets on the windows catch a pale glow from the moonlight, shivering with the wind against the car.
I was tense right up until the city became a tiny point of light on the horizon. When it disappeared completely, I finally sat back to think about how we did.
I can’t believe it, given that it was pure chaos from start to finish, but - I think we came away clean.
The last thing that Brent and Carter will remember from tonight will be pounding way too many tequila shots. Carter may have a vague memory of coming downstairs to sign the receipt, but that’s fine. That would be good, actually.
When the two of them wake up and see the state of things, the logical leap will be that they got way too fucked up, blacked out, and trashed the hotel room themselves. The hotel staff will have changed over in the morning, so Kate, Joel, and the others shouldn’t be around to put any confusion in their minds about it. The AG, who by now is very used to cleaning up Brent’s messes, will probably hush the whole thing up and get them out of there as soon as possible.
We didn’t leave any evidence behind. Calla made sure that the security cams weren’t actually recording. Our fingerprints are there in the hotel room, but hotel rooms probably have a lot of fingerprints, and - the thing is, no one has any reason to go looking for them.
So far as Brent, Carter, and Windsor know, nothing was stolen from them. We replaced the file we took from the safe with another one. Windsor shouldn’t know that anything is missing. And for all the money we blew through, I doubt we put any real dent in Brent’s bank account.
They just don’t have any reason to look too closely at what happened tonight.
The only one who knows that something suspicious happened is Bjorn, but I’m actually not worried about him. He caught a seconds-long glimpse at us in the stairwell before we started running, and he was only half-awake.
Even if he could identify us, I’m not sure he’d go to the trouble. I doubt that he suspected we were there for a heist. He probably thinks that we were just drunk and trespassing. We already showed ourselves off the property, so I don’t think he’d feel the need to pursue it further. After all, how many incidents does that hotel have in a night? The security guys didn’t seem all that surprised when that drunken scuffle broke out in the lobby. They threw the offenders out, then went on with their night.
I sat there in silence, in the backseat of Ralph’s car, thinking all of this over. I weighed everything up, measured it, then slumped back into my seat, weak with relief. A tired smile on my face, because the heist was a success. Against all odds, we did it, and we got away with it.
I fell asleep a minute or two after the realization hit me. Snuggled into the warmth of Aiden’s body, all of my remaining energy officially burned up.
Calla woke me up about an hour later, when it was my turn to drive. We’ve been taking turns at the wheel so that everyone can get some sleep.
Ralph is the only one who hasn’t slept at all. He tried, but I could feel the restlessness from him when we were the two in the backseat. Even while I was dozing, I knew that he wasn’t.
He’s the one driving right now. Aiden and Calla are passed out in the backseat. Calla with the Botswick file held tightly to her chest, Aiden with his long legs sprawled all the way across the car.
Ralph can wake Aiden up for his turn whenever, as soon as he’s too tired to keep going. But he hasn’t done it yet. I think because he can’t sleep, anyways.
Weird. It’s obvious that he’s beyond exhausted. More than any of the rest of us. He was already exhausted before any of this even happened, when I went to see him at his house earlier today. I had guessed that he hasn’t been getting much sleep, which he more or less confirmed for me.
Been up late ‘cause I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.
Ralph shook off his exhaustion for the heist, but now that we’ve made it to safety and burned through all of our adrenaline, it’s come back. I can see it in every gesture, every small movement of his hand on the wheel. In his sage-colored eyes, which are dark with tiredness and clouded with his thoughts. His shoulders are bowed, his breathing slow.
He’s got the window down, so that the cold air breaks against his face and stirs through his hair. Raindrops sprinkle down on him, blown in through the window. He’s slowly working on a cigarette, rhythmically rolling it between his fingers, trying to stay awake.
I don’t know why I’m awake, too. At first I was uncomfortable in my wet clothes, but when I woke up curled against Aiden, I found them dry again. Pleasantly toasty, like they just came out of the dryer. A very subtle piece of Heliomancer magic that neither Ralph nor Calla noticed.
I could definitely fall back asleep, now, but - I feel like maybe Ralph could use another set of eyes on the road. Or maybe a little company. He definitely wouldn’t admit it, but maybe he wants it.
Maybe he doesn’t. I don’t know. I don’t know Ralph very well, and this is the new Ralph, who I know even less.
I look over at him tentatively. I know he feels my eyes on him, but he doesn’t look back at me. He keeps his unwavering gaze on the road ahead. The streetlights cast bars of shadow and light that slide over him and fall away. The rain taps gently against the windshield, accompanied by the soft beat of the windshield wipers.
Ralph hasn’t said a word since he took over for me, and it feels strange to break the silence of the car after so long, but I try it. I yawn deeply, pulling my socked feet up onto the seat.
“How am I gonna get my car back?” I keep my voice quiet, so I don’t wake up the others. “Calla’s gonna have to get hers, too. Guess we could carpool?”
Ralph lets out a heavy, tired breath, sits back in his seat.
“Text me where you parked, and your plate number. I’ll have one of my people bring it to Ketterbridge. Calla’s, too.”
“Oh - really?” I blink at Ralph, caught by surprise. “But they don’t have our keys.”
Ralph lets out a quiet little laugh, flexing his hand on the wheel. “They don’t need your keys.”
I stare at him, then shake my head in disbelief. Ralph’s business really is much more than I ever gave it credit for. He makes it seem like so much less. You would never know.
Actually - Noah was his right-hand man, so he must know. And he never gave up any hint or indication of how far Ralph’s influence truly reaches, the real scope and scale of his business.
Noah and I are close, and he knows that I would never do anything to get Ralph in trouble, and still. He kept it to himself, so completely that I never even suspected there was anything to uncover. Even after everything that Ralph put Noah through, Noah kept his secrets for him. Even from Aiden, even from me.
Ralph’s people really must be as committed and loyal as Calla said they are.
Or… is it specifically a Noah thing, in this case?
Noah’s loyalty runs deep, and he thought of Ralph like a brother, once. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but I know that the fraternal love he had for Ralph was no small thing. He was heartbroken that night when he showed up at my apartment, one grey eye swollen shut and the other filled with tears. He stuck with Ralph through everything, even when Ralph never gave him a scrap of indication that he loved him in the same way.
I wonder if Ralph actually does feel the same way, or if he did. Did he ever see Noah as a brother, the way that Noah saw him?
I glance over at Ralph searchingly, then slip my phone out of my pocket to text him my plate number and the cross street where we parked.
“Thanks, man,” I say quietly, as I hit send. “That’s really - nice of you.”
Astonishingly enough.
“Mmm. No problem.” Ralph runs a weary hand over his jaw, his eyes fixed on the road. “S’fine.”
“And thanks for having one of your guys come rescue us from the hotel, too.”
“That one was also for me,” Ralph answers. “Didn’t want to get, um - Bjorned.”
I let out a soft, tired laugh, and Ralph sort of does, too. There’s a short silence, and then Ralph suddenly adds, in a very soft murmur - “Pickup would’ve been a job for Noah, back when.”
It takes me a second to gather what he means, but I get there. Noah was always the wheelman in the group. If he and Ralph were still good, he would’ve probably been the one to tear up to the hotel in a getaway car and save us.
Ralph said it offhandedly, more to himself than to me. But I caught the lightning-fast, suffering look that flashed through his eyes.
I was wondering what he was thinking about in silence for so long, but now I know.
I hesitate, looking over at Ralph. I’m just now realizing the true extent of his exhaustion. This is Ralph as he was the day after his breakdown. Barriers down, because he’s simply too tired to keep holding them up. He wouldn’t have let something like that slip, otherwise.
Ralph, in this state, has a rare kind of openness and honesty about him. There’s depth to him well beyond the stormy surface. When he’s like this, the thunder clouds have rained themselves out and dispersed, revealing what was hidden below. The true landscape of who he is, in its raw and real form.
I really want to ask him a question, but I’m not sure if I should. Ralph keeps his past so secret that I’m afraid to accidentally press against some sore spot I don’t know about. And - I’m worried that it might be wrong, to ask him when he’s this vulnerable. I don’t want to take advantage of his exhaustion, and I definitely don’t want him to regret talking to me later.
But, at the same time… it seems to me that Ralph has been trying to reach this same kind of openness and honesty when he’s not broken down and dragged into it by force. He tried to do it today, when I talked to him at his house. He seemed uneasy and bewildered the whole time, but he was definitely trying his best.
If Ralph actually wants to connect with people on a real, honest level… if he wants that so badly that he’s willing to try, even though he’s so completely unused to it that it gets him all anxious and humiliated - we could do that right now. And he wouldn’t have to fight so hard to make it happen.
“Don’t, Keane,” Ralph says abruptly, catching me by surprise. He casts me a warning look. “Enough, already.”
I didn’t even say anything, so I just spread my hands in an indignant what did I do? gesture at him.
“You - just-” He blows out a frustrated breath, resting his wrist against the wheel. “Sometimes you do this thing - I swear you’re figuring out all this shit about me just by looking. Everything I say, everything I do, even if I don’t say anything. You see it, and then you know. You hear shit I didn’t even say out loud.”
I blink at him, taken aback. “What - no, I don’t!”
“Yes, you do. You’re doing it right now.”
I nibble my lip, then check to make sure that our conversation hasn’t woken up Aiden and Calla. But they’re both sleeping peacefully, lulled by the quiet whisper of the rain. Not listening.
I hesitate, then say, all in a rush - “Well, maybe you can just actually talk to me? Tell me things about yourself, on purpose? There’s something I wanted to ask you, anyways.”
Ralph glances at me, his eyebrows furrowed, then gets his eyes back on the road.
I wait, but he does nothing to fill the silence, so I decide to just put it out there.
“Something I don’t understand,” I tell Ralph, who won’t look at me, but is definitely listening - “Is what the fuck happened with the Corvette.”
Again, Ralph glances at me, this time too fast for me to get a look at his expression.
“It’s just - I almost never see you make mistakes, man,” I forge on, keeping my voice soft for the sleeping occupants of the backseat. “Your whole reputation is built on never making mistakes. And the whole thing with the Corvette was like, mistake after mistake, until…”
I don’t finish my sentence, but Ralph knows roughly what I was going to say. Until it tore you and Noah apart.
Ralph looks over at me, a little longer this time. With his defenses down, I can see a storm of deeply-felt emotion in his eyes.
His hand tightens around the wheel as he turns his gaze back to the road. Silence falls over the car again, aside from the humming engine, the thump of the wipers, and the raindrops. Ralph takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette, the glowing orange tip of it reflecting in his eyes.
I give him a long time to say something. When it becomes clear that he isn’t going to, I hesitate, thinking over my words.
“Ralph,” I say slowly, “When someone trusts you enough to open up to you, to let you see their weaknesses, to tell you important things… does that make you lose respect for them and look down on them? Or do you feel closer to them, understand them better - love them more?”
Ralph remains silent. Fidgeting with his wristbands, not looking at me.
“Because, if it’s the second option,” I go on haltingly, “Why would you think that doesn’t apply to you, too? When the situation is reversed?”
The silence that follows this stretches on for so long that I silently admit defeat and turn away to stare out at the dark, rainy landscape beyond the window. There’s a very faint blush of maroon gently shading the horizon, the first sign of the approaching sunrise. I lean my cheek on my knuckles and sit curled up, watching in silence as the color begins to grow richer, to spread.
So I’m actually caught by surprise again when Ralph breaks his long silence.
“What did Noah say? About the Corvette.”
I turn to look at Ralph, then cast my mind back to the explanation that Noah gave me and Aiden.
“He said that you had suddenly gotten into gambling,” I answer, trying to remember how Noah put it. “That you got in deep with a super rich guy named Hunter. And you convinced Hunter to play one more hand, where if you won, your debt would be let go, and you’d get to keep his Corvette, too. Noah said that you won, but Hunter sobered up the next day, got pissed, and sicced Cam on you to get the car back.”
Ralph lets out a heavy breath, closes his eyes for a second. Pushes a hand through his blonde hair.
“I didn’t get into gambling,” he says quietly, after a while. “I mean, I do like to play cards. Strategy games, anyways. Not the ones that come down to pure luck.”
I stare at Ralph, surprised, listening intently.
“I met Hunter when he came to me to buy,” Ralph goes on, his voice rough with exhaustion. “And when I met him, I saw something that I wanted for one of my crew.”
I draw back, startled. For one of his crew?
Now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t believe I didn’t realize. Ralph has money, but he almost never spends it. He doesn’t give a damn about appearances, unless it’s for strategic purposes. He keeps his house looking run-down and abandoned to keep cops uninterested. He drives a simple black car, wears threadbare clothes, has a stolen rearview for the mirror in his downstairs bathroom. The only new and expensive thing in his place is that bed set that he just bought.
A shiny, bright red sports car, like the Corvette - that’s not Ralph at all.
That’s Noah.
Ralph wanted the Corvette for Noah.
I stare at Ralph as the understanding breaks over me, but he goes on before I can say anything.
“I wanted to take it,” he forges on, resting his wrist on the wheel again. “So I came up with a plan to get it. Hunter had mentioned he played poker. So I played a hand with him and his friends, then another. Kept coming back, lost enough games to get myself in deep with Hunter, get him riding high on his superiority complex. Got him confident enough to put the ‘vette on the line. Challenged him to play me for it. He did, and I beat him.”
I just look at Ralph in silence, stunned that he’s actually sharing this with me. Not even Noah knew that Ralph kept losing to Hunter on purpose.
“I mean, yeah, I got in the guy’s head.” Ralph is speaking slowly, like he has to force himself to keep going. “But that’s part of poker. He knew what game he was playing. He knew what he was betting with. Then I won it from him, and he decided that he didn’t want to give it up. So he sent Cam to get it back.”
Ralph finally looks at me, his eyes blazing and fuming with frustration.
“You think Hunter doesn’t have enough money to buy himself another Corvette, if he wanted to? He probably already had another one in the garage. He just didn’t like that I beat him. I could’ve hired my own security to protect me and the boys and the car. I could afford to keep that going for a while, but eventually, it would have bled me dry of every cent I’ve earned. Hunter could keep it going forever, with money that someone just fucking handed him-”
Ralph stops, then abruptly turns to stare out through the windshield, swallowing hard. His soft-spoken words had been steadily picking up speed.
“I played fair,” he says, more slowly. “I played a perfect hand, literally, and I won. But Hunter was gonna walk away with the prize, and only because his parents have more money than I could make if I worked all day every day until the day they put me in the ground. And I know that life isn’t fair, figured that out for myself a long time ago, but - that car should’ve been Noah’s. I fucking won it for him, it should have been his. That’s why I didn’t want to just roll over, just give it back...”
Ralphs trails off, and a heavy silence falls between us. His eyes flit up to the rearview, checking that the others are still asleep. His cheeks are slowly coloring up, his fingers plucking uneasily at the leather bands around his wrist.
I’m still staring at him with startled eyes, absorbing his explanation.
I bite my lip, then venture one more question. “Why didn’t you say this to Noah, man? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, like - any of this.”
Ralph casts me a pained, sidelong glance. “You think I haven’t asked myself that question, Jamie?”
“But, I mean-” I pull up short, struggling over my words. “You let it turn into a huge problem between you two. Noah wanted to give the ‘vette back. He cared more about his sister, and Cam was threatening her. He told you that, didn’t he? Why didn’t you just listen to him, just do what he-?”
“Because,” Ralph cuts in sharply, his voice suddenly hushed and stuttering and very fast. “Suddenly Noah was - willing to argue with me, and like - push back when I - I thought I had to - he was-”
I stare at Ralph, who increasingly looks like he’s struggling to get his words out, and to breathe. “Ralph-”
“He was getting away from me,” Ralph stammers, all in a rush, his words hoarse and scraping. “He was - getting away.”
Ralph’s voice breaks slightly on the last word. He winces, turns his face away so that I can’t see it.
I reach out to put a hand on his arm, think better of it, and quickly drop my fingers back onto my knees. I fidget with the sleeve of my flannel, struggling against my instinct to try to console Ralph. He definitely won’t like that.
Instead I think about what he said. And now that I’m thinking about it… Noah isn’t the only one Ralph’s thrown a punch at in a moment of fury. He did that to Aiden, too. And when was that? When Aiden told Ralph that he was leaving Ketterbridge.
When Aiden was getting away from him.
The prospect of losing someone who matters to him makes Ralph absolutely fly off the handle, for some reason. The old Ralph, anyways. The new Ralph, I’m not so sure.
I’m deep in thought, and I don’t really know what to say, so I haven’t answered him. He’s been carefully avoiding my eyes, but now he looks over at me again.
“Don’t tell me,” he says, in a quiet, wretched voice. “Noah was right to want to leave. I know that. I’m very aware, okay? I’m - I’m up all goddamn night thinking about the shit I’ve done, and like, what I’ve let - what I… I can’t even fucking sleep, lately, thinking about everything. I almost wish I could go back to how I used to be, because it would be way fuckin’ easier to just not care, but I can’t. Can’t be how I was before. And I know that I should feel bad, and I do, but…”
He closes his tired eyes for a moment, lets out a heavy exhale.
“I just want a break,” he says, his voice raw and ragged. “I just want to sleep.”
I stare at Ralph, astounded. I can’t believe how much he just told me. I don’t think he would have said any of that if he wasn’t so deeply exhausted, and he looks mortified now that he has, but - he did it.
I manage to fight down the urge to offer him a hug, but I can’t do nothing for him.
“Alright, pull over,” I tell him, unstrapping.
“Why?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.
“So I can drive.”
“I’ll just do it. You not hear me say I can’t fuckin’ sleep, anyways?”
“No, but you can rest. C’mon, pull over.”
Ralph shrugs, too tired to argue, and pulls to the side of the road. I step out into the cold, predawn darkness to swap places with him. He settles into the passenger’s seat and falls silent, his face turned towards the window.
I pull us back onto the road, starting to recognize the landscape. We should be in Ketterbridge soon.
Ralph doesn’t say anything. He gazes out of the window, then leans his forehead against it.
I can’t help myself anymore, so I reach out and very quickly brace his arm before he can stop me. He turns his head to look at me, arches an eyebrow.
“You’re doing great, man,” I tell him, quietly but earnestly. “Seriously, Ralph. So much better than you think.”
He rolls his eyes and turns away, plucking at his wristbands. But the silence between us isn’t as uncomfortable as it was before. There’s something warmer about it.
Ralph closes his eyes, lays back in his seat, lets the silence go on. But he’s not sleeping. I can tell.
Actually - is he the only one besides me who’s awake? My eyes flit up to glance at Calla in the rearview. I think I just saw her eyes close.
She may have caught some of that conversation. I don’t know. But I think it might be a good thing, if she did.
It was a rare glimpse at the real Ralph, the person he is at the center of it all.
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