11. Carter

Strings of code spill across my computer until an error box pops up for the fourth time today. I groan in frustration.

“What the hell am I doing wrong?” I murmur to myself. With a sigh, I scroll to the top of my page and read through the code to try and find my mistake.

My instant messenger dings with a notification.

William: Hey, any chance you’ve got some time to walk through the issues on the database? I’ve found the problem, but I’m not sure how to proceed.

Me: I can talk now if that works.

My computer rings a second later with William’s name.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Thanks for taking the time to chat. Surprised you were able to step away that quickly.” His voice is deep and scratchy, as if he hasn’t used it much today.

“I’ve been fighting with this security code for the last hour, trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong. Your message was a good reason to take a step back.”

“Well, I’m bringing you a solid distraction. I ended up digging into the original code we transferred over from the scoring programs and found that they’d been edited to inflate the scores.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense. I didn’t think those codes could be changed.”

“Neither did I. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it. Someone purposefully went in and changed it to make the data score better.” William’s conclusion sends a knot of dread through me. These scoring programs take the information our researchers gather while conducting their studies and put a numerical value to the data. After the data is entered into the program and scored, the research team is then able to analyze those scores to decide whether or not the medication or medical device is having a positive effect on the participant. We heavily rely on those test scores to move a product forward in production. Without accurate data, the outcome of a research study could be greatly affected. If this program is inflating scores, then a medication could be approved for public use when in all actuality it’s not safe for people to consume.

“How many programs were affected?”

“One of the forty we uploaded. Specifically the RetLab program.”

I snort. “You’re incredible, Will. I swear.” I’ve never met a man who was so thorough in his work. “Okay, let’s go ahead and update the programs so it’ll score the data accurately, and I’ll take this information to the higher-ups. We’re going to need to find out if that program was altered when it was sent to us or if it happened after we created the database.”

“If they were changed before we got them, every piece of data is going to need to be rescored.”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah.”

“I do not envy your job right now.” He huffs a humorless laugh.

“I appreciate the encouragement,” I tease. “Thanks for putting in the work, William.”

“Anytime.”

I click the red End button on my screen and run my hands through my hair. What a shitstorm. If our researchers have been using inaccurate scoring programs, their studies could be compromised. That will affect funding and outcomes. We’re dealing with people’s lives here. Jesus. This is not good.

I type up a carefully worded email to my boss, letting them know we’ve found a major issue with one of the scoring programs and asking who I need to speak with to ensure the issue doesn’t become more widespread. Naturally, his response is to call immediately to find out what’s going on.

I end up spending the rest of the day talking to everyone and their brother about this issue. No one agrees on how best to go about fixing it, nor do they agree on the best way to share the news with the appropriate teams. I’ve never understood the bureaucracy involved with running a company this size. I’d set a meeting up with everyone involved, let them know their scoring programs may not be scoring their data accurately, and have them pause what they’re doing until the issue is resolved. Done.

But no. We’re going to send Paul in to dig through the program to find out if the issue is with RetLab itself or our database. It’s all supposed to be some huge secret, and everyone else is expected to work as if it’s business as usual.

It’s not my place to make those decisions, but I can’t say I understand their choices. They’re probably trying to keep panic at a minimum, which I get to a certain extent, but I’d rather work as a team to find the issue than keep up the secrecy.

I struggle through the last meeting of the day and am very grateful this is not how I spend a typical day. I can’t imagine having to people that much all the time. It’s a no from me, thanks.

I’m supposed to play soccer with my family tonight, but I’m tempted to cancel. I don’t have the energy to spar with them like we usually do. At the same time, they wouldn’t force me to do more than what I’m up for. It’s my favorite thing about them. I never feel like I have to be anything other than myself. And I always feel reenergized after I hang out with them.

I take my phone off Do Not Disturb and scroll through my notifications. Every one of them pales in comparison to the string of texts I got from Sam today.

Sam

Did you know Tucker likes to eat his pancakes with peanut butter instead of syrup? The guy is a weirdo.

Okay, don’t tell him I told you, but I tried the combo after he left, and it’s fucking delicious. He’s still a weirdo, though.

I can’t stop imagining the way you looked straddling me and stroking your cock.

And can I just say how uncomfortable it is to have a raging hard-on while on shift? I can’t do a damn thing about it, and it’s pissing me off.

I told him I usually put my phone on DND while I work because it pulls my focus when it buzzes. I’m glad he still texted me about his day, despite knowing I was not likely to respond. I type out a message to him to let him know I’m reachable again.

Me

I’ve had the same thoughts running through my head today, too. Talk about distracting. Thank God I work from home. I’m finally done for the day, though. How’s your shift going?

I smile when he responds right away.

Sam

It’s been good. Did a lot of cleaning and inventory today, and we’re trying to decide what we’re going to use our fundraiser money on first. Since we raised more than we expected, there are a couple of different options to choose from.

How was your day?

Me

It was a shitshow. One of my techs found a major issue, and when I brought it to my boss, it blew up into a whole day’s worth of meetings and planning how to fix it. I’m exhausted from all the talking.

Sam

Want me to make you some lasagna? lt;winking emojigt;

Me

Ha! Only if you bring a fire extinguisher with you.

Sam

*Gasping GIF*

I take offense to that! I’ve made lasagna a million times and have only burned it once. Because YOU distracted me.

Me

*I* distracted you?? You’re the one who mauled me the second I came in the door.

Sam

Psh. You liked it.

Me

I did. I’d like to do it again.

Sam

Me, too. How about tomorrow evening?

Me

Only if you let me cook for you this time.

Sam

Deal.

Feeling significantly lighter than I did ten minutes ago, I leave my office and head to my kitchen to make a quick dinner before I meet up with my siblings.

We’ve been getting together every week to play soccer for years now. We realized that if we didn’t schedule something, we’d only see each other once or twice a month at family dinners with our parents. It’s ridiculous since we all live in and around the same area, but we have separate lives and busy schedules. It gets hard to see each other if we don’t make an effort.

Once I scarf down dinner, I head to the fields. Westlake has a great rec center with soccer fields you can reserve for free. We’ve kept our steady reservation for so long that the organizers will ask if everyone is okay when we have to cancel. There are very few times we have to do that. Usually only when it’s raining, too cold, or someone is sick.

My bag smacks against my butt as I speed walk to where my siblings are stretching. They all have smiles on their faces, which makes me happy. Seeing them successful and content with their lives gives me a sense of peace I didn’t know I needed. I’ll always worry about them, but maybe I don’t have to worry quite so much anymore. We’re missing Matthew tonight, since he’s still in New York dealing with the aftermath of his girlfriend’s stalker. It’s a mess, and we’re ready for them to come home.

“There he is! I thought you were gonna bail on us,” Nolan shouts.

I laugh with a shake of my head. “Never. Just had a long day at work and was a little slow to get ready.”

“Everything okay?” Adam asks. His dark hair is loose tonight instead of in its perfectly styled way. In fact, his whole body seems to be less rigid than I’m used to seeing. Ever since he met his fiancé, Ellie, he’s practically been another person. He’s no longer the uptight CEO and finally seems more comfortable in his own skin.

I start stretching as I answer Adam’s question. “Sort of. Just ran into some issues the bosses wanted to dive into. I spent the majority of my day on video calls. It was awful.”

“Video calls are the worst,” Adam agrees. “I’m grateful Tessa spreads them out enough throughout my week that I don’t pull my hair out by Friday.”

“Have you heard from Matthew in the past couple of days?” I ask him.

“We texted yesterday. The media is hounding Tilly and Desmond. It’s such a shitty situation for them to deal with.”

“Why do they have to be such vultures? It’s her life, for God’s sake, you know?” Nolan argues.

“I know. It’s sickening.” Adam nods his head.

“Do we know when they’re coming home yet?” Sara asks.

“They’re hoping for next week, but it might be closer to two.”

“Will you make sure she has my number? Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who’s been there. I’m sure Matthew is being as supportive as possible, but it’s not a simple thing to tell the people you love about the things that scare you.” Sara’s been taking courses about PTSD to better prepare herself for being a self-defense trainer. She wants to be a resource for women who have been through traumatic experiences like she has. After dealing with her own stalker, she knows plenty about recovering from something like that.

“All right. How are we dividing teams tonight?” I figure a change of subject is the best option. Our soccer matches are supposed to be a way for us to burn off a little stress and have a good time together. If we keep down the path we’re on, we’ll end up gabbing about recovery tactics and trauma responses. While I never mind talking about the things my siblings need to get off their chests, these matches are a therapy in and of themselves. Each of us walks away with giant smiles on our faces and less stress weighing on our shoulders. It’s what we all need tonight.

“Sara and Carter, you start together against me and Nolan. We’ll switch after ten, as usual.” Adam toes the ball in front of him toward Sara, setting us off. These games always start by the book, but it’s not long before Nolan starts shoving me out of the way, and Sara plays a dirty move against Adam to score the first goal. Even when Matthew is here, we end up cheating half the time. As we grew up playing against each other, we created what we call “dirty rules”. They’re hard and fast lines we’ve drawn in the sand for what type of cheating is fine and what isn’t. If we break one, then we have to give up a point.

By the time an hour has passed, the four of us are breathing hard, and sweat is dripping down my back.

“I’m out!” Nolan whines. He drops down onto the grass with a thunk. “How are you guys in such good shape?”

“We don’t drink as much beer as you do.” Adam digs the toe of his cleat into Nolan’s side.

Nolan swats him half-heartedly. “Fucking pub. Biting me in the ass,” he murmurs.

I snort and plop down next to him to stretch out my muscles before they get too stiff.

Nolan sits up fast as a thought pops into his head. “I stopped by your house Sunday night and you weren’t home. Where were you?”

If I wasn’t already flushed from exertion, my siblings would’ve known something was up immediately. “Hanging out with a friend.”

“What friend?” Nolan’s eyes are narrowed in suspicion but suddenly widen with knowledge. “A certain firefighter friend?”

“Are you hanging out with a firefighter? Hot,” Sara pipes up with a grin.

I sigh in resignation. They’re not going to let this go. “Fine. Yes, I was with Sam. He works with Tucker at SFD.”

“Yes!” Nolan fist pumps. “I am so here for this. Are you going to bring him to family dinner?”

I look at Nolan like he’s an idiot. “No, jackass. We only just started hanging out. Why would I suddenly bring him to dinner?” I’m pretending like I’m not getting butterflies of excitement at the idea of introducing Sam to my family. I’ve never had the desire to bring a guy I’m seeing home. Ever. Until now, apparently.

“Yeesh. I was just askin’. So sensitive all of a sudden.” Nolan jabs his elbow into my ribs to let me know he’s teasing.

It makes me feel bad for getting so defensive. “Sorry. It’s just new, and…” I glance up at my siblings. “I really like him.”

Each one of them gets hearts in their eyes at my admission. It makes me blush.

“The good news is, we can sic Tucker on him if he breaks your heart.” Sara wiggles her eyebrows up and down.

“Yeah, I bet that asshole can come up with some shitty punishments,” Nolan adds.

I roll my eyes. “You guys are ridiculous. I’m out of here. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be just as sucky as today was.”

Except, I get to see Sam tomorrow.