Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Jack

T he subway rattled along the tracks, its rhythmic clatter mingling with the low hum of morning commuters. I took a sip from my thermos, the strong, bitter coffee warming me from the inside out. Beside me, Liam was nursing his own drink, looking half-asleep and entirely unbothered by the sway of the train. Bradley, on the other hand, sat stiffly on the opposite bench, scrolling through his phone with that unreadable expression he’d perfected. The three of us were headed to our respective offices, the early morning light filtering through smudged windows as the city woke up around us.

Liam tilted his head back, cracking one eye open. “This better be the last early morning this week,” he mumbled, taking another sip.

“Doubtful,” Bradley said without looking up, his tone dry. He barely touched his coffee—probably too refined for anything that wasn’t brewed by a barista with a three-part name.

The train lurched to a stop, and the robotic voice announced our station. I nudged Liam’s leg with my foot. “This is us.”

He nodded, stood, and weaved through the morning crowd. I followed, glancing back as the doors slid shut, leaving Bradley behind. He remained absorbed in his phone, seemingly unfazed as the train lurched forward and carried him away.

The climb up the station steps was as brutal as ever. The stairwell smelled faintly of damp concrete and last night’s rain, and the faint, cool breeze that met us at the top was a welcome relief. As we emerged onto the street, the city unfurled around us in a burst of honking cars, hurried pedestrians, and a sea of yellow cabs.

Liam adjusted the strap of his messenger bag and shot me a sideways look. “So, did Bradley tell you he wants to throw a housewarming party this weekend?”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my cheeks when Liam made a face, his nose wrinkling like someone had offered him week-old leftovers. “Come on, it won’t be that bad,” I said, chuckling. “It’s not like we’re throwing a rager.”

Liam groaned. “Bradley’s idea of a ‘not-so-crazy’ party probably involves gourmet canapés and a live jazz trio. You know I’m not much of a partier, Jack.”

“I know,” I said, still grinning. “But it might be worth it this time. A lot of the guests are friends from school, and knowing Bradley, he probably mentioned that housewarming gifts are expected.”

At that, Liam’s eyes lit up, his previous irritation forgotten. “If someone brings us a pasta maker, I might actually forgive him,” he said. “And a few good bottles of wine wouldn’t hurt. That fridge is still depressingly empty.”

I laughed, the sound bouncing off the brick facades of the buildings lining the street. “Agreed. I’m hoping for the same. Plus, think of all the new recipes we could try out.”

Cooking with Liam had become our routine, a way to unwind at the end of each day. The new kitchen, with its gleaming marble counters and professional-grade stove, was more than just a selling point for the apartment—it was practically a shrine for our shared experiments. When shit got rough at work, all I had to do was close my eyes for a second and imagine us cooking side by side. Instant mood boost.

We reached Liam’s office building, and he turned to me. “Alright, have fun with your spreadsheets or whatever it is you do all day.”

I snorted. “Right back at you, Mr. Big Shot. Try not to fall asleep at your desk.”

The soft hum of the office surrounded me like a static cocoon as I sat at my cubicle, skimming through spreadsheets and trying to ignore the relentless tick of the clock. The morning caffeine rush of energy had long since faded, replaced by the quiet monotony of keystrokes and the occasional rustle of paper. I reached for my mug, only to find it empty. Great. Another reason to head to the break room and stall for five minutes.

Before I could even push back my chair, my phone rang, the sharp sound making me wince. I glanced at the screen. Andrea Vaughn. I let out a sigh, my stomach sinking with that familiar anxiety. Had I forgotten to CC her on something? Missed a deadline I didn’t even know existed? I loosened my tie slightly, then straightened it with a resolve that felt half-hearted.

“Hello, Jack here,” I answered, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

“Jack, can you come to my office? Now?” Andrea’s voice was as even and clipped as ever. There was no hint of warmth, but there never really was. I nodded out of habit, forgetting she couldn’t see me.

“Of course, be right there.”

The walk to her office felt longer than usual, my mind cycling through every project I’d worked on, trying to pinpoint what I could have done wrong. I passed a few coworkers who gave polite nods or quick glances, but I barely registered them. When I reached Andrea’s office, the door was open, and she was busy scribbling something into a planner that looked older than some of my coworkers.

“Close the door, Jack. Come in.”

I did as she asked, hearing the click of the door behind me. Andrea was an older woman in her fifties, sharp eyes framed by stylish glasses that perched on the bridge of her nose. Her suit was tailored perfectly, not a wrinkle or out-of-place button. If professionalism had a mascot, it would be Andrea Vaughn.

“Jack,” she said, finally looking up. The lines on her face softened, but only slightly. “I wanted to talk to you about your work lately. You’ve been thorough and reliable. I appreciate that.”

I blinked. A compliment from Andrea wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare enough that I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a fraction. “Thank you.”

She nodded briskly. “That said, your last appointment of the day has canceled. I thought you might appreciate leaving early.”

Relief bubbled up, but before I could respond, she held up a hand. “However, I need a favor. Discreetly, of course.” She reached for a notepad and scribbled down a sequence of numbers and letters—an access code, I assumed—and slid it across the desk toward me. “I want you to look over the files for one of your coworker’s clients. Quietly. I have concerns about their work, and I’d like your opinion on it.”

A backhanded compliment if there ever was one. She trusted me more than the colleague in question, which should have been flattering, but I could feel the added pressure settle on my chest like a weight. Still, I nodded, taking the slip of paper and tucking it into my pocket.

“I’ll go through the files and email you my thoughts before the end of the day.”

“Good.” She gave a tight smile, one that barely reached her eyes. “I appreciate your discretion, Jack.”

“Of course. And thanks for letting me head out early,” I said, stepping back toward the door.

Her eyes were already back on her planner. “Don’t make me regret it.”

The subway car rattled as it sped along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter echoing in my ears while I leaned back against the cold metal pole. The early afternoon crowd was sparse, a few commuters scattered around, reading or staring at their phones with glazed-over eyes. I pulled mine out, thumbs tapping out a quick message to Liam:

Got out early. Don’t wait for me at the station—I’m heading home now.

I sent it off and watched as the three dots popped up almost immediately before disappearing. Liam was probably buried in work or chatting with a coworker. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and focused on the scenery flashing by outside; the concrete blur punctuated by occasional streaks of sunlight.

When the train slowed to a stop at my station, I stood up and stepped off, the crisp fall air hitting me the moment I emerged onto the street. It was one of those perfect September afternoons, where the sun felt warm against my skin, but the breeze carried a cool bite. Orange and red leaves swirled at my feet, crunching under my shoes as I started the familiar walk home.

Then nostalgia crept up on me unexpectedly. There was something about this time of year that took me back to college, back to afternoons spent sprawled on the grass with Liam, books open but barely touched as we talked about everything and nothing. We’d end those evenings at the campus bar, nursing beers, and laughing until our sides hurt. Back then, life felt limitless, uncomplicated. Now, the weight of schedules, deadlines, and paychecks had wrapped itself around me, anchoring me firmly in adulthood.

I reached my building, shaking off the wistfulness as I pushed through the heavy front door. Dimitri nodded in acknowledgment as I walked by.

“Hey, Jack!” Vanessa’s voice rang out before I saw her. She popped out from behind the front desk, cherry-red hair catching the light. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a vintage fashion magazine, a vibrant wrap dress clinging to her curves. “Thanks for that lasagna last night,” she said, flashing a grin. “You two should open a restaurant with how good that was.”

“It was nothing,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “We always end up making too much food, anyway.”

“Well, keep the leftovers coming, sweetie. Mr. Grey is getting spoiled by all the bits I sneak him.” Her eyes sparkled at the mention of her cat, and I laughed.

“Actually, speaking of food, Bradley is planning a housewarming party this weekend. You should come by if you’re free.”

Her eyes widened, the mischievous glint growing. “Oh, you bet I will. Will all the young men be as handsome as you?”

I flushed, then stammered out, “Uh, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of... people. Anyway, I should—”

“Go on, then,” she waved her hand. “Don’t let me keep you. But mark me down as a yes, with bells on.”

I nodded, feeling my cheeks still burning, and stepped into the waiting elevator. As the doors began to close, I heard Vanessa’s voice float across the lobby.

“Jack is so hot. If only I was ten years younger,” she mused aloud.

Dimitri’s grunt followed, deep and gruff. “Make that twenty.”

The doors shut with a soft ding, cutting off the sound and leaving me shaking my head with a smile as I leaned against the elevator wall.

A minute later, the elevator doors slid open on my floor, and I stepped out, my shoes sinking into the plush carpet of our hallway. The warm glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows, but when I reached our apartment, I froze. The door was ajar. We never left the door unlocked, let alone open.

Heart thudding in my chest, I pushed it open; the hinges creaking slightly. The living room looked normal—our sleek, mid-century sofa angled just so, throw pillows askew. Muffled laughter drifted from down the hall, somewhere near Bradley’s room. I took a step inside; the floorboards creaking under my weight. The voices grew louder, tumbling into a fit of hysterics, and a moment later, a man and a woman burst out from the hallway, nearly colliding with me as they stumbled into the living room.

They froze: the man’s wide eyes flicked to the woman, who pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle another laugh. The man had a sharp jawline and slicked-back hair, his shirt half unbuttoned, and the woman’s smeared lipstick painted a streak down her chin.

“Jack.” Bradley’s voice cut through the silence as he appeared in the hallway, his eyes going wide before the blood drained from his face. He took a shallow breath, then forced a grin. “Didn’t expect you home so early,” he said with a nervous shrug. “I got out of work early, and ran into some friends—” He gestured at the pair, who exchanged awkward glances. “This is Paul, and that’s Melanie. We were just leaving.”

I stepped aside as the two strangers shuffled past me, Paul’s head down and Melanie’s heels clicking nervously. As Paul brushed by, I noticed a faint dusting of white on his upper lip. The color leapt out at me, stark against his tanned skin. My stomach tightened. Is that… cocaine?

Bradley followed them to the door, shooting me a strained smile over his shoulder. “See you in a bit,” he called, before the door shut behind them with a hollow thud.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. I stood there, staring at the closed door, trying to piece together what I’d just walked in on. What had Bradley gotten himself into—and how much did I really want to know?