Risky Business

She skips off . . . literally skipping and waving at various people here and there, who smile and wave back. She’s comfortable here, I realize. She’ll probably end up on the Americana Land team too someday. Alone, Carson looks at me with thunderous fury in his eyes. I can feel it coming, bubbling up inside him and ready to be unleashed on me. He licks his lips, the words right on the tip of his tongue.

I’m ready, my defenses solidly in place. I know what comes next—lashing out at the person who’s trying to help. I’ve had other clients do it more than once. It’s painful and ugly, but I can take it. No one can get past my walls.

Except Carson already has.

But he doesn’t say a word. He simply . . . walks away.

CHAPTER 17

CARSON

I hold the hurtful words back behind an iron-set jaw and pressed together lips. How dare Jayme light the fuse on my relationship with my dad and then stand back and wait for the fireworks to start? What’s she playing at?

Having years of practice of stuffing words down is the only thing that saves me. Saves her.

I spin on my heel and stalk off, destination unknown. I simply need to get away from Jayme until I can get a handle on myself, my thoughts, and most importantly, my mouth. Unfortunately, I hear the click of her heels behind me, chasing as she calls out, “Carson, wait.”

I want to whirl on Jayme, push her up against the nearest wall, and demand that she explain herself. But I force my feet to keep moving and grit my teeth so hard that sharp pain shoots through my entire skull. I can’t do this . . . not now and not here. If anything, I’ve learned that the hard way through the Abby Burks incident.

Awareness of my surroundings, and of the eyes watching Jayme chase after me right now, keep me moving. This is bad enough, but if I speak to her now, with the way I’m feeling, it’ll be even worse. I snort, the realization that she’s changed me for the good bitter in contrast to what she just did. I need to be alone, and I know one place I can do that.

I beeline for the From Sea to Shining Sea Ferris Wheel. It was one of my favorites when I was a kid, allowing me to feel free and floating, but in reality, be safe and secure. Sometimes, I would ride with Archer and we would come up with these fantastical stories of how we were superheroes scanning the people below for villains who needed to be taken out, or pilots fighting against the wind to make a smooth landing. Other times, especially later, after Mom left and I was in a tense situation with Dad and Izzy, I would ride alone as a way to get away from everything and everyone. It gave me space to process, to rage, and once or twice, to cry where no one would see me.

It's exactly what I need right now.

“Hey, James, I need a minute. Will you hold me at the top until I call down?”

The ride operator dips his head. It’s been a long time since I’ve made this request, but he knows how important it is when I do. Thankfully, there’s no one in line so my ride won’t cause anyone to wait unnecessarily. That’d be another image problem I can’t afford.

Entitled brat, Carson Steen, makes people wait indefinitely while chilling on the Ferris Wheel.

But no matter, the Ferris Wheel isn’t cool any longer . . . kind of like how Americana Land was, I suppose.

“Thanks, man.” He’s stopped the ride, which spins even when empty as an enticement to get riders, and opens the door of one of the cars. The cars are painted to look like big hot air balloons, with brown wicker baskets below and red, white, and blue flag balloons above. Of course, it’s all metal, but the painted illusion gives it that sense of floating.

I sit down on one section of the round bench, spreading my arms along the back and letting my head fall back against the metal railing. Closing my eyes, I wait out the short ride to the top and then the slight swinging as James pushes the stop button below.

Only then do I let my guard fall.

“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself. I wish there were an answer on the wind, but none comes. Jayme had no right to get into the quagmire of my relationship with my dad. She’s here for image repair, not as some sort of family therapist. What was she thinking?

I’ve only been here in the silence of my whirling mind for a few minutes when the car starts moving again. I look around in confusion and then call out, “Hey, James, a few more minutes?”