Keyframe

All or Nothing

"A day with no ending is what this is like.

You know we may be pretending, but we've still got tonight."

- "All or Nothing," State Champs (2015)

Jordan

"Oh, Jordan! It's so good to see you!" Mrs. Templeton stands from her desk quickly, rushing over to take my coat. "Have you gotten taller?"

"No, I don't think so..." I answer, humoring her as she hangs the tan Burberry on the coat rack next to my father's. "Are your grandkids home for Christmas yet?"

Jared Dawson usually prefers young eye candy in his office, but, when there's a job that he wants done well, he knows who to pick. Mrs. Templeton has been his secretary since before I was born, installed in the wake of what I can only assume was another one of my father's...transgressions...with his former assistant.

Normally, bubbly people irk me to no end. But I really like Mrs. Templeton—always have. She, a grandma of three, has certainly mastered the intricacies of motherly warmth. Whether it was giving me peppermints to ease my tears or staying at the office with me when my parents had no interest in taking me home, she's always been a fixture in my life. A figure to help fill the echoing void left by my own mother.

Her face brightens even more, obviously thrilled that I remembered her painfully mundane grandchildren. I can remember things about people, after all. When I want to.

"Yes, they are. And now that I've seen you, I couldn't ask for anything more." She pinches my cheek before going back to her desk and picking up the phone. "I'll let your dad know you're here."

He requested my presence here an hour ago, something that I found out through a call from Mrs. Templeton herself rather than his own words. Only he knows why I'm here, what could possibly be so urgent that it warranted bringing me up to the 75th floor of the Empire State Building on a weekday. I'm afraid—and I'll admit that to myself on the inside—but I can't show it for a minute on my face.

"Alright, honey, go ahead."

Mrs. Templeton puts the phone down, and I allow myself one nervous swallow before letting myself into my father's office. He's not at his desk, but rather a big, dark shadow by the window on the other side of the room. There's a quiet click when I slowly shut the door, and he finally looks back at me.

"Good afternoon, Jordan."

His tone is cold and measured, not telling me anything useful. My heart races in my chest, making my legs weak, but he doesn't look angry. I didn't do anything to piss him off, did I?

"Good afternoon."

I look behind me, keeping an eye on the door just in case I need a quick escape. I'm just as tall as my father now, but, like Alex, on the leaner and lankier side. He's broader, heavier—probably still stronger than me after all these years. I could beat him in a race, but what good would that do if he gets me first?

I'm nineteen years old; I shouldn't be listening for his breathing or studying his body language to determine what kind of mood he's in. But old habits die hard.

I leave a wide berth between us when I stop walking, equidistant from him and freedom.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Ah, yes." He finally turns, and I realize he's holding two glasses of Scotch. "Just had something important to tell you."

He slowly holds the full glass out to me, daring me to come closer. Forcing myself to be as brave as I am with everyone else, I step closer and take it.