CHAPTER 14: SUNDAY WAS NEVER JUST SUNDAY
1332 Words
Sunday had a way of pretending the world had slowed down.
For most people, it meant sleeping late, lingering over coffee, and letting the day unfold without urgency. For Alexander Hale, it only meant that the work followed him to a different place.
He was halfway through a proposal from Helix’s European division when Noah’s voice came through the intercom.
“Your car will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
Alexander looked up from the page. “Thank you.”
He closed the file instead of reaching for the next one, which was unusual enough to make him pause. His office was nearly empty, the executive floor hushed except for the low hum of climate control and the occasional footsteps of security making their rounds. Even the silence felt different on a Sunday—less like stillness, more like the city holding its breath.
He rose and crossed to the windows.
From forty floors above, the city looked almost gentle. Sunlight softened the glass towers, traffic moved in slow ribbons below, and for a moment it was easy to imagine that everything had settled into place. Alexander knew better. Somewhere beneath him, restaurants were opening their doors, hospitals were changing shifts, parents were trying to convince children that parks were better than screens, and businesses were making decisions that would ripple into Monday morning.
Nothing ever truly stopped.
It only changed pace.
A knock at the door pulled him from the window.
Noah stepped inside, jacket folded over one arm. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”
“I said I’d leave.”
“You also said you’d only review one document.”
Alexander glanced toward his desk, where three neat stacks had somehow multiplied while he wasn’t looking. “I underestimated.”
“As usual.”
Noah handed him the jacket. “Daniel has already called twice.”
That earned a faint lift of Alexander’s brow. “Twice?”
“He wanted to make sure you hadn’t found an excuse.”
A small smile touched Alexander’s mouth. “He’s becoming predictable.”
“I believe that’s what friends are for.”
Alexander slipped into the jacket and headed for the door, Noah falling into step beside him. The elevator ride down was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Noah had long ago learned that silence around Alexander was rarely a sign of distance. More often, it meant he was thinking.
By the time they reached the lobby, the car was waiting.
And so was Daniel.
He was leaning against a dark blue convertible that looked far too impractical to be trusted with anything more than a sunny afternoon and a reckless mood. When he spotted Alexander, he pushed off the car and grinned as if he’d won something.
“I knew it.”
Alexander stopped beside him. “Knew what?”
“That you’d work until the last possible second.”
“I left fifteen minutes early.”
Daniel checked his watch with exaggerated seriousness. “A miracle.”
Alexander gave him a dry look. “I’m beginning to regret coming.”
“No, you’re not.”
Daniel clapped a hand against his shoulder, warm and familiar. “My mother has been cooking since sunrise.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“For her?”
“For everyone else.”
Daniel laughed, and Alexander found himself smiling before he could stop it. There were very few people who could pull that from him so easily.
“I’ve missed that laugh,” Daniel said.
“I laughed last week.”
“That barely counted.”
They got into Alexander’s car instead of Daniel’s, which Daniel accepted with the air of a man making a noble sacrifice.
“My roof leaks,” he admitted.
“I know.”
“I keep meaning to fix it.”
“You’ve been meaning to fix it for two years.”
“It has character.”
“It has holes.”
“Same thing.”
Alexander shook his head, though there was no real disapproval in it. “You’ll never change.”
“I certainly hope not.”
Traffic was light, and for the first few minutes they drove in the kind of easy silence that only long friendships could survive. There was no need to fill it. No pressure to perform. Just the comfort of being in the company of someone who had known him long enough to understand that not every quiet moment needed to be rescued.
Daniel was the first to break it.
“Do you remember the accelerator?”
Alexander glanced at him. “The entrepreneurship program?”
“Yeah.”
“I remember.”
Daniel’s expression softened with the memory. “I still have my name badge.”
That surprised Alexander enough that he looked over fully. “You kept it?”
“I keep everything.”
“I’m aware.”
“No, really.” Daniel laughed at himself. “My apartment has boxes labeled ‘Probably Important.’”
“Probably?”
“I’ll sort them out one day.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“I know.”
The road stretched ahead of them, smooth and nearly empty. Daniel rested one elbow against the window and looked out at the passing city.
“You ever wonder what happened to everyone?”
Alexander kept his eyes on the road. “Sometimes.”
“There were some brilliant people.”
“There were.”
“And some absolute disasters.”
Alexander nodded once. “There were those too.”
Daniel grinned. “I still remember that guy who tried to pitch scented Wi-Fi.”
That pulled an actual laugh from Alexander, brief but real. “It wasn’t the worst idea.”
“It absolutely was.”
“He claimed different websites should have different aromas.”
“He also claimed online banking should smell like cinnamon.”
Alexander’s shoulders eased, the tension in them loosening without his permission. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“I haven’t.”
Daniel leaned back, smiling to himself. “Those were good days.”
“They were difficult days.”
“They were.”
“But good.”
Alexander didn’t argue. He knew exactly what Daniel meant.
Back then, nothing had been certain. Every opportunity had mattered because there had been so few of them. Every rejection had landed harder because it had felt personal. Every small victory had been worth celebrating because no one had been sure there would be another one.
They had all been dreamers once.
Some of them had simply managed to keep dreaming longer than the others.
At a red light, Daniel turned his head toward the window again. “I heard the Foundation invited quite a few former participants to this year’s gala.”
“They did,” Alexander said.
“Looking forward to it?”
“I haven’t thought much about it.”
Daniel gave him a sideways look. “That’s not what I asked.”
Alexander was quiet for a moment, considering the question more carefully than he usually would. Then he answered with the honesty Daniel had always been able to draw out of him.
“I think it’ll be good to see what became of everyone.”
Daniel’s smile was small, but knowing. “I thought you might say that.”
The light changed, and the car moved forward again.
Neither of them noticed the large banner hanging across the street outside a community center until they were already passing it.
FUTURE FOUNDERS CHARITY GALA
Celebrating Those Who Once Dared to Dream
It slipped behind them as the car continued toward Daniel’s family home.
Neither man knew that less than twenty-four hours earlier, someone else had stood in front of an almost identical banner and stared at it a little too long.
For now, it was only another sign in the city.
Soon, it would become something else entirely.
A doorway.
A reminder.
The beginning of a past neither of them had ever truly left behind.
- Writer
