The Night Before

Book Two – Chapter 2: The Night Before

February 2026 Dark Evil House The living room looked like a camera store had exploded.

Lenses lined the coffee table in careful rows.

Camera bodies sat nearby with their caps on.

Batteries charged in a cluster beside the outlet.

Memory cards.

Lens cloths.

Filters inside little round cases.

Cables I had been explicitly forbidden from touching.

An entire army of glass, plastic, and electronics waiting to be packed.

Sean stood in the middle of it all with his hands on his hips.

“If I only bring two lenses, I’ll regret it.”

I looked up from the couch.

“If you bring all of them, I’ll regret it.”

He frowned at me.

“See? This is why I don’t ask for your opinion.”

“You were talking out loud.”

“To myself.”

“In my living room.”

“Our living room.”

I paused.

He caught it.

A tiny smile appeared.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Our living room.”

Sean went back to examining a lens.

I smiled to myself.

My duffel sat open on the rug.

Hoodies.

Socks.

Flannel shirts.

Everything thrown inside according to a sophisticated organizational system Sean referred to as hope.

My laptop was closed.

That part had required effort.

Grayson walked in from the kitchen carrying a mug.

He took one look at the coffee table.

Stopped.

“Oh, good.”

Sean looked at him.

“What?”

“You’re packing for three days like National Geographic personally hired you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand that Dad’s car has a maximum weight capacity.”

I pointed toward him.

“Thank you.”

Sean looked offended.

“You two are terrible.”

“We’re efficient.”

“You’re annoying.”

“That too.”

The house felt different tonight.

Not the heavy difference that used to come before something bad.

This was anticipation.

Bags by the wall.

Jackets waiting.

Camera batteries charging.

My blue glasses already inside their case beside my keys.

Tomorrow, Sean and I were leaving.

Three days.

Mountains.

Photography.

No headquarters.

No work laptop.

Grayson had made sure of that last part.

Packing

“Did you confirm the hotel?” Grayson asked.

“Twice.”

Sean picked up another battery.

“Two beds. Quiet side if possible. Away from the elevator and ice machine.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You requested all that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve traveled before.”

“So have I.”

“And yet somehow you still book rooms beside elevators.”

“That happened once.”

“New York.”

“Once.”

Sean stared at me.

“Fine. Recently once.”

Grayson laughed.

“You’ve been enjoying this, haven’t you?”

Sean looked around at the equipment.

“The planning?”

“Yeah.”

Sean shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“That’s a yes.”

“It’s controlled enthusiasm.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

Sean crossed the room.

Then dropped a small zippered pouch into my duffel.

I looked down.

“What did you just put in my bag?”

“Earplugs.”

“Why?”

“For when you discover hotel walls are thin and decide everybody breathing within fifty feet is personally attacking you.”

I stared at him.

“That is incredibly thoughtful and insulting.”

“You’re welcome.”

He went back to the camera gear.

Grayson leaned slightly toward me.

“How are you feeling?”

“About the trip?”

“No. About the sudden collapse of Western civilization.”

I looked at him.

“The trip.”

I exhaled.

“Excited.”

“That’s it?”

“No.”

“Nervous?”

“Yes.”

“About leaving headquarters?”

“Yes.”

“About being alone with Sean for three days?”

I glanced toward my younger son.

He was holding a filter toward the ceiling light, inspecting it like a jeweler evaluating a diamond.

“A little.”

Grayson nodded.

“Good.”

“Why does everybody keep telling me uncomfortable emotions are good?”

“Because you’re terrible at them.”

“Excellent.”

He smiled.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Headquarters better be fine.”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to turn vacation into work.”

“I asked one question.”

“You’ve asked me twelve questions about headquarters since dinner.”

“That seems low.”

“Dad.”

I held up both hands.

“Fine.”

Grayson pointed toward me.

“I have everything.”

“Clients?”

“Covered.”

“Moderators?”

“Covered.”

“Partnership agreement?”

“Waiting until you get back.”

“What if—”

“Covered.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“You enjoy this.”

“Immensely.”

He took another sip.

“You built the company so other people could hold it with you.”

“I know.”

“Then let us.”

I looked toward the closed laptop.

That was harder than it should have been.

But Chapter One Michael would’ve found an excuse.

Tonight, the laptop stayed closed.

“Okay.”

Grayson smiled.

“Look at that.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Growth.”

“I’ll open the laptop.”

His smile disappeared.

“Don’t.”

Sean laughed from across the room.

New York

A few minutes later, Sean picked up one of the lenses.

Held it toward the light.

Then said:

“Do you remember New York?”

I looked at him.

“Unfortunately.”

He frowned.

“The trip was good.”

“The trip was great.”

“Then why unfortunately?”

“Because I remember that guy trying to sell us twenty-dollar glow sticks.”

Sean laughed.

“They were authentic.”

“They were plastic tubes.”

“Authentic New York plastic tubes.”

“And the crowd.”

“You hated the crowd.”

“I survived the crowd.”

“With the glasses.”

“With the glasses.”

Sean smiled.

“I meant the picture.”

That changed something.

“The one in my office?”

“Yeah.”

I knew exactly which one.

Sean and me.

Winter jackets.

City lights behind us.

His hand against my shoulder.

The photograph had become one of my favorites.

“I remember.”

Sean set the lens down.

“That was the first time I really believed it.”

I waited.

He shrugged.

“This.”

He gestured vaguely between us.

“Me living here.”

“You thought I was going to send you back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sean.”

“I know it sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t.”

He looked down.

“For a while, part of me kept waiting for somebody to say the trial period was over.”

My chest hurt.

Not the supernatural kind.

The ordinary kind was plenty.

“There was never a trial period.”

“I know that now.”

He looked at me.

“That’s what New York did.”

“How?”

“It was something we chose.”

He searched for the explanation.

“Not custody.”

“Not a holiday.”

“Not somebody telling us we had to spend time together.”

I understood.

“We just went.”

“Yeah.”

He smiled faintly.

“And you kept the picture.”

“Of course I kept the picture.”

“In your office.”

“Where everybody can see it.”

That mattered to him.

I could tell.

“You’re my son.”

“I know.”

He said it quietly.

Then:

“Shenandoah feels like the next version.”

I looked at the cameras.

“Less glow sticks?”

“Hopefully.”

“Fewer people?”

“Definitely.”

“Better food?”

“Probably not.”

I sighed.

“Why am I going again?”

Sean grinned.

“Because you love me.”

“Terrible reason.”

“You already signed the PTO form.”

“I own the company.”

“And somehow Grayson owns you.”

“Apparently.”

We laughed.

But Sean’s earlier words stayed with me.

Something we chose.

Maybe that was what this trip really was.

Another choice.

Brothers

Grayson checked his watch.

“I should get going.”

“Where?”

“Headquarters.”

“At night?”

He stared at me.

“Remember the company you’re abandoning tomorrow?”

“I am not abandoning it.”

“I’m joking.”

“Badly.”

He stood.

Then pointed toward my duffel.

“Pack comfortable clothes.”

“I have comfortable clothes.”

“Not the shirts you bought when you were still pretending you had the same body you had at thirty.”

I looked down at myself.

“I like those shirts.”

“We like the dad belly.”

Sean snorted.

“Let it breathe.”

“I hate both of you.”

“Love you too.”

Grayson walked toward Sean.

Then stopped.

“You have everything?”

“I think so.”

“Chargers?”

“Yes.”

“Memory cards?”

“Yes.”

“Backup memory cards?”

Sean stared.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Dad.”

“Rude.”

I pointed from the couch.

“I’m sitting right here.”

Grayson smiled.

Then his expression softened.

“You guys have fun.”

“We will.”

Sean nodded.

“And if you need anything, text.”

“I know.”

“Anything.”

“Grayson.”

“I’m serious.”

Sean smiled.

“I know.”

Grayson put a hand briefly on his shoulder.

No speech.

No dramatic brother moment.

He didn’t need one.

They’d never needed much translation between them.

“Bring him back in one piece.”

Sean looked toward me.

“No promises.”

“HEY.”

Grayson laughed.

Then left.

The front door closed.

The house settled.

Two cameras too many

I looked at the coffee table.

Then Sean.

“So.”

“So?”

“How many cameras does one human need for three days?”

“All of them.”

“Incorrect.”

“I’m the teacher.”

“Abuse of authority.”

Sean sat beside me.

Our shoulders nearly touched.

For a few seconds, we simply looked at the mess.

Equipment.

Open bags.

Charging lights.

A house preparing to temporarily lose two of its occupants.

“Tomorrow night,” Sean said, “you’re going to be complaining about the hotel pillows.”

“Almost certainly.”

“And then I’m waking you up before sunrise.”

“I’ve reconsidered the entire trip.”

“No refunds.”

“Can I fire the teacher?”

“No.”

“Terrible educational system.”

Sean leaned his head against the couch.

“You still okay with all of it?”

I turned toward him.

There was more beneath that question than camera equipment.

Maybe there had to be.

This wasn’t simply a trip.

It was three days together.

No Grayson acting as connective tissue.

No headquarters demanding my attention.

No house allowing either of us to disappear into another room.

Just father and son.

“I said yes.”

Sean looked at me.

“I meant it.”

He nodded.

“Okay.”

Neither of us moved.

The clock ticked.

The house creaked.

Outside, February cold pressed against the windows.

Then Sean nudged my shoulder with his.

“I’m going to finish charging everything.”

“You mean everything?”

“Everything.”

“Power grid’s going down.”

“Worth it.”

He stood.

I looked toward my duffel.

“How many flannels?”

“Two.”

“That’s unreasonable.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Two and a backup.”

Sean stared at me.

“That’s three.”

“Agree to disagree.”

He shook his head.

“I can’t believe I’m spending three days with you.”

“You asked.”

“Biggest mistake of my life.”

He started gathering chargers.

I smiled.

Then something occurred to me.

“Sean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He looked up.

“For what?”

“For asking me.”

His expression changed.

Only slightly.

“You said I didn’t ask.”

“You told Grayson.”

“Same family.”

“Not the same thing.”

He looked down at the charger in his hand.

“Maybe I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

I thought about Chapter One.

About how surprised he’d looked when I agreed.

“I need you to know something.”

He waited.

“You can ask me.”

“For trips?”

“For things.”

I shrugged.

“I might say no.”

“Comforting.”

“I might be busy.”

“Also comforting.”

“I might complain.”

“That one’s guaranteed.”

“But you don’t have to decide my answer for me.”

Sean became quiet.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m learning.”

“So am I.”

He smiled.

“Good.”

Then returned to his chargers.

The night before

Eventually, the equipment disappeared into bags.

Mostly.

Sean left three lenses on the table because apparently choosing between them required spiritual guidance.

My duffel finally zipped.

Barely.

The blue glasses remained beside my keys.

Ready.

I stood in the living room after Sean went upstairs.

For a moment, I listened.

Footsteps above me.

A drawer opening.

Something falling.

Sean swearing quietly.

Normal.

That word still amazed me sometimes.

My younger son was upstairs packing for a trip we were taking together.

Grayson would run headquarters.

The company would continue.

Nothing needed to collapse simply because I wasn’t standing beneath the logo.

I picked up the blue glasses.

Turned the case once in my hand.

Then set it back down.

Tomorrow, Sean would bring the cameras.

I would bring too many flannels.

He would teach.

I would try to listen.

And for three days, neither one of us needed to solve the years behind us or predict the years ahead.

We only had to go.

I turned off the living-room lights.

From upstairs:

“DAD?”

I looked toward the ceiling.

“What?”

“DO YOU HAVE THE CAR CHARGER?”

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

“NO.”

A pause.

Then:

“I PUT IT IN YOUR BAG.”

“THEN WHY DID YOU ASK?”

“I WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU KNEW.”

I stared at the ceiling.

“GOODNIGHT, SEAN.”

“LOVE YOU.”

The irritation disappeared instantly.

I smiled.

“LOVE YOU TOO.”

Silence returned.

I picked up my keys.

Moved them beside the packed bags so I couldn’t possibly forget them.

Then headed upstairs.

Tomorrow we would leave.

The headquarters would stay behind.

The road would open ahead.

And somewhere beyond it were mountains, cold air, cameras, and three uninterrupted days with my son.

For tonight, that was enough.