For once, all was right with his world. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and padded across the hardwood floor of his studio apartment to the granite kitchen island where the fifty-thousand-dollar check was sitting. He ran his finger across the dollar amount. All those zeroes belonged to him. And he hadn’t had to beg his stepfather for a penny of it. On impulse, he snapped a picture of the check and texted his mother. Your boy done good. Got promoted to creative director yesterday. With this as a bonus. He hit Send and waited for a response. None came. Not that he had really expected anything else. His mother had made it quite clear over the years that she’d really rather her son disappeared so she could focus on the family she did want. Shake it off, he told himself. Much better to focus on the things he had a chance of fixing—like his relationship with Becky.
