Never in my life did I ever think I’d find myself on a business trip with Ted Schmidt, of all people. Actually, never in my life did I think I’d ever find myself in business with Ted Schmidt at all. But, alas, here I am, nearly fifteen years into owning my own business, and nearly fifteen years into being in that business with one Ted Schmidt.

Of course Ted, always being economical, had the gall to suggest that we share a room -- a suggestion that I quickly vetoed, because Brian Kinney doesn’t share hotel rooms with coworkers on business trips. Not even those I consider to be close friends.

That’s another thing I never expected -- to consider Ted a close, personal friend. Someone I’ve trusted, who’s been there for me through thick and thin for the past decade and a half. Who’s stepped up without being asked whenever it was needed. Who’s also been willing to do anything and everything I’ve asked of him, no matter what it was or how short of notice he was given.

He says I gave him a chance when no one else would -- when crystal meth had stolen his dignity as well as much of his life. When he was trying to get back on his feet but was finding it harder than he’d ever anticipated it would be. Really, I just needed someone who knew the system at Wertshafter’s, who could help me get the fucking money for the Remsen ad where it was supposed to go -- where some lackey at Ted’s former employer was supposed to have transferred it to, and hadn’t. I dragged Ted into it practically kicking and screaming, but in the end, he saved the day -- saved my fledgling company and my ass.

Who cares if we broke a few laws in the process? We got the job done. And, though I never would have admitted it at the time, we made a good team.

We still do.

That night (well, the next night, when he finally agreed to accept my offer), Ted became my accountant, joining the handful of employees who’d taken a chance on me. A few years later, he became my chief operating officer, and a few years after that, a partner in the company.

And now we’re in Chicago, meeting with Lawrence Remsen, of all people. Funny how things come full circle.

Even with as large as Kinnetik has gotten over the years, there are still a few accounts that I prefer to take the lead on myself, and Remsen is one of them. Hell, they’re the account that made Kinnetik possible, though they’ll never know that -- Brian Fucking Kinney never lets anyone get him by the balls. And they were the company who took a chance on me yet again when I needed someone to back my disability justice campaign more than a decade ago. So that’s why, when they asked to meet with me in Chicago to discuss a significant addition to their account, I agreed in a heartbeat. And that’s why I brought Ted with me -- because this time we aren’t dealing in millions, we’re dealing in billions. This is huge. This has the potential to send my already-successful company up to the next level, and I’m sure as fuck not going to turn it down or fuck it up. So I need someone with me who knows money, and Ted is my guy.

Turns out Remsen is acquiring another pharmaceutical company, and, as such, needs to be sure Kinnetik has what it takes to cover all of their advertising needs for the foreseeable future. Of course, I know we do -- and even if we don’t, I’ll fake it until I find a way to make it happen -- but we still have to prove it to them.

And if we’re successful, it will likely mean doubling or tripling our profits, which will also mean more power -- the power to comfortably do more of the things I want to do with the Kinnetik name, like making a sizable investment in GoodLife Robotics, the custom prosthetics company I did a nearly pro-bono ad campaign for a few years back.

I’ve been wanting to make that investment for a long time, but it’s a risky one, and Ted has advised me against it more than once. I know that the market they’re competing in is fairly well saturated with companies that are backed by large corporations with deep pockets, so it’s difficult -- though not totally impossible -- for a small startup to truly get a foothold and make a name for themselves. But I believe in this company, and I want to see them make it, so I’m willing to do what I can to try to help them get there, even if it comes at a personal risk for me. Ted, however, likes to play it safe, and honestly, I know that’s a big part of why Kinnetik has been such a success in the first place -- smart strategies, and smart investments. But if there’s more capital to go around, maybe I’ll have better luck convincing Ted to let me take the gamble.

You know, I think the reason Ted and I make such a good team is because we balance each other out -- when I’m ready to take the jump without looking, he’s the one who’s right there to pull me back from the edge and tell me to think about what I’m about to do. Sometimes I still say, “Fuck it,” and do it anyway -- I am the boss, after all -- but he does make me take a pause. Of course, I’ll never tell him that. Although maybe he already knows.

Sometimes, though, he encourages me to take the jump and not look back -- as he did when I wanted to move to New York. He found a way to make it work, even though I could see the hesitation in his eyes and in his demeanor. I think maybe he knew how much I needed that fresh start.

This conference room is impossibly hot, and it’s making me want to loosen my tie and take my jacket off, but I wouldn’t dare do that in front of a room full of people who have the power to decide the future of my company -- a position that’s already making me feel extremely uncomfortable, because Brian Fucking Kinney doesn’t like to feel vulnerable, especially in business. But Remsen is a big account, and even though I’ve worked with them for years, they’re not always easy to win over. If we can’t convince them that we can deliver, the possibility exists that we could lose them completely. I could recover from that, sure, but it would take me awhile, and it would mean giving up some things, and maybe a few employees, too, which is definitely something I’d prefer to avoid. (Yes, I do have a heart, and yes, I do care about my employees, even if my management style might sometimes be a little bit… let’s say “overly honest.”)

I know most of these people already, but there are a few that I don’t know -- the big-wigs from the company being acquired, I assume -- who are already looking me up and down. You’d think I’d be used to that by now -- the seemingly unconscious, though often overt, appraisal of my body and the way that I move, and the silent judgment that comes along with it. The questions arising in their minds that they’re too damn afraid to ask, so they’ll just make shit up instead. The mountain that I have to climb every single fucking time I meet a new person in business, just to prove to them that I can do my job every bit as well as any able-bodied schmuck. But it still pisses me off. Sometimes, though, I think it drives me to do better. So maybe in this case, a little anger is a good thing.

I know I want this meeting to go well, probably more than I’ve ever wanted any meeting to go well in my entire career, because I want that freedom -- the freedom to invest and expand and make Kinnetik a name people know across the country. This meeting has the ability to give me more power than I’ve ever had the pleasure of wielding before, and for me, that’s saying something. So I’m just going to have to be uncomfortable, and hope that the sweat on my brow isn’t misinterpreted as nervousness. Because Brian Fucking Kinney doesn’t do nervous. He kicks ass and takes names.

That’s how I got my first job. And it’s how I started this business. And I don’t plan on changing it any time soon.

***

Sometimes I still have to pinch myself to believe that I, Ted Schmidt, am the Chief Operating Officer for Kinnetikcorp. And not only that, but a partner in the company as well. No longer am I just a pencil pusher in some soulless corporate office, scared to death that my boss might find out exactly what I like to do using my company-owned computer in my downtime. I actually like my job now, and the person I work for. But if you’d asked me twenty years ago if I’d ever count Brian Kinney among my closest friends, I would have laughed in your face. I supposed life changes people though -- and I know it’s done that for both of us.

I got mixed up with crystal meth when I felt like I’d been ruined -- after Stockwell shut down my business and made sure the entire goddamned town knew me as some perverted porn kingpin. All I’d been looking for was a way to feel good. Feeling accepted wasn’t bad, either. Of course, I was looking in the wrong place, but I couldn’t see that at the time. Hindsight’s always 20/20 -- that’s what they say. And in this case, it’s definitely true. Although I do wonder what my life would be like now if I’d never taken that first hit, I’m not so sure that it would be better.

Recovery has given me perspective. It’s shown me what’s truly important in life. It’s helped me find myself, and know myself in a way that I never did before.

It also brought me my husband, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful. Blake keeps me balanced, and always seems to know exactly what I need, sometimes before I know I need it. Who would’ve thought that one day I’d find myself married to the man who once left me seizing on the floor of my apartment after I overdosed? That I wouldn’t be able to imagine my life without him? Life sure is strange, sometimes. But one thing I’ve learned over the years is to expect the unexpected.

Brian Kinney bursting into my 12-step meeting and yanking me away from the podium, claiming he had a job for me, was certainly unexpected. But it happened, and soon I was sitting in Brian’s swanky office at the newly-minted Kinnetik, eating takeout and essentially trying to hack into the computer system of my former employer -- the latter of which I definitely wasn’t keen on. But I’d already let so many people down -- most of all myself -- and I didn’t really want to have one more thing on my long list of failures that Brian had been so kind as to remind me of as a way of convincing me to do what he needed me to do. So I did it, against my better judgment, thanks to the highly effective motivation of Brian threatening me with imminent death. It all worked out in the end, I suppose, even though my lack of confidence in myself nearly kept me from accepting the position he offered me. I did eventually accept it, though, and I’m glad I did, because I honestly don’t think the singing waiter gig was going to work out long term. Brian (and the attendees of Ida Friedman’s 80th birthday) had been right -- I was an accountant. I wasn’t meant to sing opera while serving pasta and breadsticks; I was meant to crunch numbers.

Now, I do so much more than that. I still don’t know that I’m necessarily comfortable with referring to myself as Brian’s right-hand man, though he has introduced me as such at more than one business meeting. It’s a position I kind of got thrown into by accident -- literally.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. We had a very important meeting that afternoon, and I knew Brian would be cutting it close to get back from West Virginia in time. After months of thinking -- and what I was fairly sure was months of hoping that Justin was going to come back home to him, though Brian would vehemently deny it, of course -- Brian had finally decided to sell Justin’s “country manor.” (I’d tried to tell him that a house really shouldn’t be an impulse buy, but you know Brian, and he wouldn’t listen.) The closing was scheduled for 11 a.m., and our meeting was at 1 p.m. But Brian insisted he’d be back in time, and told Cynthia and me not to worry about it. He’d been in a strange mood that morning, and every little thing seemed to be irritating him, so I’d been hesitant to say anything else about it. Not that there was anything that could be done, really. If Brian was late, Cynthia and I would just have to cover for him.

As one o’clock crept closer and Brian had still not returned, I could clearly see Cynthia’s agitation rising. By the time one o’clock actually arrived, she was ready to spit nails. I overheard her leaving a scathing voicemail for Brian about how he should at least have the courtesy to answer his goddamned phone if he was going to just blow off the meeting and leave us all hanging. But she pasted on her most sincere, business-like smile, stepped into the meeting room, and told the client that Brian had just been delayed -- traffic, she said, from the near-constant rain we’d been having for what felt like days on end -- and he was due to arrive any minute. Only he didn’t. She called him again, and I called him again, and he didn’t answer either one of our calls. We started the meeting without him -- thank god Cynthia really knows what she’s talking about -- and an hour later, we concluded the meeting without him, still with no phone calls and absolutely no sign of our fearless leader.

By then, we were both starting to wonder if something was seriously wrong, although Cynthia was still holding tight to her solemn vow that she was going to kill Brian with her bare hands if he came strolling through the old bathhouse door like nothing at all was amiss. Another hour later, we found out that something was seriously wrong indeed.

“I’m at the hospital,” Michael said, and I’d known him long enough to be able to hear that he was fighting back tears and panic. “They called me; Brian’s been in an accident.”

Those words set off a chain of events that changed a lot of things, not the least of which was the entire life of our friend and boss. Cynthia and I went to visit Brian at the hospital the next day, and god, he looked awful. He was lying flat on his back and not allowed to sit up, not that he wanted to at the time because he was in a lot of pain, despite being completely and totally strung out on high-powered narcotics. According to a hushed conversation we’d had with Michael in the hallway, Brian was now a paraplegic, and he was likely looking at a few more weeks in the hospital and at least a month of inpatient rehab after that, according to his doctor. So it was going to be awhile before our fearless leader was back at work, and we had no choice but to find some way to continue to conduct business without him, because there was no way we were going to let his business -- his pride and joy -- go under while he was stuck lying in a hospital bed.

We made it work, and I learned more about the advertising business in two months than I had in the previous two years. Cynthia was pretty much running the show -- that’s why she’s now the vice president and our third partner in the company -- while I did anything and everything she asked me to do, because it was the least I could do for my friend. When Brian was moved from the hospital to the rehab center, the first thing he asked for was his laptop, and although Cynthia and I both had our misgivings about bringing it to him, I ultimately did, because I could hear in his voice when he called me just how much he needed to do something normal and ordinary, like checking his email or approving artwork and ad copy.

I took it over there that day and found Brian in bed with his eyes closed. I thought he was asleep, so I was just going to quietly leave his computer bag on the desk I could see in the corner, but he opened his eyes the second I stepped into the room. I tried not to look as awkward or uncomfortable as I felt, but it was hard not to. This was the start of Brian’s new normal, and a key part of that new normal was the empty wheelchair sitting next to the bed. That part took some serious getting used to, but now, it’s just part of Brian -- an extension of his body.

He thanked me for bringing his laptop, and asked me how things were going at the office, but what I noticed most was how tired he sounded. And not just physically tired, but mentally exhausted. Beaten down. I’d been there before -- feeling totally hopeless, like I had nowhere to go and no reason left to go on. And then he apologized -- an action that confirmed for me just how out of sorts he was, as if I needed any confirmation of that. Who wouldn’t be, in his situation?

“What for?” I asked. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Shit happens.”

Brian shrugged and sighed, then let out one of his trademark sardonic laughs, though it was missing the accompanying smirk. “This is some shit, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, not really knowing what else to say, and also not sure I’d ever felt more uncomfortable or awkward in my life, and for me, that was saying something. I remember wanting to say something encouraging, but also being afraid Brian would tell me to fuck off, and honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would have been like to be the one facing down what he was.

But he did it in typical Brian Kinney form, making it look easy, even though I knew it was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. Hell, it would have been for anybody. He was back in the office just a few days after we helped him move into his new apartment, and although he was trying to act like nothing was different, I could tell that everything was. He was frustrated and obviously uncomfortable and looked like he was still struggling a lot with pain, and for those first several weeks, he was never in the office for more than three or four hours at a time before Cynthia marched in there and sent him home, even going so far as to drive him there herself a couple of times when he’d pushed himself too hard.

Over the next few months, things slowly returned to near-normal, with Brian continuing to strike fear in the hearts of most of his staff and ruling over his kingdom with the same iron fist he always had, but Cynthia and I could both tell that things still weren’t quite right. Something was missing. It turned out, that something was Justin.

All it took was Justin coming back into the picture to get Brian thinking more about what he could have now and less about what he’d lost. He went from depressed and just going back and forth from home to work, only going out with the gang if we agreed to go someplace far away from Liberty Avenue, to starting to entertain thoughts of moving to New York to be with Justin, and asking me to look into making that happen. I did the research and considered the situation, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure it was going to be the best idea to have our CEO hundreds of miles away, but I could see how much Brian needed it to happen, so I found a way to make it work.

A few days before he left, Brian called me into his office, I presumed to go over the numbers for the second quarter, but it turned out that he wanted to offer me a promotion -- to Chief Operating Officer.

“B-but… I…” I remember standing in his office, sputtering, completely blindsided, thinking he must be joking, while Brian sat behind his desk, hands folded on the glass tabletop, looking deadly serious.

“Don’t argue with me, Theodore. You’ve already been doing it. This is just a title change, a formality. And a salary upgrade to go with it.”

“But, we can’t--”

“Shut up. We can. I found a way. And, I have this for you.” Brian unfolded his hands to reveal an envelope laying on the desk in front of him, which he pushed across the desk in my direction.

My hands were shaking as I picked up the envelope and opened it, pulling out a check for $20,000.

“For the house you and Blake were looking at,” Brian said, his tone incredibly nonchalant for a man who’d just written me a five-figure check. “Consider it your down payment. And the raise you’re getting should more than cover the mortgage.”

“Brian, I can’t accept this--”

“Yes, you can. And you will. Now, go call Jennifer and tell her you’re putting in an offer.”

I wanted to argue, but I knew it would be pointless, because Brian’s mind was made up. I also knew what this was -- it was a “thank you.” One that I didn’t need, because I’d only done what any decent man would do for a friend, but it was a thank you, nonetheless, in true Brian Kinney fashion.

So I sputtered a thank you of my own, still blinking at the numbers on the check and trying to wrap my head around the idea that I had just become the COO of Kinnetik. Just one of many changes that were precipitated by a freak accident in West Virginia.

Over the years, I’ve watched Brian change. I’ve watched him navigate a situation that I was honestly a little afraid he might not ever mentally recover from, and learn to navigate life and business in a whole new way. Not only dealing with his own situation, but also the way other people dealt with him. Brian trusted me enough to be honest with me when he was frustrated with that, just as he’d trusted me to be one of the first to know the truth when he’d been diagnosed with cancer. He knew I’d never betray his confidence. And it’s been through that honesty and trust, that our friendship has grown.

When Brian needs an unbiased, objective opinion, he calls me. When he needs someone to talk him into -- or out of -- doing something, he calls me. And I’ve done the same with him, over both personal and professional matters. Hell, he was the one who talked some sense into me when Blake and I were a couple of months from our wedding, and I was starting to wonder if I was good enough for him, or if he’d be better off with someone else.

“You love him, right?” he’d said to me, in that bored tone of voice he uses when he thinks you’re being a dumbass.

“Of course I love him. I’m just not sure I deserve him.”

“Theodore, don’t be a fucking idiot like I was. Go for it. He chose you, more than once. Just like Justin did with me. Marry the love of your life and don’t look back.”

So I did, and Blake and I will celebrate our 11th anniversary this year, a couple of months before Brian and Justin celebrate 12 years of their own marriage. That’s another thing I never thought I’d owe to Brian Kinney -- my marriage -- but I guess, in a way, I do. Honestly, I think Brian has done more for me in my life than any other one person has, aside from Blake, of course. And he does all of it without expecting -- or even wanting, really -- a thank you. That’s just Brian -- the Brian that only a handful of us know, and the one that I feel privileged to.

That’s exactly the way I feel on this trip, too -- privileged. Like maybe my life has turned out in such a way that I might not completely deserve, given some of the things I’ve done, but it’s still my life. I am the man that Brian introduced as his business partner when we came into this conference room, and I’m the one he trusts to make all of the pieces of his presentation work as smoothly as possible, so that all he has to focus on is being his charismatic, confident self -- the sort of person that, honestly, I’m still striving to become.

I can tell he’s a little bit nervous, although I’d never tell him that. But I don’t blame him -- I’d be a basket case if I was about to make a presentation that could either mean billions of dollars in income for the company, or losing a multimillion dollar account. To the rest of the room, though, I’m sure he looks totally calm, cool, and collected, just like he always does. It’s part of the Brian Kinney magic.

I watch Brian take a deep breath -- something I’m fairly sure he’s picked up from Justin in the past couple of years -- and I flash him a smile as he starts the presentation. For a while, everything goes exactly as I expected it to, and everyone in that room is practically eating out of Brian’s hand, just like always. Then, I notice the sandy-haired man in the second seat from the right on the opposite side of the room. I’ve never seen him before, even in all of the meetings with Remsen I’ve sat in on, so I assume he’s an executive from the company being acquired.

He’s eyeing Brian, but not in the way Brian Kinney likes to be eyed. This is different. This, I’ve seen before, when we’ve been in meetings together with new clients. They look at Brian, and they make judgments about him -- assuming that he’s sick or weak or somehow otherwise unable to work as hard as they’d like him to work on their account. Of course, their judgments are totally off-base, but Brian, unfortunately, has to prove them wrong. And honestly, sometimes I get frustrated for him, because I can only imagine how maddening that must be.

But he handles it pretty well in the moment, then later, I can tell how much it’s pissed him off. His reaction is subtle, but anyone who knows Brian well would be able to see it, because when you tell Brian Kinney he can’t do something, you only make him even more driven. I’m fairly sure that’s been the secret ingredient to Brian’s success for most of his life.

I see Brian catch the man’s eye, and then I see the slightest shift in his demeanor -- how he sits up a fraction of an inch taller, throws his shoulders back just a little, and somehow speaks with even more authority than he already was. But that doesn’t stop what’s going on.

We finish the presentation, and Brian and I are both fielding questions from the Remsen executives when the sandy-haired man finally voices the thoughts I’m sure he’s been having for the last half an hour at least.

“Your presentation was excellent, Mr. Kinney, but how do we know that you can continue to deliver personal service at the level we’ll need for the foreseeable future?”

Right there is where I see the twitch in Brian’s jaw as he clenches it briefly, but when he responds, his voice is calm and even, as if nothing at all is bothering him. “If you look at the past campaigns I’ve done for Remsen, I think you’ll see--”

“There’s no denying that you’ve done excellent work for the company in the past, but this is going to be very... demanding. There are more products and more campaigns, and this is only the tip of the iceberg.”

Brian doesn’t like to be interrupted in a business meeting, either, and I can see him steadily getting more irritated, even though he’s trying hard not to show it outwardly. Mostly, I can see it in his eyes -- in the cold, fixed stare he’s giving the man as he speaks.

“And I have no doubt that I can continue to deliver the level of service to which Remsen has become accustomed, for all of your newly expanded product line,” Brian says calmly. Too calmly, given what I know is brewing beneath the surface.

The man continues to argue with Brian, and I want to jump in to defend my boss and friend, but I know better. Brian has it covered, and he doesn’t need me coming to his rescue, which would probably do more harm than good.

Finally, one of the execs I recognize speaks up and starts singing Brian’s praises, but even she isn’t able to shut the guy down. The person who can turns out to be Lawrence Remsen himself, who has never been one of Brian’s favorite people to work with, because he’s very particular and also hard to impress. But he’s also one of our best clients. And in this instance, he’s in Brian’s corner.

“I’ve been working with Mr. Kinney for well over a decade,” he says, “and I’ve never known him to back down from a challenge. In fact, the first presentation I saw from him was in a meeting being hosted by his former employer, which he interrupted because he felt we should take our campaign in a completely different direction. His concept was unique and well-executed, and all of our campaigns since then have been the same. I’ve always been impressed with Mr. Kinney’s work and his work ethic, and I don’t anticipate anything would be different now. I have no concerns about Mr. Kinney’s ability to deliver exactly what we need with the same aplomb he always has.”

Brian nods and thanks Mr. Remsen, and I breathe a sigh of relief while we finish answering everyone’s questions and exit the room briefly so they can discuss things amongst themselves. I hold the door open for Brian as we go out into the hallway, and that’s when I hear the barely-audible grumble under his breath: “Fucking bullshit.”

I just hope his voice was low enough not to be heard inside the conference room, but since I can hear the low din of uninterrupted conversation coming from inside, I assume that no one is the wiser. And I agree with Brian -- it is bullshit. I wish everyone could look at Brian and see what those of us who know him well see -- a strong, smart, pull-no-punches businessman who will do whatever it takes to get the job done and make sure it’s done right. And most people do see that. But there are always a few who don’t, and they tend to make things difficult. Today had been no different.

Again, I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have to deal with that on a day-to-day basis. I think I’d go crazy.

I try to engage Brian in some idle conversation to pass the time, but he’s distracted -- likely plotting his strategy for proving exactly how good he is at what he does to the sandy-haired gentleman whose name we still don’t know. Finally, the door to the conference room opens again and we’re invited back in, then informed that we have a deal. And just like that, a five-year contract is signed, and Kinnetik’s future bottom line is secure and suddenly much, much larger.

It was so fast that it doesn’t feel real, and my head is spinning just thinking of the facts and figures that come along with this contract. But I’ll deal with that later. For now, we have some celebrating to do.

***

The first thing I need to do when Ted and I get back to the hotel is change out of my $5,000 custom-tailored suit, before I ruin it completely. I don’t know why the conference room at Remsen’s Chicago office is always like a sauna, but today, it had seemed particularly torturous. Ted congratulates me on a job well done as we sit together in the back seat of a cab, and I shrug, still more than a little bit pissed off at what happened at the end of that presentation. Remsen fucking knows me, and that bullshit should never have been allowed to go on for as long as it did before he stepped in. But I’m thankful that I didn’t blow it -- I didn’t let my anger get the best of me and cause me to curse out that stupid motherfucker the way he deserved to be.

Rob was right -- the bullshit never goes away; you just learn to deal with it.

For me, that means no longer wanting to drink myself into a stupor every time someone makes a ridiculous assumption and has the gall to say it out loud. I am who I am, and they can accept it, or they can fuck right off.

“So, what’re you going to do with Kinnetik’s newfound profits?” Ted’s voice brings me out of my thoughts and back into the cab, which is still a few blocks away from our hotel. “Something pretty for your beloved? A summer home in Ptown? Maybe a bonus for your favorite COO?”

Ted’s eyes are sparkling mischievously, and I can’t help but chuckle at his last suggestion. “Don’t flatter yourself, Theodore,” I say, though I’m thinking to myself that he isn’t too far off-base. He and Cynthia have both busted their asses to make sure everything about this campaign is perfect, and I’ll make sure they’re both appropriately rewarded for their efforts. “No summer home. Not yet. And Justin’s not really too into the pretty things, unless those pretty things involve paint and clay. Actually, I think I’m going to invest some of it.”

“Ah,” he says. “I think I know where.”

“I think you do too. What do you think? Should I do it?”

Ted cocks his head to the side and looks out the window for a moment, then turns back to me and nods. “If you believe in it, then I think you should. But if you ask me, they knew they had you the moment they put you in whatever that robot setup was.”

“It’s an exoskeleton. And they had me long before that.” GoodLife was living up to their name -- helping people do things they didn’t think were possible, including me taking actual steps, putting one foot in front of the other, albeit under artificial power, for the first time in almost thirteen years. But the way it made me feel to do that again… Without getting all sappy, let’s just say I want to be the reason they can help thousands of other people feel that way too.

“We’ll do it, then. I’ll get the process started on Monday morning.”

Ted spends the rest of the cab ride giving me an update on his and Blake’s adoption plans and the nursery they’re putting together in their house for the baby that’s due to be born in less than two months’ time, to a teenager in rural Ohio who chose them to be the parents to her child. Although the parental life is definitely not for me, I’m happy for my friends, and I know that Ted knows if he needs anything at all, all he has to do is come to me.

We finally arrive at the hotel and Ted retrieves my wheelchair from the back of the SUV -- not exactly my preferred way to do things, but I’m trying to get better at following Justin and Rob’s collective advice and not making things unnecessarily hard on myself. That’s hard too, but I’m trying.

I tell Ted I’ll meet him in the lobby in about an hour, and we go our separate ways -- him to the tiny, economical room he insisted on booking for himself, and me to my business suite. As quickly as I can, I peel off my suit and hang it up, then make my way into the shower for a quick rinse-off before changing into something a little more comfortable, although no less fashionable. I still like to look good. I might be closing in on fifty a little more quickly than I’d like, but I don’t plan on ever letting myself go. I’ll find a way to make reading glasses and graying hair fashionable. Justin says they’re both sexy, although I’m not sure I believe him. Again, though, I’m trying.

I’ve run through the what-ifs so many times, and I’ve tried to imagine what the last thirteen years of my life would have been like if I hadn’t run my Corvette into a tree. But in the end, it’s not even worth it to try to guess, because my life is pretty fucking perfect right now. I’m married to the love of my life (and I can admit that’s what he is), and now I’ve just taken one giant step forward in the business world, with the support of my capable staff and the two best business partners I could have ever asked for.

Yeah, life is damn good. Who the hell cares if I live it sitting or standing?

I’m finishing up drying my hair when my phone starts ringing on the bathroom counter and the display lights up with Justin’s smiling face -- a picture I took at his last big art show, which was a smashing success, of course. I switch the hair dryer off and pick up my phone, sliding my thumb across the screen to answer it.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Justin says, in his soft voice that could turn me on anywhere, at any time. “How was your meeting?”

I give him the basic gist -- we got the account, we’re practically billionaires now, et cetera -- leaving out the bullshit portion of the afternoon that I know will only piss him off as much as it did me. He’s off work this week because it’s spring break, and I can tell he’s in his studio because of the weird echo that I can hear even over the phone, created by the floor-to-ceiling glass walls and the near-total lack of furniture, which we really need to do something about.

“Enough about me,” I say. “What have you been working on today?”

“Still getting things ready for that show in two weeks. Steph said they had another artist drop out, so they’ve asked for a few more pieces from me to help fill in. So I’ve been working on a new sculpture all day.”

“Did you remember to eat?”

I can practically hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line as he sighs, “Yes, dear. I set an alarm on my phone and everything. I promise I’m not going to starve.”

“Good, because when I get home, we’ve got some serious celebrating to do.”

“Is that a promise, Mr. Kinney?” he purrs, suddenly sounding sultry and so fucking sexy that I have to stop him right there before I get any more turned on than I already was just from hearing his voice. Fuck, the things this kid does to me. In any case, I can’t wait to get back to New York, but for right now, I’m supposed to be meeting Ted for dinner and drinks.

We end our call with a pair of “I love yous” and I finish getting ready so I can meet Ted downstairs. We decide to forego the cab this time because the restaurant we’ve chosen for our celebration is only a couple of blocks away. It has a hell of a view of downtown Chicago -- well worth the long-ass elevator ride to the top floor. The sun is just beginning to set, projecting a soft, red glow tinged with purple over the tops of the buildings, and I can’t help but think of how Justin would have to take a picture of this so he could paint it later. So I take one for him, while Ted smiles and shakes his head. I order myself a double of Chivas Regal and Ted asks for a sparkling water with lime.

“You know,” he says, “I’m really glad you interrupted my share that night. Even if you did make me break the law.”

I laugh and take a sip of my whiskey. “You were pretty damn great that night. And you’ve been great the last fifteen years.”

“I’m glad I took the job. But most of all, I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“Don’t go getting all sentimental on me, Theodore.”

“I’m not. I’m just… I’m glad we’re in this together. That’s all.”

There’s really nothing more that needs to be said. We are in this together. Not just as business partners, but as friends. We help each other, we’re honest with each other, and we each know the other is someone we can trust -- an important concept in business, sure, but one that’s even more important in life. It might have taken me awhile to see that, but I got there, eventually. And isn’t that what counts?

Swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I look out at the darkening sky, on this night that represents the dawn of a new era for Kinnetik. A bit of a contradiction, I suppose, but perhaps that’s just the story of my life -- a myriad of juxtapositions and a winding path that’s taken me down roads I never would have anticipated. But it’s mine, and I don’t think I’d change it even if I could. And I’m glad that Ted Schmidt has been one of the people who has been right there through it all -- through every twist and turn, and every challenge.

“So am I, Theodore… So am I.”

He raises his glass in a toast. “To Kinnetik, and to the most unlikely of friendships.”

I look at my business partner and smile as I clink my glass against his and take a drink of my whiskey, already looking forward to whatever the future may bring, and knowing that no matter what comes, we’ll still be in it together.