“Amazing, really, what you can do with a number zero,” Mom said. She was a damn witch.
He was about to show her what else could be done with a number zero by a jet-lagged man with a fatal heart wound who was having DMT trip flashbacks on top of an uncomfortable self-discovery experience and just wanted his Grand Master, when Cal cut in.
“Come on, Zeke. What do you need to be happy?”
“Jesus Christ. We were just stacked actors,” he said. “You know, imposters.”
“Is that a song title?”
Hell. Yes. Foo Fighters to the rescue. “What if it is?”
Could he sound anymore like the twelve-year-old Cal, only two years older, had to bail out for a badly executed piece of shoplifting? He’d tried to make off with one of those Irish Claddagh rings, with the heart and crown between two hands, for Rory, and been caught by the jeweler. They never caught him for the friendship bracelet with its little silver flower. Rory had worn it until the leather strap broke.
“For fuck’s sake, Zeke,” said Cal.
No, he could not. Why was he still clinging to excuses? “What if she doesn’t want me?” Might as well double down on the humiliation with the truth.
“What if she’s waited her whole life to know she does and then you reject her, you moron?”
“I’m not rejecting her, I’m just—” Okay, it would definitely feel that way to Rory. He’d as good as rejected her on the beach when she’d taken the trouble to come for him. Oh fuck. He yanked at his hair to try to wake up his brain. “She won’t answer my calls.”
“Smart girl,” said Mom.
“Did she come home? I don’t know where she is, even if I knew how to fix things.”
“She’s back. Last night. You know where she is,” said Cal.
Ah. Penny drop. The only thing you needed to have courage was fear and he had that in container loads. “Much as I love you both. Get out. I am not going to her unshaven and smelling of feet.”
Rory’s favorite bookshop-come-café was a block from his apartment walking east and a block from hers walking west. This was her happy place. Where she always celebrated a completed job with a big purchase of books.
One of two things was going to happen when he arrived. She would hear him out and he’d get another chance, or she’d win this round, and he’d have to come up with a new plan, because Rory was his endgame and he wasn’t giving up his belief in her until the day she said enough.
Today wasn’t going to be that day. Today was the first day of a whole new cult of learning how to love her right for every day that followed. If everything went to plan, this would be the last night he’d sleep in any bed, beside anyone who wasn’t Rory.
No overthinking it.
When he got to Better Read Than Dead, there was a for sale signboard out front and the door was shut with a closed for inventory sign in the window. What was the point in having a family with excellent spycraft if their intelligence was a dud?
Holding his breath, he peered inside, spotted what he needed to complete the rest of his life and then rapped on the door with more force than necessary.
A sales assistant with a pencil behind her ear opened up. She wore a name badge that read My name is Elena and underneath that, Ask me about Psy-Changelings. “Sorry, the coffee machine is borked and we’re closed this afternoon. Can you come back tomorrow?”
“Are you sure you’re closed?” He tipped his chin to indicate the only other person in the shop. He had to hope he wasn’t still seeing things and she wasn’t a changeling.
“Oh, she’s a regular, and she always buys up big.”
“What if I told you I intend to spend big too?” He’d spend his entire holding of pride to get what he wanted inside this shop.
“I’d say I don’t know you and I’m not letting you in.”
It wasn’t his best work; he was in a hurry. He flashed a Benjamin at her.
“That’s the woman I’ve been in love with my whole life, and I’ve been a shithead and I really need to apologize to her. You look like a person who could do with a coffee break.”
“LOL. No. Really nice try though.”
He was all out of finesse but had plenty of honest despair to go around. “Please.”