He doesn’t speak or even look my way as he drives us toward my place. I’m surprised when he swings into an alley several blocks away from it and says, “Switch with me, please.”
We do a Chinese fire drill, and he shows me where to drop him off, in front of a bookstore about three blocks away. “Talk to you soon,” he says as he gets out, but I can’t help wondering.
By the time I get home, about ten minutes later, I’ve got three texts from him.
Sorry I didn’t say much.
Then, It ended okay I guess.
Followed by, Can you let me know you got back?
Relief flows through me as I lean against the front door and text, Yeah. I’m here.
That’s good.
You good? I ask.
He sends me a thumbs up symbol.
I get to the church at 9, and Pearl is waiting for me, looking expectant. For some reason, seeing her by the mural makes my stomach do a slow roll.
“Hey.”
“I got that other brand of paint for the medium green.” She waves her hand at said paint, grinning like she’s just told me I won the lottery.
“Cool. Thank you.”
“For sure. We’re headed out in just a minute, but I hope you have a good day. There’s a retirement party for Maura from staffing in atrium H at noon. You should hit it up. Maura’s daughter Cynthia has a bakery, so Maura always brings these amazing petit fours.”
Pearl smiles as she walks off, backwards at first, but then she turns around. Turns out, Luke and his entourage are off to Dallas. I overhear it when some people walk through my atrium. He sends only one text that whole day:
Dallas for two nights. I think I forgot to mention.
I leave my atrium at five and walk to atrium A, where my centaur waits. I’ve got all the tools I need there, but I haven’t spent enough time with him since he got to Evermore.
I sculpt until my body aches and trembles, and I hurt like I’m more human than I feel today. At 9:30, I set down my riffler and pull my phone out of my pocket.
Nothing.
I take my time driving home. When I get into the garage, I close the door, then open it and pull back out and drive to a spot overlooking the bridge. I put my seat back, rubbing my aching arms and knotted shoulders. I blow my breath out. Please.
I cross my arms over my chest, tug at my hair. I feel the vibration in my pocket a few times before I realize it’s my phone.
My heart gives a hard kick, like it’s starting up again.
I answer. “Hi.”
“V.”
There’s a static sound, like something’s rubbing against his phone’s mouthpiece.
“Hi.”
I hear a door shut.
“Vance.” His voice is husky. “Getting into my room…setting down these bags. We’re at the Omni for a pastor conference. Gotta give a little talk tomorrow on member retention. Good stuff.” I think I maybe hear him blow his breath out, like he’s tired or something, but I can’t tell. There’s a breath of silence—as I close my eyes and try to forget everything but the sound of his voice. “How are you?” he asks. “How was your day?”
“Oh, it was fine.”
He blows his breath out. This time, I can hear it clearly. “I messed up.”
“It’s good.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I like when you text me, but it’s obligation free.”
“Nothing worthwhile’s obligation-free.”
I suck air in through my nose. “This is.”
“I don’t want it to be.”
“No?”
I swear, I hear his fucking dress shoes clink against tile—or granite.
“Are you pacing, my Skywalker?”
“It’s not funny.”
“What, so you forgot to tell me? I’m not mad. It fucking scares me, and that’s stupid. In a few weeks, I’m back in Chelsea doing life like it always was.”
He’s quiet for a long time. So quiet that I think I’ve lost the call. I look down at my screen.
“Sky?”
Crickets.
I turn on the car’s interior lights and hit the FaceTime icon on my screen. The call rings. He answers. Fuck, he looks broody and gorgeous.
“Dammit, you look broody, bro.”
“Not your bro, dude.” The words sound like they’re dragged from his chest.
“That’s okay.” I smile at the phone, held up over my face. “You can be my dude.”
His eyebrows narrow. “Where are you?”
“Where does it look like?” I grin, and his face screws up as he tilts the phone.
“Are you in the car? Are you laying down in a seat?”
I laugh as I raise the seat up. “Nah.” Just to distract him, I turn the phone out toward the bridge.
“So you’re out that way,” he says.
“Hey, a guy can bridge-gaze.”
“You should get some sleep,” he says after a moment.
“So should you, jetsetter.”
His eyes shut. I think he’s in an armchair. “I’m wiped.”
“Does that mean tired in preacher talk?”
He tilts his head back against the chair. “It means I don’t want to sleep without you.”