by Cole McCade
The question hit her square in the center of the chest and knocked the air out of her; she lowered her eyes. “I…I don’t know.”
“It’s all right to cry, you know.”
“Over him?”
Ravi cut the blowtorch and lifted his mask, dark eyes watching her far too discerningly. “He was good enough to bring home, but not good enough to cry over?”
“Look, we never said it was anything more than what it was.” Zero shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself. Her eyes stung; her mouth trembled, and she pressed her lips together and silently demanded that they stop. “There’s no point in crying over something that never was.”
“Sure there is.”
“And what’s that?”
“Because you want to,” Ravi said, setting everything down and stepping closer to her. “And you’re only hurting yourself by keeping it in.”
His hand fell to her shoulder—and as if his touch had shattered the fragile glass vial that held all her emotions bottled up, her tears spilled out and poured down her cheeks until they burned her skin and she tasted salt. Ravi only wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He let her cry—the kind of deep, ugly cry that made her breath come in huge hollowing heaves and made it hard to inhale when she choked on the wet knots in her throat every time. She felt like it lasted forever, but once it started it bled out in a matter of minutes, leaving wet dark stains on Ravi’s shirt.
“There,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Feel better?”
“Yeah,” she said, resting her head to his shoulder. Yet it wasn’t his arms she wanted around her; wasn’t his voice she wanted in her ear. “Yeah, I do.”
* * *
The following day, she called in sick to work and slept in—until Rick called back, demanding to see a doctor’s note. Zero mooshed her face groggily into a pillow. Really? Maybe he’d want to see the X-rays of her fractured radius, too. Or her slip for prescription-strength Ibuprofen. Idiot. She just needed to get through this, get out, and go home to her own apartment so she could stop burdening her friends.
Ravi and Alyssa had already left for work, so she struggled into her clothes one-handed—only bonking herself in the face four times before she was done—and called a cab to work. The leftover Ibuprofen buzz from the night before had worn off by the time the taxi let her off outside the office, but she forgot about popping more painkillers when she saw the stream of people leaving the building, many carrying boxes, a couple even crying. Janelle brushed past her so hard she almost bumped her cast, eyes red, not even looking at her. Zero stared after her, but she didn’t need to ask what happened.
The layoffs had started.
Maybe she should file for unemployment now, before she got the notice that her sick leave had turned into a permanent leave.
She took the elevator upstairs to their floor. So many of the cubes had already been cleaned out. Alejandro’s was still covered in his album covers and posters, but the man was nowhere in sight. God damn it. She closed her eyes. He was smart, she thought. He’d land on his feet, if he could just get over the Rebel Without a Clue attitude. But when she opened her eyes and saw Ravi bowed over his desk, meticulously arranging his things in a cardboard box, the breath sucked out of her lungs.
“Ravi…”
He looked up, then offered her a small, wistful smile. “It’s not your fault. You don’t have to be so sad.”
“I know. I know, just…what will you do now?”
“Make things, perhaps.” He shrugged. “I hear there are more glass doors waiting to rediscover their lives as living room furniture.”
Zero told herself she wouldn’t cry again. She’d cried enough over the destruction Evan had left in his wake. But her eyes burned as she pulled Ravi into a hug, pressing her face into his shoulder. “I’ll miss you.”
Warm arms slid around her. He always smelled like nutmeg, comforting and subtle, and she breathed him in. “I am always only a phone call away, my friend,” he murmured. “And the guest room is always open.”
“This place will be miserable without you.” Pulling back, she glanced around the near-empty floor. The few heads still visible above cubicle walls stared fixedly at their screens; she could almost taste the fear of the axe swinging over their heads. “If I’m even around to see it.”
“You could always leave.” Ravi’s knuckles brushed her cheek, dragging her gaze back to him. “You were made for better things than this, Zoraya.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead, murmuring against her skin. “Maybe because we’re right.”
Zero lingered for a moment longer, then made herself pull away and head for Rick’s glass-walled office. His desk was nearly invisible under the mounds of folders and other paperwork, and she couldn’t help a smug smile. She hoped it buried him, and he rested well in a grave of his own making. When she pushed the door open, he glanced up and flicked his fingers at her in that imperious beckoning motion that made her want to put his teeth out.
“Zoraya. Good. While you’re here, we need to talk about the status of the Ajax project. I’ll need you to take over as senior programmer on that.”
She froze. Her mouth fell open; she clicked it shut sharply enough to make her teeth hurt, then blurted, “Me? A senior programmer?”
“You know the project best, out of everyone that’s left.” He flashed her an ingratiating smile. “Congratulations on your promotion.”
A promotion. Just like that. Maybe it was a promotion by default, but it was what she’d been wanting. Just what she needed to fill out her resume, and take that next step in her career. She’d actually be able to make decisions without asking ten people for permission. She might actually get some control over software development. She’d have a chance to prove herself, instead of getting buried under credit hogs like Rick.
She’d also be doing the work of half a dozen people. Half a dozen people who’d lost their jobs so she could have her promotion.
Her tongue stilled. She knew she should say thank you, kiss a little ass, show just how overjoyed she was, but as she looked through those glass walls and out at the empty floor, she just felt hollow. This wasn’t a victory. This was wrong.
And she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she toed the line. Not this time. This wasn’t about wearing nice clothes or dyeing her hair or work-appropriate behavior. This was about ethics—and she’d be damned if she gave up her own, no matter what else she might sacrifice for her career.
She smiled, wide and bright, as she fished a slip of paper from her pocket. “Here’s my doctor’s note. You can consider it my two weeks’ notice.” Her grin widened, until it almost hurt; she felt a sudden lightness inside, bright and freeing, as she turned to push the door open. “I quit,” she called over her shoulder. “Enjoy your office. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”
With her chin lifted, she strutted out—and walked right into Alejandro’s broad chest. She stumbled back, while he stared down at her with a look that said he’d heard it all.
“What did you do that for?” he growled.
“For me.” She refused to let go of her smile, and pushed past him without a backward glance. “And I really don’t give a damn if you approve or not.”
Her cab was halfway back to her apartment before her phone buzzed in her pocket. For a heart-lurching moment she hoped it was Evan, before she pushed it down. Evan didn’t matter. Evan was long gone, anyway, that silver-bellied bird taking him away. The ache in her stomach would ease, eventually—and she needed to worry more about her career options than some jerk who couldn’t even be bothered to stick around.
Alejandro’s name popped up on the text notifications. im srry. ive ben a dyck.
Just a bit, yeah, she texted back with a smile. Jezebel might have been a bit harsh. Lock your Twitter account, you fucking idiot.
Oops, he sent, then a moment later, think i got enuf left 4 pizza.
Rain check?
>
u mean that?
Did she? She was still pretty mad at him, and he really had been a dick. But it had been pretty big of him to apologize. To admit he’d been wrong. She could at least give him a chance.
Yeah, she tapped out. We’ll talk. You’ll grovel. We’ll get drunk. I’ll forgive you eventually.
gonna miss workin wit u
Me too, she replied, then smiled and slipped her phone back into her pocket.
Her good mood lasted until she got home—where she just stood in the middle of her apartment, completely at loose ends. Her life was made up of structured expectations, she realized. An inner clock that always knew work would be in so many hours, and she had to build her day, her life, her expectations around that. Suddenly her tomorrows were formless, open, her future uncertain, and she didn’t quite know what to do with that.
She sank down onto the couch and stared around the room. Just a few days ago the space had been filled with Evan. Now it was all hers again—but it wouldn’t be for long if she didn’t figure out what to do to keep her cash flow going. Her savings would last a few months, maybe. After that, she was screwed.
Call Ion, she thought, and told herself it was only for advice. Not because she felt like a lost little girl again, and desperately needed her brother to hold her hand. Just call him.
She stared at her brother’s contact on her phone for way too long, calculating if she could afford a call to Paris, before she dialed. He always knew what to say when she was at loose ends, and right now she could use a bit of big brother wisdom.
After three rings Ion’s warm, low voice rumbled in her ear. “Allô, brat.”
She smiled, closing her eyes. “Hey, big brother.”
“Hey. You don’t sound too happy.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I know my little sister.”
“I’m okay,” she said. His skeptical silence said far more than words, and she groaned. “Well, sort of okay. I broke my arm Friday, and today I just quit my job.”
“Okaaay…guessing there’s a story behind the arm, but why’d you quit your job?”
“Because—” She blew out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know why. Because I need to do something better than this.”
“Do what makes you happy, Zoraya.”
She cracked one eye open. “You’re not going to lecture me for being irresponsible?”
“I’m not Dad.” He chuckled. “Look, I’m the one who dropped everything to go write—what did he call them?”
“I think the exact phrase was ‘maudlin, shallow teenage pulp dramas.’”
“Ouch. Still stings.”
Zero laughed. “Yeah, well…love Dad to death, but he’s kind of a dick.”
“My maudlin, shallow teenage pulp dramas pay the bills. I found my way. You will too, baby sister. Just let me know if you need any help.” Ion paused. One of those pauses that said he was overanalyzing things, and what pissed her off was that he was usually right. “That’s not really why you called me.”
“No? You don’t think quitting my job is panic-attack worthy?”
“You’re not panicking. You’re hurt.”
“Damn it, Ion.” She groaned and started to drag her hand through her hair—and smacked herself in the forehead with the end of her cast. She swore, then sighed. “Okay. Okay. I had a one-night stand with this guy—”
“No. Nope. Not having this conversation. Once I visualize that, I can’t unsee it.”
“Oh, come on. I’m twenty-six.”
“You’re my sister. Do me a favor and self-edit just a little, brat. Or I’ll kill this guy before you get to make up with him.”
“How do you know we had a fight?” she demanded. Another telling silence—and she cursed again. “Sometimes I hate how well you know me.”
But she told him. She told him everything she’d told Ravi, and more; Ravi was her best friend, but he wasn’t her brother. He didn’t quite understand her the way Ion did, and right now…right now she needed that understanding more than anything.
When she was done, Ion remained silent for a few moments, then let out a contemplative hum. “Sounds like exactly the kind of guy I’d hate.”
“Must be why I like him.”
“So you do like him. I was starting to wonder.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” She smiled faintly. “Can’t really do anything about it, can I? I’m not going to do the clichéd ‘run to the airport’ scene. I’d hate myself forever. I’m probably a few days too late, anyway.”
“Plus I think I’ve got the monopoly on dramatic reunions in this family.”
“Yeah, I think we need to talk about that, Mister.”
Ion groaned. “…do we have to?”
“I think you’ve got some explaining to do. Isn’t she…?”
“She is. You sound worse than Scheherazade, you know.” He clucked his tongue. “You do remember I’m the older brother, right?”
“Since when have I ever cared?”
“Some days I wonder why I surround myself with shameless brats,” he muttered. “I’ll be in New York in a few weeks. We’ll catch up then. Christmas? We might even get everyone else in one place for the holiday.”
“Okay. Can you just answer me one thing?”
“Anything.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Are you happy?”
“I’m home, Z. She’s the home I’ve been looking for.”
Home. After Evan had said so much about wanting to find home, that comment pierced just a little too close to her heart. “I think I envy you that.”
“One day, hm?”
“Maybe.” She closed her eyes with a smile that felt like it pulled on that hollow, sad place inside her heart. “Later, Ion. Love you.”
“Love you too,” he said. She’d pulled the phone away from her ear and was about to hit the End Call button when his voice floated through the speaker: “…brat.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone call me that?” she sighed, and hung up the phone.
And immediately just about jumped out of her skin when a heavy thud shook her apartment door.
She tumbled off the couch and peered out through the keyhole—and couldn’t see anything. Someone was leaning against the door, and from the texture of fine, dark hair pressed up against the keyhole and the way the door strained in its frame, they had thunked their head against the door and left it there.
“Um. Hello?” she called.
“Zero.”
Her lungs constricted as that voice drifted through the door, deep and rumbling and harsh at the edges.
“Evan?” she breathed, then yanked the door open, staring at him. He was there. How the hell was he there? His flight had left two days ago, hadn’t it? Was she imagining this? No—no, he was right there, unshaven and scruffy and looking like he’d come off a five-day bender, haggard eyes staring at her as if he’d just seen Nirvana and was desperate to hold it in his grasp. She swallowed roughly. She almost didn’t want to know what he was doing here. After the way he’d left, he was probably here to get something he’d left in her apartment. Like hell she’d get her hopes up after the way he’d acted. “Oh my God. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear you say you like me, but not enough to chase me to the airport.”
Oh. Fuck. “Why aren’t you at the airport?” She dragged a hand over her face. This couldn’t possibly get more mortifying. “And how did you hear all that?”
“Thin walls.” He smiled weakly. “Surprised your neighbors haven’t complained about your screaming yet. Z…Z, we need to talk. Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving, I just—”
Of all the times for her phone to ring. He cut off short, looking at her helplessly, while she pulled the phone from her pocket and checked the caller ID. She didn’t recognize the number, local, and God she wanted to hear what Evan was about to say, but something whispered at her to take the call. She held a hand up and swiped her phone, then lifted it t
o her ear.
“Hello?”
“Hello?” an unfamiliar voice said. “May I speak to Zoraya Blackwell?”
An odd chill ran through her. “This is she.”
“My name is Nurse Maria Salvaggio. You’re listed as an emergency contact for Ravi Brahmbatt. He’s currently being treated at—”
Everything else the woman said faded into white noise. She sagged against the wall, listening numbly, terror pulsing to the beat of her heart, a sick wild thumping music that drowned out everything else. Device failure, she caught past the muted roaring in her ears. Emergency surgery. Her tongue swelled to fill her mouth, and she was barely aware of promising to be there soon before she let the phone fall numbly from her ear.
Evan watched her with his brows drawn together. She looked up at him, her trembling making her body feel as if it would fly apart. “I’m sorry. I can’t have this conversation right now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Ravi,” she whispered around her thick tongue. “It’s Ravi.”
His eyes widened, before he drew himself up and reached over her head to pull her jacket down. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IN THE CAB, SHE CLUNG to Evan’s hand all the way to the hospital. She had so many questions, so much confusion, but right now those things didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that warm hand in hers, holding tight and easing her fear, providing the wordless comfort she needed as she silently prayed for the cab to move just a little faster, for traffic to part for her and let her through.
At the hospital, she spilled out into the snow and rushed inside. A breathless question at the front desk sent her upstairs, Evan hot on her heels, and God, she thought she might have fallen apart if he hadn’t been there with his hand against her back the moment she opened the door and saw Ravi laying there. He was so pale. So pale, his brown skin washed to a clay color, too many tubes protruding from his mouth and nose and arms, that sick hospital smell making her want to throw up when it made her think of nothing but a slow and wasting death.
