Page 77 of Nine-Tenths
I'm suddenly full of buzzing energy. I need todo something. I want to rush off like the heroine in one of my romances, to hail a cab, to tumble out of it at the base of the office tower, race to the elevator, break into the board meeting, confess my love—
I can't.
First, because I don't know where Dav is. Second, because the way this voicemail was phrased, it sounds like maybe he doesn't want to see me. Or maybe hecan'tsee me.
We've broken enough rules as it is, and look where it's gotten us. If he's not allowed to contact me himself, if he had to ask a friend to do it for him in secret, then rushing to his side would not only be clichéd, it might be risky.
Third, becauseI don't know where Dav is.
Spinning the pin over my heart, I wrack my brains for a way to not only let the mysterious caller know that I got the message and am dying to hear from them again, but also to letDavknow that I've heard him. Message delivered. The only dragon I’ve seen directly lately was my stalker—and he's vamoosed.
Ah! Someone is curating my social media feed, which means maybe Dav is reading it?
I open the app and type:It's so nice when friends reach out and slap you upside the head. Even better when you can catch their hand and not let go. Rules 4, 6, and 7 still apply.
Hit send. Posted.
Mauli immediately replies with a string of question mark emojis. Rebekah replies a few seconds later with heart-eyes face.
Know-it-all.
My phone does not ring.
With five minutes left on my break, I return early. I'm getting a sunburn, and I'm going to go crazy if I just sit here, willing my phone to make noise. I turn the ringer up as loud as it will go, shove the phone into my pocket, then head through the empty kitchen to the cooler front-of-house.
Where Pedra is accepting a coffee from Rajish.
She looks up and freezes like the proverbial deer in the headlights. It's an accurate metaphor, because the second I seeher, I careen around the side of the counter toward her like an eighteen wheeler.
I'm not much of a violent person, okay?
Dad taught me how to throw a punch, and I've tussled enough with Stu to more-or-less hold my own. But I've never lashed out in anger, or deliberately sought to hurt somebody. Which means that even I'm surprised when I reach out, grab her coffee out of her hand, and throw it in her face.
I am lucky,really lucky, that she ducks and the steaming hot liquid doesn't catch her skin.
But right then, it doesn't feel lucky.
It feels like I've been cheated. I fist my hands in her lab coat and swing her around hard enough that she smashes into the counter.
"Colin!" Hadi snarls, from somewhere behind me.
All around us, people are standing, gasping, shouting at me to let Pedra go. Rajish is leaning across the counter, his hand around one of my wrists, trying to pull me off.
"I'm sorry!" Pedra wails, arms up, protecting her face. "I'm sorry!"
"Damn fucking right you're sorry!" I roar. "Theytookhim, and you dare come back—!"
"Colin!" Hadi snarls again.
Rajish manages to break my grip on Pedra. She stumbles away, horrified and wary. A few customers get between us, eyes hard and chests squared.
"I didn't know they would do that!" Pedra says.
"Get out!" I shout, and it feels like vomiting. It feels like hurling every broken and jagged shard of the happiness I'd once had with Dav at her, weaponized shrapnel.
Dav is fine. The lady on the phone said so. But that doesn't mean I might never see him again.
"Get out!" I repeat when Pedra looks from Hadi, to Rajish, and back to me.
