We settle up at the counter, and Mina insists on paying for mine as a birthday present.
I try to protest, but she stares me down until I tuck my wallet away.
“Happy birthday, bitch,” she says, giving my bandaged wrist a gentle tap.
“Thanks for making me do this,” I say, and I mean it.
Outside, the night has turned cool, the heat of the day left behind. We walk to the car, our arms throbbing, and Mina asks, “How you feeling?”
“Like I just made a very permanent decision,” I joke, as we sit in the car.
She pulls out of the lot and takes the long way home, rolling down the windows, the humid air tangling my hair.
“You know,” she says, “you can talk to me. About all of it. Nash, James, even your fucking cat. I don’t care.”
“I know,” I say, turning to look at her with an appreciative smile. “Just not tonight, okay?”
“Whenever you’re ready, babe, I’m here.”
She pulls over in front of my building, the headlights fanning across the curb. I unbuckle and stare out the window as I reach for the door handle, but stop before opening the door.
I turn back to Mina and say, “Thank you for this. Really.”
She smiles wide. “Of course. Love you!”
“Love you more,” I reply and exit her car to return to my lonely apartment.
Chapter 30
The walk from Mina’s car to my apartment feels like a trudge through wet cement. My wrist throbs beneath the clear tattoo wrap. I rub at the edge of the bandage, gentle, not wanting to disturb the brand new scales of justice now stitched into my skin.
The elevator rises, and when it finally delivers me to my floor, the hallway is dim.
I slow when I see there’s a man standing at my door. He doesn’t look real at first. For a full second, I think I’m hallucinating him. Are hallucinations common after getting a tattoo?
He’s wearing a white button-down, no tie, sleeves rolled up to show his ink.
James.
One hand holding a small, white bakery box.
I blink several times, thinking that if I do it enough, this mirage of him will disappear. But it doesn’t. He’s really here.
He sees me and stands straighter. The box trembles slightly, so I know he’s as off balance as I am. He waits for me to close the distance.
When I reach my door, there’s a silence that swallows every sensible thing I might say. So instead I ask, “Are you lost, Mr. Sterling?”
His mouth does that little half smile. “No, Anders. I’m exactly where I meant to be.”
I glance at the bakery box. “What’s that?”
He lifts the box in explanation. “Birthday cake.”
It takes me a second. “How did you know it was my birthday?”
He hesitates. “It’s on your employee profile. I have an unusual memory for dates. And I wanted to do something nice.”
James finally moves, offering the box to me and I take it from him, our hands brushing.
