“It’s boring,” I counter. “At least add a period at the end.”
“What difference does a period make?” Diego asks, genuinely confused.
“Tone,” I explain. “A period means business. No period means casual. It’s texting 101.”
Rett ignores us both and hits send.
“Well, it’s done now,” I say with a dramatic sigh. “Hope she doesn’t read too much into your lack of punctuation.”
Rett pockets his phone. “Now we wait.”
“For what?” Diego asks.
“For her to either change her mind or not show up,” Rett says simply.
“She’ll show,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “You didn’t see her face when?—”
“When you ambushed her at work and fingered her in a public bathroom?” Rett cuts in dryly.
I wince. “Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It is bad,” Diego says. “But also...” He hesitates, a flush creeping up his neck. “Also kind of hot.”
“Very hot,” I agree, grinning at him.
Dane makes a noise that might be agreement or might be disgust. With him, it’s hard to tell.
“The point is,” I continue, “the connection is strong. Stronger than any of us anticipated. And tomorrow night, we’ll have a chance to get her back on our side.”
“And if she wants nothing to do with us?” Rett asks.
I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t think any of us do.
“Then we respect her decision,” Dane says quietly. “And live with the consequences.”
The static buzzes in my head, as if emphasizing his point. The thought of going back to that constant, maddening noise for the rest of our lives is unbearable.
“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Diego says, ever the optimist. “She’s agreed to meet. That’s a good sign.”
Rett nods, but his expression remains troubled. “We need a plan for tomorrow night. A real one, not Tristan’s improvisation.”
“Hey!” I protest.
“He’s right,” Dane says. “We go in prepared.”
“And honest,” Diego adds. “No more games. We give her the planner back. We tell her the truth.”
I lean forward, voicing the question that’s been nagging at me. “The whole truth? We tell her about the static? That we’re all half-crazy from a noise in our heads and she’s our walking, talking painkiller?”
Rett’s expression darkens. “Frame it better than that, but yes. It’s our strongest leverage.”
“Leverage?” Diego repeats, a frown creasing his brow. “Rett, this isn’t a business negotiation.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Rett counters, his voice hard as steel. “She has something we need. Desperately. Our job is to convince her that the benefits of giving it to us outweigh the costs.”
I see the look of distaste on Diego’s face, but he doesn’t argue. He knows Rett is right.
“Okay,” I say, trying to get my own head around it. “So we tell her about the static. We give her the planner back as a sign of good faith. And then what? We just hope she feels sorry enough for us to stick around?”
