He hadn’t heard me. That much was clear. If he had, he’d have shut up quick—I was the last person he’d want to humiliate himself in front of.
I considered sneaking back out of the office and finding a Starbucks where I could finish my article. It wasn’t ideal, but neither was listening to Jill sobbing as I worked.
Of course, the other option was to man-up and go over there. I didn’t like the fact it was probably the option Hunter and Quinn would have cheered for most.
That thought had me reluctantly picking my way over to Jill and his heaving back. I kept my stance assertive and packed with as much confidence as I could muster.
But just in case Jill wasn’t the victim Hunter thought him to be, I fished for my cellphone and readied it.
“Jill?” I had to make a quick decision—go to his side, or sit at Jack’s desk opposite him.
I chose Jack’s desk. Space was good.
Jill’s body went rigid, and he slowly peeled himself from his arm. He twisted his chair toward the wall where I might not see his face, but from this vantage, I already caught his teary-eyed, blotchy profile.
“What do you want, Davis?” he asked, his voice devoid of its usual sharpness. “Or are you here to rub it in?”
I shifted, my chair squeaking as I leaned forward and placed my elbows on the desk. “I’m the last person you want to speak to, I get that. I’m not thrilled about this either. But... something is up with you and has been for the past few weeks. And—let’s just put it out there—I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with you liking Jack.”
Jill spun his chair in my direction, scowling, angry. “You don’t knowshit.”
“You’re in the closet then.”
His face twitched from a blotchy red to something close to the color of my robe... or those tights I wore to the Halloween party. He stuttered, and I thought he’d yell at me again, but instead a gurgled sob escaped his throat.
“It’s more than just that,” he said, knuckles whitening around a phone.
“You told him, and he doesn’t feel the same way.”
Jill shuddered and he focused on the phone. A tear seeped from his eye. When he didn’t say anything, I rested my cellphone on the table and took out my outline. “Tell you what,” I said, “You take your time. Talk if you want. I’m just going to sit here and do some work. But if and when you’re ready, I’ll be listening.”
I unzipped my laptop and started it up.
It was beyond awkward, working across from him as his breath shuddered and he constantly murmured “fuck.” I sat stiffly and within quick reach of my phone.
I’d done less than ten minutes of work when he said, “You think I’m the guy, don’t you?”
I reached for my phone and brought it to my lap. “The one threatening The Raven? I did.”
“That’s why that wheelchair dude kept harassing me about my arm.”
“His name is Hunter, and he’s the best dude you’ll ever have harassing you. How is your arm?”
“Just a sprain.”
I held his tough-guy gaze that no longer looked so tough, but rather uncertain and pained.
He passed the phone to his other hand and tapped the end of it against the edge of his desk.
“Who do you want to call?” I asked, saving my document. “Jack?”
Another sob. “No. The police.”
I straightened, grabbed a packet of tissues from my bag and handed one to Jill. “Are you finally going to tell them about The Night Warrior?”
He snatched it and rubbed his nose. Through a billow of tissue paper came, “He hurt me. He’s going to hurt again.” He glanced at his arm. “But—but I just can’t bring myself to give him up, because... because...”
“You’re afraid?” I said.
