“You’ve got ten minutes,” Ford says. “Then we’re headed to the pub across the street, and you’re going to listen. After that, do whatever the hell you want about Ryker. But you’re going to hear me out. No interrupting.”
“Fine.”
I hear Ford slam his hands against the swinging doors to the locker room as Sal shuffles over to help me unlace my gloves. “Everything all right, Sergeant?”
“It will be. But how many times do I have to ask you to call me Dax?” When my left hand is free, I swipe it across my brow.
Sal chuckles. “Since I never made it out of the enlisted ranks, it’s never gonna do any good. Looked like a serious fight.”
As Sal hands me my cane, I shake my head. “He’ll get over it.”
But…will I?
The bar’s quiet on a Monday evening. With my hand gripping Ford’s arm, I let him lead me to a booth in the corner. After we both take a swig of our beers, Ford clears his throat. “We do good work. You know that, right?”
“We’re the best on the eastern seaboard. What’s this have to do with anything?” All I want is to finish my beer and go home. Try to eke out more than three hours in a row of shuteye.
“Losing Wren—”
“We didn’t lose Wren. She’s in Seattle. Not dead. And she still works for us.”
He pauses long enough I almost ask if he’s all right, but then continues, “How many times have you talked to her since she left?”
I don’t know what I expected him to say, but the question takes me by surprise. “Maybe four?”
“And how many of those times did you ask about Ryker?”
Bristling, I start to peel the label off my bottle. “None. And he didn’t ask about me either. We talked about work. About…how she likes Seattle.”
“How she likes Seattle, but not how she’s doing or the man she’s in love with? The one she’s living with? Bullshit. You’d have to purposely sidestep that minefield.” His voice takes on the rasp of disbelief, and I slam the bottle down a little harder than I intend.
The temptation to just get up and walk out of here hits me hard, but I clench my hands into fists under the table and count to five. One of Wren’s little tricks. Only for her, it helped her anxiety. For me…well, sometimes it stops me from laying into someone when I know they’re trying to help. “That shit’s between me and Ryker. You think I should go and chase the guy down? I won’t do that. I can’t.”
“Not saying that at all.” Ford shifts, the leather booth creaking under his weight. He’s six-foot-ten—or so he says—and built like a linebacker. Sparring with him feels like going toe-to-toe with a tank. Ryker’s the only guy I know who’s bigger. “I’m saying every time you talk to Wren—and don’t address the elephant in the room—you’re hurting everyone. Her, Ryker…me, the rest of the office…”
“What the hell?” No amount of counting’s going to settle my anger now. “We’re friends, Ford, but I’m still the boss. If you have a problem with me—”
“I don’t ‘have a problem’ with you, Dax. I’m worried.” His voice softens, and the table rocks under my elbow.
Times like these, I miss my sight the most. My vision is limited to a diffuse haze and some very muted colors. Like someone smeared thick, dark grease all over a window. Something in front of me is darker than the brown wood booth, but flat, and almost two-dimensional. Right now, I wish I could see his eyes.
“You’re not sleeping. Anyone can see that. And you’re short with everyone. How long until one of our clients notices?” He pauses, then chuckles, almost to himself. “You know…most of the time, I forget you can’t see. Wren wrote all those adaptive programs for you—hell, you’re a better typist than I am.”
“You have more than ten years on me, old man. I had to learn typing in school.” It feels good to joke. But also…unfamiliar. How long has it been since I smiled? Or just…shot the shit with the men and women I work with? “Fuck.”
“You get it now?”
I take a long swig of my beer, swallowing hard over the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I think…I do.”
I don’t open up. Don’t share. Other than with my shrink—and I haven’t seen him in two years. Ford…he’s not just my VP of Operations and weapons specialist. He’s my friend. And I can’t remember the last time we went out for drinks after work and just…talked.
“You have time to grab a burger?” I ask as I return to peeling the label off my beer bottle.
He slaps the table lightly. “That’s more like it.”
2
Evianna
