Checking his phone, Rick saw that there were no new messages, so he put it down on the counter and stood there, looking at it. He didn’t like the waiting. He didn’t like wanting a reply either, so he picked the phone back up and opened Allen’s message, then hesitated before typing a message.
Did you get home okay?
Rick sent it before he could talk himself out of it, then put the phone down again. He went to the bathroom and washed his hands, then stared at his reflection and made himself look. He looked normal and not like a man who’d stabbed his manager to death and staged a break-in.
When his phone buzzed, Rick walked back into the kitchen and picked it up, reading the message from Allen.Yeah. I’m home. Thanks.
Rick let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He paused before responding.Good. Cake okay?He sent it and immediately regretted it, because it sounded like he gave a shit.
A few seconds later, Allen responded. It was. Even though you ignored me saying no, lol.
Rick read it twice and smiled softly, then typed his reply and sent it.You looked hungry.
Maybe I was.
Rick stared at that one longer than he needed to. Rick went to the living room, sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees, and tried to think.
Allen wasn’t a fan, and he didn’t want anything from Rick. He didn’t act impressed, and he didn’t ask questions like he wanted something personal so he could tell someone later, which had happened far too many times over the years.
Allen had been lonely, and Rick had seen it, and he’d liked seeing it. That should have bothered him. It should have felt like taking advantage, but instead it had felt like finding something he didn’t know he needed.
Rick’s phone buzzed again, and he picked it up, reading Allen’s message.Are you okay?
Rick stared at the screen, and that simple question threw him for a second because Allen shouldn’t ask that. They’d met once and maybe talked for an hour. Allen didn’t know him, but it didn’t stop Rick from responding.Yeah. Just tired.
Same. Work’s been rough.
Rick stared at the message, then replied.What time do you start tomorrow?
9. You?
Rick paused before answering. He could lie. He’d been doing it all week. He’d lied to the police and held their gaze while he’d done it. He could lie to a twenty-two-year-old without breaking a sweat, but decided not to.I’m working on stuff at home.
Must be nice.
Rick’s mouth tightened when he read that one word. Nice. Rick thought about that interview room and the detective’s eyes. The questions asked in a calm voice, like they were talking about weather and not Graham’s murder.
He also thought about the missing watch case in his drawer and how easy it had been to stage a scene and steer the situation in the direction he’d wanted.
He typed his reply and sent it.Sometimes it is.
Rick put the phone down, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. He let his mind go where it wanted to, and of course it went over what had happened. Graham’s death was being treated as a burglary gone wrong. A break-in. Some random act. Rick wasn’t being treated like a suspect.
They’d asked, but their attention was on the broken phone, the unlocked door, the ransacked rooms. They were following the story where Rick had wanted it to lead.
That thought slid through him again, that small thrill under the skin, the one that had started when he sat in his car after the interview and smiled until his cheeks hurt.
Rick’s phone buzzed again.I had fun tonight. Thanks for the company.
Rick stared at it for a long moment. Fun. Company. Simple words that made his chest tighten.
He typed back and sent it.Me too. Glad you stayed.
He hit send and sat still, waiting for regret to hit him.Me too.
Rick swallowed and put the phone down carefully. He stood up and walked to his bedroom, opened the drawer, and stared at the watch case. It was wrapped in a towel and shoved to the back.
He pulled it out and held it for a second, then shoved it back inside the drawer. He didn’t open it because he didn’t want to know what was inside. Rick shut the drawer and sat on the edge of his bed. He stared at the floor and tried to slow his breathing the way he did before a show, when he needed his body to do what he wanted.
