Billie rests her hand on my shoulder. It’s a nice gesture, reassuring, and it hits me with more emotional force than I expect.
“Sorry this happened to you, Stone,” she offers, using my actual name for once so I know she means it.
“I just hope I can get back in the chair soon. If Caesar wants to see my work, I’m sure as hell going to show it to him. No way I’m passing up an opportunity to work here.”
Billie winces slightly and steps back. She’s wearing an old gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, and when she folds her arms over her chest, her biceps pop.
“What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Red put in his notice,” she says. “He’s going to be out in a couple of months.”
My stomach sinks. She doesn’t have to explain what that means. Even if I recover enough movement in my hand to start working that soon, I won’t have time to prove myself to Caesar before he has to fill the spot.
I press my good hand against my forehead. “Fuck,” I groan. “This sucks.”
It’s just like I thought. As soon as things go right in my life, something fucked up comes along and sends it all spiraling into pure shit again.
I don’t know why I even try. It hurts just as much every time it happens.
Even worse, I can’t do the one thing that I know would make me feel better. I want to run to Matty and tell him what’s happened. I want to feel his warm body, curled up against mine, and I want him to smile at me with that smile that always makes me happy.
But I can’t. He’s been backing away slowly since the accident, and I can’t blame him. My life is a shitstorm of violence and bad luck, but that doesn’t mean he should deal with the same pain.
Better I just leave him behind, let him find someone appropriate instead of a loser with a broken hand and zero career prospects.
Billie gives my shoulder a soft squeeze. “Sorry, Stone. It doesn’t mean you’re out of the running forever, though.”
I turn away. “Whatever you say.”
The bell above the door rings, and when I look up, Jeremiah strolls in. I’ve been avoiding him as much as possible. Every time I see the prick, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I feel like doing something stupid.
Today, though, I catch his eyes while he saunters past. They fall straight to my broken hand, and a smirk eats up his face.
“Intern,” he sneers and slinks off to the back.
Billie and I exchange a glance. “Is he even nastier than usual?” she asks.
“Yeah, but at least he stopped breathing down my neck,” I answer. “Mutual ignoring is way easier to stomach.”
For about the hundredth time, my suspicions rise up and point straight to that asshole. I still have no idea who broke my hand or why, but he’s the only active grudge I have in this city.
I’m just not sure why in the hell he would do something that extreme. I’m out of commission, but that doesn’t benefit Jeremiah any. Hell, if I had my own room, we’d be able to ignore each other altogether. So long as I’m stuck on the desk, he’s got to deal with me every day.
Billie casts a suspicious glance down to my broken hand. “I don’t like it,” she mumbles.
“Yeah,” I answer. “You’re telling me.”
She grabs her coffee off the desk and shoots me a sympathetic smile. It’s funny that I actually appreciate that from Billie. There’s not a hint of pity, and I can’t lie that it’s nice to not feel totally and completely alone.
“You’ll come around again,” she offers. “Just be patient.”
I push my hair back. “Yeah,” I say, forcing a half-smile. “Patient.”
* * *
That night, I decide to swing by Matty’s studio. He’s working late with his deadline and the festival rapidly approaching, and I figure dropping off some caffeine and snacks gives me a good excuse to at least say hi.
It tears me up in side, needing to say hi to him. But no matter how loudly my brain screams that I should cut my losses and run away, I do need to at least see him.
