I wet my dry lips, attempting to say something, but nothing comes out. Nothing coherent anyway. It’s just an endless stammer for a solid minute.
“I—Gle—I—well, I—sorry—shit.”
I clear my throat, and Glenn sighs.
“What do we have on the agenda today, Mr. Wren?”
I blink up at him, feeling my eyes sting.
“Right. Yes. The agenda.” My hands flutter around with the papers on my desk and then move to the mouse for my screen. I don’t remember where I put the damn agenda. Is it on paper or on the computer? I don’t know. Nothing seems to work correctly.
My brain isn’t either.
It’s malfunctioning.
“Your agenda is usually on your computer,” he says after a moment of my fumbling around.
I open my mouth and close it, clicking onto the bright red calendar on my screen. Fuck, this is a disaster.
“Right. Have a seat.”
“I’ll stand,” he says, sipping his coffee and turning his head toward the small window.
My chest clenches at how cold he is, how aloof. So different from the man I left yesterday.
Of course, I get it. I would feel the same, too.
“Glenn, I’m really sorry,” I finally whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He says nothing, but his jaw tics slightly.
“Don’t need to rehash it. I’ve moved on, Mr. Wren. Think it’s best to keep things professional from here on out.”
I inhale sharply, and my eyes sting even worse. Oh, gods, do not cry. Do fucking not.
I nod, the lump in my throat almost making it impossible to speak.
Somehow, I quickly go over what we have planned for the day, sniffling at the end, much to my horror.
Glenn ignores it, just tosses his empty coffee in the trash can, and walks out. He doesn’t even slam the door, his quiet anger making everything ten times worse.
I sit there at my computer, my mind spinning. Fuck, I’ve messed up. I really have. But then again, I’m notorious for this. Even Vince thought so. It’s why he left.
You’re fucked up, Arbor. Get help.
“Fuck,” I murmur and then stare down at my phone.
I should call Attie. He knows me best, and he’s my only real friend. More like a brother since we met in foster care.
Attie might be human, and his advice is absolute trash, but he listens when I need it. And fuck do I need it now.
I pick up my phone, staring out the window as the workers arrive. Glenn, of course, directs them, their attention focused. He is a great team leader. Everyone respects him.
Except for me, it seems. I did something terrible, and I don’t think he’s going to forgive me.
I pick up my phone and quickly dial Attie. He picks up after two attempts.
“What?” he asks, his voice slightly groggy.
