I can see she heard it — the thing that moves across her face before she gets it under control. She knows what I mean. I can see she knows.
She’s not ready to say it back yet.
That’s fine.
I’m not in a hurry.
“Okay,” I say.
I run back upstairs.
Six flights.
I’m not winded. I tape my blocker the rest of the way — thirteen wraps, left to right — and I sit on the equipment room bench and I don’t think about whether she’s going to come back because I already know.
She’ll either come back or she won’t.
Either way I said what needed to be said.
That’s all I had.
My phone is on the bench next to me.
The Enforcers message still face down.
I pick it up.
Read it again.
I don’t want to go back.
I just said that out loud in a lobby to a woman who got under my skin and stayed there. Didn’t plan it. Didn’t think it through. Just — said it.
Turns out that’s also the answer to the message. I put the phone down. Don’t call them back. Thirty minutes later there’s a knock at the door. I open it before she finishes knocking.
She looks at me.
“How did you—”
“I knew,” I say.
She almost says something, but doesn’t. Comes in.
Brick walks out of the living room, moves between us into the hallway, and sits down.
Just — sits there.
Looking at both of us.
“He does this.”
“I know.” She looks at him. “He does it at my place too.”
We both look at Brick.
Brick looks back.
Message delivered.
