Page 182 of Heart So Hollow

And now I have Colson’s voice stuck in my head, along with the look on his face when I told him where the bruises came from. But that could also just be Colson getting into my head and trying to freak me out again.

Because he’s a manipulative prick.

Now I’m more on edge than ever, like I’m just waiting for something terrible to happen.

“Come on!” Barrett’s groans are a welcome distraction from across the sofa.

I can’t concentrate on this show anyway. When I look over, she’s swiping her screen furiously, jamming her thumb into the glass.

“You can’t have more phone problems than I do,” I declare, reaching for my water bottle.

She groans in frustration, “I finally got a Ring cam yesterday, but it’s not connecting to the app, so I can’t even see my front porch!” She shoots me an irritated scowl, “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

The glass door slides open and Bowen walks inside, Waylon trailing behind. He looks like he always does, laid back but constantly moving. He can’t stand to sit still. But he looks much calmer than I’d anticipate after spending the last hour chain smoking outside. Then again, maybe that’s why he looks so calm. He makes his way to the kitchen and starts refilling a water glass at the fridge.

I twist around, resting my elbow on the back of the couch, “Bo?” I gently call to him.

He doesn’t look up from the water dispenser, but a smile slowly creeps across his face, “Yeah, baby girl?” I’ve started doing it to mess with him, because it seems like I’m the only one who doesn’t call him by that name.

“Barrett needs your help.” I turn back to her, “Ask him about it, he’s had one for a while.”

Bowen finishes filling his glass and takes a few gulps, waiting for Barrett to speak. She catapults herself up from the sofa and marches into the kitchen.

Leaning on the granite countertop next to Bowen, she holds her phone out so he can see, “I’ve tried resetting everything, but it still looks like it’s not even connected.”

Bowen stares at Barrett’s screen and then shoots her a sideways glance.

“What?” she exclaims.

Bowen presses his mouth together and motions for her to come closer. When she does, he drapes his arm around her shoulders and leans into her ear, “Are the robots beating you?”

“Shut up!” Barrett shrieks, whipping around and smacking him in the arm. Bowen flinches, snickering as she groans in exasperation, “Can you help me or not?”

Bowen motions for her to hand over the phone. She immediately drops it in his hand with a huff and then shoots him her own suspicious glance, “When did you start smoking, Bowen?” she asks in an accusatory tone.

Bowen glances up with a smirk, “I like to smoke a whole pack once a year to celebrate quitting,” he winks at her and lowers his eyes again.

“As long as you’re not starting again,” she shoots him a warning look as she turns to head back to the living room, “if you die from lung cancer, who’s going to fix my technology issues?”

Bowen leans back against the range and starts tapping away at Barrett’s screen, “In that case, I promise I won’t.”

“Oh!” she cries, drawing Bowen’s attention again, “speaking of issues, do you know anything about wall outlets?”

“Like what?”

“Like I plugged in my coffee maker, a flame shot out of it, and now it doesn’t work,” Barrett stares at Bowen expectantly.

After a few moments he shakes his head disapprovingly, “The robots are winning, Barrett.”

“I know, OK? It’s like everything’s happening at once. If my fridge stops working tomorrow, I’m just going to bed for the rest of the summer.”

Bowen lets out a chuckle, “You probably just need a new outlet. When will you be home?”

“I get up at 6:30, leave for work by 7:30,” Barrett runs through her schedule, “I don’t get home ‘til around five…” then she shakes her head dismissively, “I can just tell you where my key is if you’re free before I get home.”

“Here,” Bowen hands her the phone, “text me your address.”

Barrett takes her phone and shoots off a quick text before handing it back to him to finish trouble-shooting her doorbell camera. I’m still not paying attention to the show, I keep staring out the window at the sky, the pink clouds set on fire by the sunset. And clearly Barrett isn’t either, because as soon as she sits down, she begins telling me the story of her outlet sparking and scaring the hell out of her.

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