Page 11 of Maybe You

“Uh…” I throw a quick glance at Sutton. He still has the same arrogant smile on his face. “How about I just kick him out?”

“It’s an option, sure, but that’s called treating the symptom and not the cause.”

I snort and look down at my feet. Relief at not being fired drives the anxiety onto the backburner. “I’ll take care of this.”

“I’ll give you a raise. And a bonus for having to deal with him.”

“Sorry for the middle of the night call,” I say.

“Not your fault. Get rid of him and go home.”

I nod even though he can’t see me.

“Good night.”

“Night,” he says through a yawn, already sounding half asleep again.

I reach out and end the call, then Sutton puts the phone away.

We both look at each other in silence for a bit.

He quirks his brow.

“Out,” I say.

I expect him to argue.

Instead, he grabs his jacket and walks to the front door.

“I’ll see you around, Wren,” he says over his shoulder.

“I doubt it,” I call after him.

He turns around in the doorway and smiles enigmatically.

And then he’s gone.

TWO

When I stumble into the kitchen the next morning, everybody else is already up. It’s the usual early morning cacophony with people moving around, getting coffee, making breakfast, and bumping into each other while trying to get ready for the day.

Jordan is guzzling down his second cup of coffee, eyes fixed on some papers he’s leafing through. Theo’s focus on the half-eaten bowl of cereal he’s hoovering down with the desperation of somebody ending a fast, and Remy is doing the New York Times crossword puzzle, which is something he’s done almost every morning since I met him.

I mutter, “Morning,” in the general direction of everybody before I slump down at the table in a seat across from Theo. He lifts the bowl and pours what’s left in it into his mouth before he grabs the box to get himself another helping. The boy’s barely a teenager. If he keeps it up, he’s going to bankrupt Jordan with grocery bills in the next few years.

“Long night?” Remy asks.

I yawn so hard my eyes water and rub my face before I shrug. “The usual.”

Theo takes a huge spoonful of his cereal and stuffs it into his mouth before he tilts his chin toward me. “What happened to your hands?”

“Fell with my bike,” I say.

“Into a roll of tape?” he asks, eyes on my fingers.

“It’s a splint.” I aim a sour look at my hand. It looks even worse than it did last night.

“If that’s the work of an ER, they’ve really let their standards go,” Remy says without looking up from his crossword.

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