Page 78 of When The Rain Falls

From the window, overlooking the office parking lot, I watch two seagulls fight over a French fry. I curse the day. I curse myself. I curse every fucking breath I take. And I curse the sun. Fucking sun. It never rains when you goddamn want it to rain.

“Can you brood away from the window? Your annoyingly muscular body is blocking out all the sunlight.”

Reluctantly, I pull my eyes away from the window and turn to Jane. She’s sitting behind her desk, some romance novel open in one hand, her other hand tucked under an elbow. There is zero indication that she is doing anything remotely resembling work. This is what happens the moment Rebecca steps foot out of the office.

Total anarchy.

But it’s not like I can criticize her. I’m staring out a fucking window because I can’t focus on a goddamn thing except the deep and ever-darkening black hole that is my heart. My eyes are red. I can feel it. They burn. Like someone threw a handful of hot sand into my eyeballs. I’m lucky no one’s said anything about it yet.

For a split second, something in my life was going right. And then my body robbed me of all of it. This is why you can’t fucking trust happiness. It’s better to be miserable than be tricked intobelieving in something that doesn’t exist. And then be crushed when reality sets in.

“I like the window,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest. The bigger seagull flies away with his prize. The smaller seagull flutters its wings and gives out a piercing, shrill cry of protest.

“Doesn’t sunlight make you shrivel up or something?” she asks pointedly.

“You know what? You can fuck off.” I turn and narrow my eyes at her in warning.

“Twenty-two,” she says calmly, her eyes falling back on the book open in front of her face.

“Twenty-two, what?” I bellow at her. If I had hair on the back of my neck, it would be raised in aggression.

“Twenty-two times you’ve said some iteration of the wordfucksince you got to work, let’s see,” she rolls her wrist in front of her face to check her watch, “thirty-five minutes ago.”

“I don’t pay you to do that,” I say. “But it’s comforting to know you can count.”

Jane’s eyes lift to me again, her book dangling casually from her hand. “I’m being serious. I can’t work under these conditions.” She waves her free hand in my direction. “Sunlight is a basic human right. And right now, you’re being a sunlight fascist.” I have no idea what the fuck that even means. But I don’t get a chance to question her because Rebecca walks through the front door at that moment. She has a suit jacket draped over her arm and a pink cardboard box tucked under the other.

“Donuts, anyone?” she asks as she lets the front door glide closed behind her. When she smiles, the motion tugs at her hairline, which is up in her signature tight bun.

“Thank God,” Jane cries. “Rebecca, you almost make up for this one.” She jerks a thumb at me. I notice the romance novel is gone. Nowhere to be seen.How did she get rid of it so quickly?

“Good grief.” Rebecca looks between Jane and I. “Finn, what have you done this time?” Ann is out on vacation this week which has made the mood in the office tense. Ann is usually the intermediary between the two of us. And I find it fucking ridiculous that I even need an intermediary when I’m the boss. I’m mean, I’m scary and intimidating. Why the fuck is Jane always pushing my buttons?

“Goddammit, nothing!” I yell defensively. “I’ve just been standing here looking out the fucking window, for Christ’s sake.”

“Twenty-three,” Jane says quickly. “Yeah, and sucking all the life out of the room.”

I glare at her. I glare at her so hard.

“Twenty-three?” Rebecca checks the clock on the wall as she hangs her suit jacket on a coat hanger. “It’s not even nine o’clock,” she notes. Ok. So apparently counting my expletives is an actual thing. Do they do this every day?

“Right? He’s in a particularly bad mood today. We might even break the record.”

I feel a growl rise in the back of my throat. But I won’t deny it. I am in a bad mood. Bad doesn’t even cover it. I just keep replaying last night in my head. And each time I do, it seems to get worse. I feel like shit. Because somehow, I decided that hurting Aimee was better than hurting myself. I’m not proud of it, but what’s done is done. And things needed to end. They were going to end one way or another. And well, that was one way. Or another.

“For fu—for heaven’s sake,” I mutter.

“Good boy,” Rebecca and Jane both praise me at the same time.

“Have a treat.” Rebecca opens the pink box of donuts under my face, revealing an assortment of a dozen donuts. I try not to look at them.

“I don’t like donuts,” I declare. Rebecca smiles and her shoulders heave with silent laughter. Fucking women. Always laughing, and smiling, and grinning. Assholes. I push away the image of Aimee’s wide grin. The way she always looks like she’s just committed the most delicious sin.

“Oh my God. Yes, you do like donuts,” she says. “You ate three of them on Friday.”

“They were going to go bad,” I explain.

Rebecca is completely unfazed by my behavior. Which is probably the only reason we’ve stayed business partners this long. “Come on,” she coaxes, moving the box in a tempting circle under my nose. “I even got a chocolate one with sprinkles,” Rebecca says temptingly, her eyebrows wagging. “Your favorite.” I snort and push the box away.

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