Page 117 of In Plain Sight

“Someone has to fix the inventory that you let Isaac loose on,” I said, still getting the vibe that Asa wasn’t in a hurry to leave but was feeling awkward about just hanging out for no reason. “I was going to suggest Luka do it, but now I’m thinking you should help him since you created this mess.”

Hopefully giving them something to do together would help both of them. Luka needed to keep not just his hands busy, but also his mind, so he didn’t spiral again. And it seemed like Asa needed some company.

Luka and Asa didn’t spend a lot of time together outside of the few hours during the week when their shifts overlapped or when we all went out together, but they were a lot alike and brought out each other’s silly sides. Hopefully they could distract each other from their problems for a bit.

“You’re really putting me to work because Isaac fucked up?” He arched one eyebrow at me, but I could see the relief under his miffed expression.

“And whose fault is it that he fucked up?” I asked pointedly.

“You’re annoying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “But only because I need to kill some time.” He flicked his gaze to Luka. “Coming?”

“I’ll be right there,” Luka said to him.

Asa glanced between us, then headed toward the supply closet.

“Thanks,” Luka said when Asa was out of sight. Glancing around, he slipped his hand into mine and gave it a quick squeeze. “Is it okay if I go to Dean’s after work to talk to him?”

“Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?”

“Hopefully.” He shot me a tight smile.

Before I could answer, he grabbed his water and hurried after Asa.

I tried not to worry about him as I went back to my workstation. His near panic attack had rattled me more than I wanted to admit, and I was grateful that I’d been here to help him through it.

I just hoped that whatever happened when he talked to Dean tonight didn’t send him down that spiral again.

19

LUKA

I pushedthe door to Dean’s apartment open and stepped inside. “Hello?” I called.

“In here.”

I found him in the living room with a controller in his hand and his eyes fixed on the TV he was playing some first-person shooter game on.

“I’m almost done,” he said, his fingers flying over the controller. “Just need to finish this OP.”

“It’s fine.” I sat on the couch and tried not to let my nerves take over.

When he was finally done, he paused the game and put his controller down.

“What’s up?” he asked. “You look serious.”

“This is kinda serious.”

“What’s wrong? You said you were fine.” He leaned closer, concern crossing his features.

“Nothing’s wrong exactly. I just really need to tell you something.”

“What?”

I paused, the words I wanted to say getting trapped in my throat. I rubbed my hands against my jeans, the rasp of the material against my skin helping to ground me.

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