Page 16 of Power Surge

He grimaces and nods.

“Great. Follow me.”

* * *

“Thanks, boys.”

Beneath the rumbling exhaust vent, Trey’s deep voice is barely audible. After another deep inhale of the cancerous smoke, I twist my lips upward, sending the gray cloud up the vent hood.

“Don't even start,” I say when Trey stops at my side. Smiling, I focus on the burning ember of cigarette number two. “It's been a day.” I snort. “Hell, it's been a life.” Shifting to press my hip against the stove's edge, I angle my body toward him.

“It's been a life.” His hand dives into the front pocket of his jeans before withdrawing a pack of Ultralights. “Figured we both could use this small escape, but it seems you beat me to it. How'd you manage that?” He hitches his chin to the lit cigarette between my fingers.

“Ted had a pack.”

“Tom,” says a voice somewhere from the other side of the refrigerator.

“Right, Tom, sorry.” I shrug and take another inhale as Trey pulls his own from the pack and lights the end with my lighter that was resting atop the counter. “Side note, I apologized to Taeler.” The soft filter rolls along the outer seam of my lower lip as I stare unfocused at the industrial-size iron grill top. “I told her everything would be okay, that we'd figure it out and get through it.”

“Good.”

The undercurrent of annoyance doesn’t slip by me. “Is it?” I shake my head in an attempt to pull my volleying thoughts together. “I'm not sure it will. I'm not sure about anything anymore.”

For several minutes, we burn one after another in silence, both of us seeming to be lost in thought. The instant I finish one, I light another, now tugging cigarettes from Trey's pack instead of bumming off Ted.

The rough wheel of the lighter indents into the pad of my thumb as I roll the flint to spark the flame needed to light my next casualty.

“So, Birmingham’s dead,” he says, letting the heavy words hang between us.

“I know. It’s crazy. And I don’t…. Actually”—I press my thumb and forefinger to my forehead—“can we just…notright now? I need a break from all that.”

Trey nods, continuing to stare into the shadows, only lifting and lowering his hand to take a drag.

With a sigh, I consider the man standing beside me.

His typically styled and sculpted dark hair is disheveled, like he needs a haircut and is too distracted to care about his appearance. Dark stubble sprinkles along his jaw and down his neck. Purple circles and paler than normal skin signal the exhaustion he's attempting to hide.

Lips sealed tightly together, I bump his shoulder to gain his attention. “What's going on with you, Trouble?”

“Nothing.” With a soft shake of his head, displacing a few loose locks of his lengthy dark hair, he offers a strained smile. “All good. Smart thinking, by the way, to use the vent hood for an indoor smoke break.”

I narrow my eyes at the clear deviation from my original probing question. “Yeah, thanks. I had to get creative since it's apparently not very presidential to sneak out back for a smoke like a rebellious teenager.” I force a smile, desperate to lighten the strange mood between us. I nod to the opened pack he brought, now lying on the stove. “That was half gone.”

He coughs, covering his mouth with a tightly fisted hand. “Off the wagon again. What can I say? It's been a stressful few weeks.”

“Tell me about it,” I say as I blow a lungful of smoke up the vent.

Again that fake, forced smile pulls at his lips.

Tossing my hands in the air, I release an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, what the actual fuck, Trey.”

He startles, almost dropping the cigarette dangling from his fingers to the white tile floor. “What?”

“Exactly,” I hiss.

Trey’s dark brows dive between his eyes, making a deep line form between them. “I'm confused.”

“Same.”

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