Page 43 of Work with Me

“Oh. Crap. Right.” I shook my head.Focus.Setting down my phone, I undocked my computer and slid it into my bag. Purse! I wouldn’t make it far without my keys. I bent to pull it from the drawer and checked that my keys were clipped to the ring inside. “See you tomorrow.”

I walked to the stairs as fast as I could without running and carefully descended the stairs. Scrapes and bruises. My stomach twisted. Had they reinjured his arm? We had only a week to go until the cast was supposed to come off.

Once I was outside, I ran across the street to the parking garage. Let them see me lose my cool. I had to get to Noah. Taking care of him was the most important thing.

* * *

JACKSON

No,I didn’t watch Alicia trot off toward the stairs, her swaying hips mesmerizing in that skinny black skirt.

Okay, fuck, yes, I did. Because Tyler had to punch my arm to get me to snap out of my trance.

“Hey, Jay, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention. I didn’t want to ask Alicia because she, um, didn’t seem like herself, but I could use some help. Got a minute?”

“Sure.” I hadn’t been his first choice, but he was asking me for help. That had to be progress toward earning the respect of the team and working together, right? I followed him to his desk, pulled up an extra chair, and listened as he explained the problem.

As it turned out, it wasn’t hard, and we resolved it in less than an hour, including some coding best practices I threw in gratis.

Going back to my desk, I felt almost as proud as when I’d fixed a gnarly bug in my own code. Tyler had come to me for help, and I’d helped him. Cooper would’ve been proud of me. He’d say I’d earned the respect of the team. My chest swelled with pride under my ZZ Top T-shirt.

Until I saw it.

Her phone. Alicia’s phone, shoved half-under her keyboard.

A notification popped up on her lock screen. Was it something she needed to see?

I breathed in. Out.

Maybe it was a junk text, or a message from a political campaign.

Or maybe it was important, like the call she’d gotten right before she’d left, the one that’d turned her face pale and those blue eyes wide.

And she wouldn’t get it until tomorrow.

Being separated from my phone made me itchy. She’d probably feel the same, that sick, sinking feeling when she realized she’d forgotten it. That missing-limb void when she reached for it but it wasn’t there.

I picked it up, cool from its hour of abandonment.

It was only a phone. People had survived for thousands of years without phones.

But I’d make sure Alicia didn’t have to.

18

JACKSON

The bungalowin the Cherrywood neighborhood not too far from downtown was painted a cheery sunshine yellow with a purple door. A rainbow flag jutted out from a pole anchored to one of the sturdy porch supports.

I squinted at the address on my phone and then checked the number next to the purple door.

Not the house I would’ve imagined for Alicia. She was straight lines and seriousness, a no-nonsense president of the homeowners’ association out with a ruler to enforce grass-cutting height. Not whimsical pink flowers spilling out of cracked terracotta pots next to the porch steps.

But this was the address I had.

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