Page 42 of Blindside Me
I drop the phone onto the passenger seat.
The truth hits me like a blindside check:
I don’t know what I want. But I know how she makes me feel. And that’s starting to matter more than I want it to.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and close my eyes. Tomorrow, I’ll reset. Lock it all down. Focus on what matters.
But tonight, alone in this dark parking lot, I can admit, to myself, that maybe what matters is changing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jade
The clock on the wall reads nine forty-three p.m. The media lab is a ghost town except for Drew and me, our faces lit by the computer screen. Drew’s fingers tap against the keyboard with machine-gun precision while I highlight lines in my notes. The phone’s lo-fi playlist hums somewhere behind us, barely covering the AC’s drone. I’m about to suggest another coffee run when Drew’s phone buzzes.
He glances at the screen, jaw tightening. “I need to take this.”
I nod, pretending to focus on my notes while he steps away. His voice carries in the empty lab as he walks toward the window.
“Yes, sir.” Drew’s voice shifts into something formal and rigid. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”
I flip through my notebook, not reading a word. The half-eaten bagel next to me has gone stale. Three empty coffee cups form a little army at the edge of our workspace.
“I know what’s at stake.” His voice drops, edged with something sharp. “I said I’ve got it.”
The call ends with a sharp beep. Drew stands motionless by the window, his reflection fragmented against the night. He just stands there, breathing, before he comes back to our table.
“Sorry about that,” he says, dropping into his chair.
“Everything okay?” I ask, watching his face.
“Fine.” The word comes out clipped, automatic.
“Doesn’t sound fine.”
Drew’s eyes snap to mine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I don’t flinch. Just raise an eyebrow. Wait.
His expression softens immediately. “Sorry. That was … I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“It’s cool.”
“Yeah. It’s fine.” He turns his back to the screen, fingers hovering over the keys. “Where were we with the analysis?”
I let it go. Pretty sure that was his dad. And if it was, any parent calling this late to complain about a game that happened days ago? Not normal. I don’t know their deal, but the way his shoulders dropped when I didn’t push tells me I made the right choice.
“I think if we add one more example of a visual metaphor from the—” Drew’s sentence cuts off as the screen freezes, then goes black.
“No. No, no, no.” I frantically hit Ctrl-Option-Escape. Nothing.
Drew tries the power button. The computer whirs, sputters, and gives up.
“The autosave,” I whisper. “Pleasetell me the autosave worked.”
The hope we clung to evaporates when the system finally boots. The file is corrupted. A full day’s work is just …gone.
My throat tightens. The air feels thin. I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles ache.
