Page 78 of Handle with Care
So I crash the pub for what turns out to be a very expensive pint. I take the opportunity to look around for Will, but nope. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t help wanting to go to him. I’d want someone to go to me in his shoes.
Unable to find him, I sit in a corner and type a message to Stephen back home.
Will’s been fired. And I don’t know where he is.
The response is almost instant.
What do you mean?
Exactly that. Fired. Gone.
Why?
I groan. I should have thought this through.
It’s a long story about something important going missing. Which was both our faults except I’m not fired and he is
Next thing I know, Stephen’s video calling.
“I’m so, so sorry.” I groan, rubbing my face with a hand. “I didn’t think this through. I’m freaking out because he’s ghosting me today.”
Stephen gives me a wry look. “Has he ghosted you before?”
“No, nothing like this. Never.”
“He probably just needs some time to process alone. That would be shitty for anyone.” Stephen looks confident.
“What do I do?”
Stephen shakes his head with finality. “There’s nothing to do. You can’t do anything. You can’t solve this, Dylan.”
“I want to, though.”
“Sometimes shit happens. Life happens.”
“I’ve got half a mind to camp out on his doorstep,” I confess. “Which is probably the sort of thing that might get me arrested. By him or his neighbors. Talk me out of it.”
“Don’t do it,” Stephen advises. “I don’t know, try again tomorrow.”
I make an unhappy sound, raking a hand through my hair. My pint does little to offer comfort.
“Remember you work tomorrow. And you don’t want to get fired too.”
Grimacing, I nod. “I ought to have been fired too. This doesn’t make sense. Plus, he was the director’s favorite. It doesn’t make sense.”
“What happened, exactly?” he asks.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. This is such a fuckup. Epic, really. Look. You’re right. I’ll try not to get arrested. I’m going to check in one more time, and then I guess I need to head home before Russ calls me in as a missing person.”
“He’ll probably think you’re at Will’s,” he says wryly. “Which, technically, is true.”
I groan. “Yeah.” Twisting my pint with my free hand, I shake my head. “Going home feels like defeat.”
“Try again tomorrow,” Stephen urges again. “Obviously, he wants to be left alone.”
“Yeah. I guess. You’re probably right.”
“Of course I am.”
