Page 53 of Someday Away

Damon clears his throat. “I’m just gonna go clean two and three,” he says, indicating the other two auditoriums.

“Anyway,” Trey says, changing the subject, “to answer your original question, I don’t know. But we did smoke a lot of weed back then, so I may not remember. Maybe you should ask Link.”

“Where is he, anyway?”

Trey pushes off the counter and walks over to the popper to start a new batch of popcorn. “Serenity called him about an hour ago, and he left saying he needed to take care of something.”

“Serenity?” A pang of unwanted jealousy stabs through my chest.

“Yeah” Trey watches me closely. I look away in a poor attempt at nonchalance. He clears his throat, and my eyes snap up to his. “Here’s the thing with those two,” he explains. “They’ve been friends since they were kids and have spent most of their lives bailing each other out of bad situations. I’m sure Seren has just gotten herself into some trouble.”

“I guess I didn’t realize they’ve known each other for so long.” I look down at my hands, picking at the black polish on my fingernails as the irrational jealous feeling sharpens.

Trey steps close to me, his large, warm hand wrapping around my chin, and when I look up, our lips are inches apart. “Hey,” he says softly. “You don’t have to worry about Serenity. She’s not his type. That ship sailed and sank. Spectacularly.” His minty breath fans over my cheeks, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch.

“So I’ve heard,” I croak, licking my lips nervously. Trey’s eyes follow the movement. “Not that I care who Lincoln is fucking,” I say quickly.

Trey smiles, his thumb running along my jawline. I close my eyes, the sensation entirely too sensual. The only sound is our breathing and the crackle of popping popcorn. “I think you care very much,” he says, his voice low and husky. He releases me and steps away, and I open my eyes, watching him as he walks over to the ticket booth. He glances back at me with a knowing smirk. “And as much as he fights it, Link cares, too.”

Damon was right;the night is slow. Only a few patrons trickle in with each showing, and I’m bored out of my mind by the time I head upstairs to start up the last movie of the evening.

I thread the film forThe Lord of the Rings: The Return of the Kingthrough the old projector, double-checking my work before turning the machine on. It roars to life, light flickering through the lens as the film winds its way off of the top reel through the projector and onto the bottom reel.

I watch the movie for a while, happy to hide in the darkness.

“’Death is just another path, one that we all must all take.’” Gandalf’s words reverberate through my body.

I picture my mom’s face. From this perspective, it seems ironic now that she was the one who read Tolkiento me when I was a kid. The clack from the film fills the space like quiet laughter, mocking me.

I hear soft footsteps. I assume it’s Trey until I catch a hint of Link’s cool earthy scent. I look back, and our eyes meet. He motions with his head for me to follow, and I do, my hands clenching and unclenching.

I enter the manager’s office, squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights flooding the space. It feels like the dull brown walls are smothering me, and my heart pounds uncomfortably against my ribs as I stand there in awkward silence, looking down at my black Converse.

“We can’t do this,” Lincoln says, his tone caustic and clipped.

“What?” I ask. My voice sounds so small, and I hate the way I feel right now—helpless, anxious, and completely confused about how to act around him.

You’re a badass bitch. Fiona’s words come back to me, and I feel a thread of confidence take root.

“We can’t just explode at each other,” he replies. I stay quiet, unsure of what to say, and he sighs heavily. “Please, look at me.”

I comply, raising my gaze to his.

“It’s just, when we’re here, I’m your superior. We need to act professionally around one another.”

My eyes widen in disbelief. “Act professionally? Are you serious right now?” I ask, my voice tight with repressed anger. “You have been everythingbutprofessional to me since we started working together.”

He raises his hands, which I’m sure is meant to be a placating gesture, but it just infuriates me further. “I know I’ve been kind of a dick?—”

“Kind of?” I almost shriek.

“And…,” he interrupts, cutting off my tirade, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

My mouth drops open in shock, and the rage drains from my body like he just opened a wound. I stare at him, searching for something sinister in his eyes. But Link’s not channeling his usual cruelty or indifference—just a sincerity I haven’t seen since that day in the coffee shop when he talked about his mom.

Did LincolnEvans just apologize to me?

Regardless, disappointment twists inside me when I realize this conversation was always just about work and nothing more.

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