Virtuality

by H. L. Wegley

  Why would Paul, genius and entrepreneur, want Vince to run a high-tech company? “I …”

  “Promise me, Vince.” Paul’s gaze grew fierce.

  “I—I promise.” But how could he fulfill such a promise? Regardless, he had to try.

  “And be careful. Someone has been spying on Virtuality. There could be danger. Danger for you and for Jess. About Jess—listen to her. Trust her. She can … help.”

  Paul coughed. His breathing turned to wheezing. “Jess … needs you, Vince. And … you need … her … so …” Paul's eyelids fluttered, and he drew a ragged breath.

  As the breath drained from Paul’s lungs, life drained from his body.

  The monitor confirmed it, flat lining with a piercing tone, an electronic wail. The death note.

  Jess ran into the room and stopped, studying Paul's motionless body.

  Three women in scrubs scurried into the room after Jess. They stopped near Paul’s bed, checked him, but then appeared to be in no hurry.

  One looked at the clock and wrote on the clipboard she’d taken from the foot of the bed. The other two disassembled the monstrosity of tubes, bags of solutions, and electronic devices.

  Jess turned from Paul’s lifeless body and pulled Vince outside to the nearby CCU waiting room. Once again, she faced him and circled Vince’s neck with her arms. “He's home now, Vince. No more cancer. No more chemo. But did he talk to you?”

  Though she had just observed Paul’s lifeless body, there were no tears in Jess’s eyes. And the concern Vince saw there seemed reserved for him.

  The confusing signals from the only woman he had ever loved messed with his thinking. Her reaction swirled in his mind, mixing with thoughts about losing his brother and about Vince being the last living member of his immediate family. Then the mental activity stopped.

  Over the next few moments, Vince’s eyes dried. The emotions that had assaulted him at first sight of Paul fled, replaced by … nothing.

  What was wrong with him? His brother had just died, yet Vince couldn’t feel anything. But that wasn’t entirely true. Beyond the numbness, a terrifying emptiness waited to swallow him.

  Paul was right. Vince needed Jess. Life without her would become a void that devoured him. His life would become that terrifying emptiness.

  “Vince, are you okay?” Jess’s hand clamped onto his arm.

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  Jess’s squinting eyes and frown said she wasn’t buying it.

  “Paul talked to me, Jess.”

  Her frown faded. “Thank God, we made it in time.”

  Good. She’d accepted his change of subject. “Don't thank Him, yet. I’m still trying to make sense of what Paul said. He said you could help.”

  “Yes. I …” Jess met his gaze, studied his eyes, and her eyes flooded. She still held his arm and used it to pull Vince closer, then pressed her head against his neck and cried softly.

  Vince curled an arm around her and brushed the tears from her cheek. She seldom cried, but when she did—well, she wouldn’t be able to help for a while.

  Questions about the danger Paul mentioned could wait until later. He wrapped her up in his arms, thankful he had Jess to see him through the events of the next few days.

  Jess clung to him, her body shaking with each sob. A broken heart was the only thing that had ever made her cry. Not even a broken arm had been able to do that.

  Had Paul’s death done all the breaking? Jess’s reactions seemed to say it was something about Vince that brought her to tears. But that was probably his wishful thinking. And, right now, he couldn’t afford to bet any of his depleted emotional capital on that longshot.

  She must be crying over Paul. Vince couldn’t blame Jess for loving Paul. Everybody loved Paul. But Jess, the girl next door, had been Vince’s closest friend since they were five years old. They had grown up together, shared their secrets, and he had always assumed—no, he had presumed. And when life and love didn’t go as planned, Vince had left.

  Paul got the girl and Vince hadn’t opposed Paul. That never happened in the van Gordon household.

  But Jess had lost too. And her arms still clung to Vince, hanging on to her dearest childhood friend, the nearest thing to Paul she had left, Paul’s little brother, standing in Paul’s shadow.

  * * *

  Did Vince realize why she was crying? For seven years, she had prayed Vince would come home. When he did, it was for Paul, not for her. And, now, Vince had lost Paul. Whether Vince knew it or not, he needed her right now. Maybe if she supported him through this time of grieving, he would see that Jess Jamison loved him.

  But, could Vince ever give his love to someone like her, someone her own father didn’t even love? As kids, Vince had given her his heart. Then something changed.

  Jess was what Meyers and Briggs called an INTJ, the research scientist personality type, always analyzing and predicting. But she hadn’t predicted that Vince would leave. And none of her analysis had told her why. Her best guess, she wasn’t good enough for a man like Vince. Not that he was perfect. But he was perfect for her. Vince’s strengths were her weaknesses and vice versa. They made a perfect team. Invincible.

  Standing in the CCU waiting room, Jess took a deep breath and relaxed in Vince’s arms. Her arms still held Vince, pressing his body against hers in a more intimate embrace than she would ever give to a friend. Vince should have realized that, but he was distracted, still trying to come to grips with the loss of his brother.

  As awful as it sounded, Jess had taken advantage of the situation, but she didn’t feel guilty about it. How could she after sharing twelve years of her life with him, starting when they were in kindergarten? She had always thought they were meant to be together—well, almost always. There was that foolish, teenage crush on Paul. But Paul had outgrown her and Vince. And, once again, it was Vince and Jess against the world.

  Now, Paul had outgrown them again, graduating to his eternal home. She had expected this for a few days. But Vince, only for a few hours. And Paul’s death had accomplished something neither his life nor Jess’s wishes had been able to do. It had brought Vince home where he belonged. If only he could see that …

  She needed to untangle herself from Vince before her wrap-around hug made him uncomfortable.

  Jess tiptoed and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Vince.”

  When they locked gazes, Vince’s eyes held an expression she seldom saw there, confusion.

  Vince gripped her shoulders, held her at arms’ length, and studied her the way he had done since they were seven or eight. It was his way of determining if she was okay. He drew her close again, gave her a hug, and kissed her forehead. “No. Thank you, Jess. It's good to be home. Especially now.”

  The impulse came to tilt her head up and do something she would probably regret. Since she couldn’t do that, she needed to say something to get beyond the awkward closeness. “Did he tell you about the business and about the project?”

  She took a step back, and Vince’s arms released her.

  The look of confusion returned to his eyes. “He told me a few things. But what’s so dangerous? Is it the technology, the project, or something to do with his partner, Patrick?”

  Jess sighed sharply, still struggling a bit to regain her composure. She had a reputation to live up to. The ice girl. The girl who never cried. But, since Vince had arrived, she had cried more than in the past seven years. Correction. More than in the past six years, ten months, and two days.

  “Danger? The technology, the project, or Patrick? Maybe all of the above. But this isn't the time for that discussion. Later, Vince.”

  “You’re right. We've got a funeral to plan.”

  We? Vince had included her like she was family. He had done that as a kid. The van Gordons had been more like family to her than her own. But not in one way. Jess could never view Vince as a brother.

  “No. Paul took care of all the arrangements for his memorial service a couple of days ago, before he grew too w
eak to talk on the phone.”

  “Why didn't he call me then?” Vince’s eyes welled.

  Paul hadn't meant to hurt his brother. But Vince seemed to think otherwise.

  “I think he still held out hope for a miracle. He could communicate and think rationally until he went to sleep last night. This morning was a different story. He didn't get a chance to let you know there wasn't going to be any miracle. No remission this time.”

  “I guess the third time's not the …” His voice trailed off.

  Jess shook her head.

  “Then we'll meet with Patrick tomorrow and he can answer my questions.”

  She laid a hand on his shoulder. “You and I need to talk first.”

  Vince nodded slowly, digesting her meaning. “Okay. But all this has left me feeling exhausted. How about I pick you up tomorrow morning for coffee? Well, I’ll pick you up if you’ll drop me off at a car rental.”

  “Coffee sounds good.” She stuck a hand in the pocket of her denim shorts and pulled out the key ring Paul had given her. “No need to rent a car. Here are the keys to Paul’s car and his house. He said to tell you to do anything you want, make any changes you want, because they’re yours and that he’s got a better home now.”

  “That sounds like Paul.” Vince turned his head away and wiped his eyes.

  “I have to return my friend’s car that I borrowed today. But—”

  “You don’t have a car? Seriously?”

  “Vince, I have a motorcycle.”

  He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything, though it was obvious he wanted to.

  “My bike’s in the shop for some repairs. But you don’t have to pick me up. My apartment’s only a few blocks from Starbucks.”

  “Then Fairwood Starbucks it is.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven o'clock?”

  She gave him a weak smile. “That's right. You're the early riser.”

  “Come on, Jess. You got up early a lot of times.”

  “Whenever I had a good reason.”

  “Am I a good enough reason?”

  He was reason enough to stay up all night if that's what Vince wanted. But she wasn't sure how he would respond to that. And she wasn't sure how much of this bit of shared intimacy was due to feelings about Paul's death, rather than Vince’s feelings for her.

  And why did Vince’s actions seem to convey more than mere friendship? Wishful thinking?

  When she didn’t reply, Vince’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Maybe I'm not—”

  “Vince, you should know you’re always a good enough reason … for almost anything.”

  “Anything? Someday, I might hold you to that.”

  Jess drew a sharp breath.

  “Or maybe you should forget I said that.” Vince looked away, staring out a window, toward Denver.

  “No.” Her hand went back to his shoulder. “I should file it away for safekeeping.”

  Safe? Just being near Vince was no longer safe for her heart. And with the mysterious events in Patrick's lab and at Virtuality, the rest of Jessica Jamison may not be safe either. But being safe was highly overrated.

  The adage about it being better to be safe than sorry wasn’t true. A person could be safe and still be sorry.

  Safe but sorry and living with regret. Jess vowed from this day forward she would never do that again. But, if she risked exposing her true feelings, how would he react? Leave again?

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Vince’s voice pulled her back from her questions into the reality of their situation. “Vince, I told you—”

  “I know what you told me seven years ago. A poor, starving writer couldn’t afford to—”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  Vince didn’t reply.

  “You can’t buy my thoughts for a penny. But you'd be surprised what coffee can buy.”

  Vince gave her a weak smile. “Whatever you want tomorrow morning, it's on me.” The smile morphed to a grin, and he touched a finger to the tip of her nose, something he did as a kid to annoy her.

  But this time it didn't. In fact, right now, Vince could touch her face any way he wanted, provided he didn't do some silly, little-boy thing like trying to poke his finger in her—” Vince, stop it. That is so gross. Besides, you’re the one with the nose issues.”

  “You think I need a nose job?”

  “I never said you need a nose job. But it wouldn’t hurt to consider it, unless you were, say, an Aardvark.” She’d done it again. They weren’t in high school. And she’d gotten over all that, hadn’t she?

  But why couldn’t she act like a mature woman around Vince van Gordon? Maybe their truncated relationship left them stuck at seventeen, two hurting kids doomed to remain teenagers until they could heal each other’s heart.

  What if they couldn’t? Would Jess continue flying down freeways on her motorcycle, climbing rocks as she had been doing, climbing increasingly difficult rock faces until she reached the limits of her ability to—had she actually been doing that?

  That Jess had allowed herself even to think such a thought frightened her. But a broken heart was a frightening thing. It made rational people do irrational things.

  She looked up at Vince and opened her mouth to speak.

  I need you to rescue me, Vince. Like you used to do.

  But other words came out. “I need to take you home, Vince. We’re both tired.”

  Vince nodded, then stared at the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists. He’d done that since he was six or seven if something was bothering him.

  Jess reached out and lifted his chin until their eyes met. “What is it?”

  “Jess, has anyone been spying on Paul, on you, or on Virtuality?”

  “Why are you asking me that?”

  “I was just thinking about something Paul said.”

  “He’s your brother, but I guess you can’t ask him what he meant.”

  “But you would know, because you were his—” Vince stopped.

  “His what?”

  Vince didn’t reply.

  What was he insinuating? “Say it, Vince. I was his what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You got that right. Nothing. And that’s all you understand, isn’t it?” His eyes said he wasn’t going to tell her what he’d been thinking.

  Vince had stopped working his fists and, now, his eyes had confusion written all over them.

  “Look. I worked for Paul for about three months, but I don’t know anything about any spying, alright?” But she did know it was time to take clueless Vince home while he still had his ears. Because Jess had words on the tip of her tongue sharp enough to cut both his ears off.

  Chapter 5

  What a mess!

  Jess’s sheets looked like some giant had tried to eat them like spaghetti, rolling them around his fork. A night that was hot by Seattle standards had only contributed to a small part of her restlessness.

  Her alarm! She had forgotten to set it. The blue letters on her alarm clock said 6:35 a.m. Jess had only twenty-five minutes to get ready and, since her motorcycle was in the shop, walk the four blocks to Starbucks to meet a man who considered being late a mortal sin.

  She had not planned this day to start on such a disastrous note, especially after her sharp words before they left the hospital. After a sixty-second shower, Jess scampered to her closet, praying this wasn’t a harbinger of how things would go today between Vince and her.

  The forecast high for the day, displayed on her digital alarm, read ninety-two degrees. Jess threw on a pair of skorts that she had never worn because they looked so much like a skirt, a mini-skirt. One look in the full-length mirror on her closet door told her a skirt that short wouldn’t be decent. As shorts, they were decent, and the sweltering day would make them acceptable. But, what if Vince thought—

  Girl, get a grip. You're trying way too hard to get that man’s attention.

  Jess choked the annoying voice coming from h
er left cerebral hemisphere until it shut up.

  At 6:56, she locked the door of her apartment and jogged down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop. As her jog sped to a loping run, her angst over being late morphed to angst over the subjects they would discuss over coffee, the danger Vince had mentioned and the highly inflammatory subject of them.

  Jess burst through the doorway of Starbucks at 7:00 a.m. Though she’d tried not to, she’d broken a sweat, not enough to be smelly, but still …

  Vince sat at a table near the wall on the opposite side of the shop. When his eyes focused on her bare legs, his lips formed the little O that boys used for whistling.

  Great. Vince’s brother had just died. There were ominous things happening with the business. And what was Jessica Jamison doing?

  Trying to appeal to a man's baser proclivities.

  Jess muted the irritating voice inside, painted a smile on her lips, and approached Vince.

  He stood, finally looking up from her legs, which were visible from midthigh down. “Jess, you're—”

  “Late. I know. Sorry, Vince.” She sat and scooted her legs further than necessary under the wooden table, well outside of anyone’s view of—wonderful! Now there were several other sets of male eyes gawking at her.

  “Late? That wasn't what I—”

  “It sure is hot this morning. These skorts were the only cool thing I had to wear. Have you ordered yet?” Did he get it? It wasn’t a mini-skirt. It was a pair of shorts.

  Vince sat and leaned back in his chair with a confused look in his eyes again.

  What was wrong with him? Big, confident Vince never used to look confused.

  All movement in the coffee shop seemed to have stopped. A quick scan of the room told her why, and it raised a question. How could she discuss critical issues with Vince while every guy over the age of twelve was gawking at her hot, sweating body?

  Hot. How could she have even thought that word under the circumstances?

  A big, warm hand came to rest on hers. “I hope it’s okay, Jess … I already ordered for both of us. Let's see, you always drank a triple, grande mocha, extra hot.”

  Please, please, please. I hope he didn't.