by Cole McCade
“About…?”
“Uh…” Spit it out, man. “Well, uh. These past few days have been fun.”
She didn’t look up. Her smile didn’t fade. Her stride didn’t falter. But a subtle tension went through her nonetheless, a stiffness as if she was hardening herself in anticipation of a blow. “But it’s over, right?”
“Not until tomorrow.” He drew to a halt, looking down at her. “We have one more night, Z.”
“I know.” The soft sound of her boots slushing through the snow stopped. She looked down, staring at the sidewalk. Her fingers crushed so tight on his it almost hurt, but when she finally raised her gaze to his she only smiled, wistful and sweet. “Listen, it is what it is. We had our little enemies-to-lovers story and like you said, you don’t stick around.”
“Would you want me to stick around?” The words felt like they pulled everything inside him up to clog in his throat, fishhooks digging into him and pulling everything out of place. Those hooks only dug deeper when she remained silent, looking up at him with something like hopelessness. “Would you?”
“For what?” she asked, her eyes dark and hurting, her voice soft.
Those hooks dug deep enough to pierce his heart. But she was right. She was right, and he’d known it before he’d opened his big mouth. He could promise her the world if she just wanted him to stay, but he was afraid it would just be another damned lie.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she repeated. But her lips remained parted as if she might say something else. Something that hovered against the softness of her mouth, waiting to be exhaled on her breath like a blown kiss. But she only shook her head, pulling her hand from his, backing away. “Let’s go home.”
She turned away from him, almost running from him, her steps quick and sharp as she stepped out onto the crosswalk. Stepped into a sudden blaze of headlights turning. Stepped in front of the silver gleam of a grille bearing down, and the world slowed for Evan as he lunged for her, as he grabbed at her, as his fingers stopped just short of her coat, too slow, too far, not enough.
“Zoraya!”
* * *
It was all his fault.
Evan paced the hospital waiting room, fingers dug tight into his pockets and clenched so hard his fists made lumps bulging against his jeans. If he hadn’t pressed her about their relationship, if he’d just been fast enough to pull her back out of the street, if he’d noticed the car in the turn lane…if if if. So many ifs, but no amount of if would change that Zoraya was in that examining room without him and it was all his fault.
He could have lost her. Just like he’d lost everyone else—it could have been over in an instant, there and gone, and he’d be left with just another hole in his heart where someone used to be. Never mind that she’d been fine. Barely bowled over before the car had stopped; the SUV had only been going about ten miles per hour, slowed into the turn, and Zero had insisted she was fine until she tried to push herself up and her arm had given out beneath her, leaving her tumbling into the snow while Evan reached for her, then drew back, afraid to touch her, afraid to leave her there, not knowing what to do until the driver had offered them a tense, silent ride to the hospital with its sounds of people coughing and stifling heat and the stink of his own fear-sweat in his nostrils.
If that SUV had been going just a little faster, it could have been a ride to the morgue.
He couldn’t stand it anymore. He stalked up to the reception desk and curled his hands tight against the counter. “Any updates on Zoraya Blackwell?”
The admin nurse looked up from her screen, watching him with that sort of polite sympathy that said she saw this all the time. “Are you her…husband?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“It’s complicated.” Evan barely restrained himself from slamming his fists on the counter. “May I see her?”
“She’ll be out soon, sir.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure she’ll be all right. It’s sweet of you to care so much.”
Sweet. More like the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his life.
He flashed her a thin, polite smile and made himself turn away—but froze when the double doors leading to the exam rooms swung open and Zero walked out, poking and prodding at a bright blue short cast that wrapped her arm from elbow to knuckles.
“Zero.” He started forward, feeling like a seam had been cut open along his heart, then made himself stop. Just…stop. “You’re all right?”
She lifted her head, looking up at him in surprise. “Evan. Hey. I…didn’t think you’d still be here.”
He smiled weakly and gestured toward her messenger bag and coat, draped over one of the chairs. “Someone had to play guard dog, right?”
“Right.” Something flickered in her eyes, before she looked down again and curled her fingers around the wrist of her cast. “It’s just a hairline fracture. I shouldn’t type for a while, but it’ll be okay. Stupid of me to walk out without checking the light.” With a rueful smile, she shrugged. “Hey, at least this gets me out of the office for a few days.”
“Yeah.”
He fumbled for something else to say. He knew what he wanted to say. I was worried about you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t pull you back in time. I care about you. I need you. I’m so glad you’re all right.
But he couldn’t say those things. He couldn’t feel those things. Sometimes he felt like he was cursed—and anyone he dared to care for would only be taken from him in horrible, painful ways.
So he went with the first thing that came to mind, as he shrugged and collected her bag and coat for her. “I still think you should start your own company.”
Not that, idiot.
Zoraya gave him an odd look. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”
“Why?” He told himself to shut up. Told himself not to push the matter, but the words were already spilling out of his mouth, everything but what he really wanted. “You’re stagnating here. I can’t even fix this company. It was on its way down before I showed up; all I’m doing is slowing its fall and making it look good even while it crumbles. You might as well bail out now while it’s your choice.”
“Why do you keep pressuring me about this?”
“Because you’re always unhappy.” He held out her coat so she could slip her arms into it without fumbling with her cast. She wrinkled up her nose, then stuffed herself into the sleeves.
“It’s a job. It’s not exactly meant to be fulfilling.” She fidgeted and tugged at her coat, then headed for the exit. The automatic double doors whooshed open, letting in a swirl of snow. “You were the one giving me all the lectures about growing up and toeing the line. Now you want me to buck the system?”
“Maybe I was wrong.” Yes. That was closer to what he wanted to say. I was wrong. I was wrong, now please let me get through this without sticking my foot in my mouth. I was wrong—about so much more than just your job. “It doesn’t have to be one extreme or the other. Middle ground isn’t a bad place to be. So dressing up for work isn’t a big deal…but you said yourself it’s not the dress code that’s killing you. It’s being stuck.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Make your own place.”
She tossed him a slit-eyed, peevish look as she fumbled in the pocket of her coat to pull out her phone. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just…can’t.”
“Because you don’t want to.” He caught her good arm to still her rapid strides down the sidewalk. “You keep talking about the economy, and rent, and a million other excuses, but you know what I think the real reason is? You’re scared. You’re scared, so you’d rather stagnate and complain than take a risk.”
She just stared at him. Stared at him, and he wondered if he’d lost her already. “That’s not fair,” she said softly. “I’m trying to be pragmatic. I’m making adult decisions about my life.”
“No. You’re playing i
t safe. And if that’s your choice, fine. But when you feel like complaining about it again, just remember: you chose this.”
He was saying everything to her that he wanted to say to himself. He was playing it safe. Making choices out of fear. Pushing her away out of fear. Making the choice to cut her from his life so he wouldn’t have to feel the pain of losing her.
It was easier that way.
And it was what he always did.
She jerked her arm from his grip. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she bit off.
“That’s fine. I need to go anyway.”
Her stride slowed, her eyes widening. “You’re leaving?”
“I need to pack. My flight leaves tomorrow.”
“Evan…”
He couldn’t stand that hurt, liquid look in her eyes. The shock of it. No doubt she’d been hoping for a few last kisses, a last soft goodbye. That would only make things ache more. He was sparing them both, he told himself. No point in dragging this out.
“Don’t.” He unslung her bag from his shoulder and held it out. “You knew I was only here until the assignment was over.”
She didn’t take it for long moments, seconds ticking on. Seconds in which some inner voice screamed at him to take it back, to stop doing this, to for once in his life make things right. But it was too late. He’d screwed up again, and this time she wouldn’t forgive him.
Maybe he didn’t deserve forgiveness.
And maybe if she hated him, breaking things off would hurt that much less.
“So that’s it,” she said, taking the bag with her good hand. “You just…walk away.”
“That’s what I do.”
“I’m catching on to that.” A brief, incredulous laugh escaped her lips. “So you’re just going to move on. Back to a life of meaningless nothings and shallow connections.” She shook her head, swallowing hard, lowering her eyes. “Is that really all you want?”
“It’s all I’m cut out to handle.” He clenched his hands, then stuffed them in his pockets. His fingers brushed against Zombie Evan, and he wrapped his hand tight around the little toy, holding fast for the strength to say, “Maybe all I want is shallow connections. Not…this.”
“‘This.’ Okay.” Her lips creased in a bitter smile; she tilted her head back, looking up at the snow-dotted sky. “Okay. I’d almost forgotten what an unrepentant asshole you are. Let me guess, you don’t believe in goodbyes either?”
“You got it.” Don’t do this, he told himself, but his feet wouldn’t listen. His heart said stay, but his head was already turning him away. “Have a nice life, Zero.”
He almost begged her to say something. Anything. Something to turn him off this path to self-destruction, to slow his headlong tumble into the emptiness he’d once thought he wanted.
But she said nothing. He didn’t blame her.
And so he walked away, and tried to tell himself he was doing the right thing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER.
Long after Evan had left, Zero stood on the sidewalk and watched the snow fall down, imagining she could make out each individual flake in the golden halos of the street lights. It was so quiet, after midnight. Quiet enough to hear herself think.
And to hear her beat herself up for ever thinking Evan James could change.
She closed her eyes and took a deep, aching breath, her throat tight, her eyes and nose damp. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself. Not over him. Not out here. It would just freeze on her eyelashes and cheeks, and she already felt cold enough inside to make the winter night feel like summer in the tropics.
What had she been hoping for? That those little half-conversations and feints would finally turn into something? That he’d make an eleventh-hour play and somehow turn this absolutely maddening week into something more? They’d gotten what they wanted out of each other. That was what it had always been about, from the moment she’d met him in the bar. They’d both had an itch to scratch and nothing else.
So why had her heart nearly broken when she’d come out of the examining room to find him looking at her like he was afraid he’d never see her again?
She closed her eyes and felt the snowflakes melting on her cheeks, running down her skin in lieu of the tears she refused to cry. A smile tugged at her lips. Maybe she’d keep her cast for a souvenir. The week I lost my mind, and had crazy sex with the biggest asshole on the planet.
God, she didn’t want to go home right now. Her bed would still smell like him, and suddenly her tiny apartment would feel too small for the very first time. She was still clutching her phone in her good hand; it had practically frozen to her ungloved fingers. Biting her lip, she pulled up Ravi’s number and hit Call.
It wasn’t Ravi who answered but his girlfriend, Alyssa. Zero had met her a few times. Had a few beers, talked shop about neural network programming; Alyssa was into advanced robotics, and programmed things Zero could only dream of working on. She liked her. She liked even more that she and Ravi were getting serious enough for Alyssa to sleep over, even if she felt a faint pang of jealousy—and a bigger one of guilt at the sleepy slur of Alyssa’s voice.
“’lo?”
“Hey, Alyssa. It’s Zero.” She sniffled, then forced it back; she started to rub at her nose, only to flinch as she bonked herself with her cast. “Could I talk to Rav for a sec?”
Alyssa paused; when she spoke again, she sounded much more awake. “Sure, honey. Sure. You okay?”
“It’s been a bad night.”
“Just a second, sweetie.” The muffled sound of voices rose, before Ravi’s voice piped in her ear.
“Zoraya? What’s wrong?”
“Depends. Are you asking about the arm fracture, the asshole who just dumped me, or the fact that I’m standing outside the hospital in the freezing cold?”
Ravi’s sharp inhalation echoed over the phone. “Go back inside the hospital. You’ll be warmer in the lobby,” he said. “Let me get dressed. I’ll be right there.”
* * *
He showed up as crisply dressed as if he’d just gotten ready for work, not one crease out of place. Zero couldn’t help but smile; going out in his pajamas or even tossing on jeans with an old t-shirt would have driven him crazy. But her smile faded when he hugged her, and she fought back that urge to cry. “It’s okay,” he said, and smoothed a hand over her back. “It’s all right. I’m here. Tell me what happened.”
So on the drive back to his apartment, she told him everything. How a few days of fighting turned into a few days of something else. The accident. The way Evan had looked at her. The things he’d said before the accident, and the way he’d completely one-eightied after. And why it didn’t matter in the slightest, when he was leaving town anyway and probably wouldn’t even look back.
“I think he will look back,” Ravi murmured. “He lies to himself as much as he lies to others, this man. You said yourself he was afraid to get close to people, Zoraya. And what do people do when they are afraid?”
“They run.”
“Exactly.” He patted her knee. “Stay with us for the weekend. Alyssa will be glad for the company. So, I think, will you.” He grinned. “If only to have someone to be your left hand.”
“You’re funny, Rav,” Zero said, but she wouldn’t turn him down. “You’re real funny.”
Alyssa was waiting with hot chocolate and a sympathetic hug when they arrived. Precisely four and a half marshmallows for Ravi; approximately five hundred for Zero. God, she was lucky to have friends. Friends who didn’t tell her how stupid she’d been, for hoping Evan could be something more than what he was. Friends who just gave her painkillers and settled her down in the guest room, and stayed with her until she fell asleep. She dozed off with Alyssa’s fingers stroking in her hair and her cheek resting to Ravi’s chest, counting the soft, strange ticks of his artificial heart until she was claimed by a deep and dreamless slumber.
She tried to go home the following morning, refusing to impo
se. Alyssa told her she could go home as soon as she could screw the cap off her toothpaste by herself. Zero tried, and ended up with a toothpaste goatee.
“Okay,” she groaned, wiping her face with a wet towel. “Okay. I’ll stay. I just don’t want to be in the way.”
“You won’t be.” With a sweetly amused smile, Alyssa squirted toothpaste onto a spare toothbrush from the cabinet and held it out to her. “Now brush your teeth, dear.”
With a grumble, Zero stuck the toothbrush in her mouth.
Having a fractured arm sucked.
She took it easy for the rest of the weekend. Reading in her borrowed room; helping out around the house until Alyssa chased her to the couch to watch World War Z on Netflix. She almost couldn’t stand it, when she kept remembering how Evan had cringed and covered his eyes at the gorier bits. And little Zombie Evan, and the look on his face as he’d stared down at the toy. Her throat knotted up again, and she shut the film off—and avoided Ravi’s knowing gaze.
On Sunday she tagged along to the workshop space he rented in the basement of his apartment building, and watched while he welded a…thing…to another thing, sparks flying, reflecting in the faint hints of brown eyes she could glimpse behind his mask.
“What are you making?” she asked, lounging against a sawhorse.
“Not sure yet,” he said distractedly. There was a looseness to him that he only seemed to have in his workshop—as if he could only relax, stop counting, stop pacing, when the blowtorch was in his hands and the room filled with the scents of sparks and hot metal. “I’ll know what it is when it’s done.”
“So you won’t walk into a strange building without knowing where all the exits are, but welding? Just wing it.”
“Pretty much.” He smiled slightly, angling the blowtorch down. “This is my quiet place, Zoraya. You know that. As you love to watch the snow fall, I love to watch the sparks fly.”
“I guess everyone needs something like that.”
“It is sometimes the only way to stay sane in a world full of madness.” His eyes flicked up to hers, through the mask. “What do you think your Evan’s quiet place is?”