“He probably forgot,” I say.
“Only you could make excuses for someone you’ve never met.”
“Oh, believe me,” I say, “I can make excuses foranyone.”
“That isn’t the flex you think it is,” he says, plugging his phone in.
“Tell me about it. My mom always says I’m way too forgiving.”
My overshare lingers in the air like a bad smell.
“So, uh, I have all of seasons three through five. Are there any topics you don’t want to listen to?” he asks.
“Nothing with kids,” I say. “And nothing financial. I can’t handle the Crypto King case right now. How about the serial killer from season four?”
There’s a pause. It’s so long, in fact, that I look over to see Ollie Fletcher staring at me, his face only illuminated by the dashboard lights. “I gotta ask: what?”
“Forget about it,” I say. “Play whatever you want.”
“You work in criminal justice. Wouldn’t that make the grisly episodes harder to listen to?”
“I wish,” I say. Then I wince. “Sorry, that sounds gruesome. I don’t wish I had firsthand experience with anything like that.”
I know immediately I’ve said too much, because Fletch’s attention is even more fixed on me.
And he’s not saying anything.
This isn’t going to work. I’m tired. I need to stay awake,withoutlistening to a podcast that I’m tired of living in, tired of talking about (sorry, Arrow).
Maybe this is bad of me, but honestly, I’m so tired ofnevertalking about myself, I’d probably spill everything if anyone asked. But Fletch won’t. It’s the same problem I have with Arrow: I drop hints like Hansel and Gretel drop breadcrumbs.
He never follows them.
When I joined the message board, there were strict ground rules: no names, jobs, or locations. It was meant to keep people safe. No weird stalkers, no baggage, no one googling your life. It made perfect sense. It allowed Arrow and me to communicate comfortably without prying or oversharing.
Curiosity at your own pace.
I’m sick of it.
Not sick of Arrow, mind you. Messaging with him is the highlight of my day.
But it’s not enough anymore.
I’m tired of only talking about my thoughts, never my life. Of being the person who helps everyone else process their feelings while mine stay locked up tight. Arrow is wonderful, but we don’t talk about everything. And right now—more than ever—I need ...more.
One thing’s for sure, though: Ollie Fletcher won’t be the person to give me that. The only thing we have in common is our destination.
We’re going the same direction. Separately but together. Even if he’s not as awful as I thought at first. And that smile …
Fletch plugs his phone into the console, and a moment later, theBeyond Justiceintro plays, its discordant, staccato notes filling me with nostalgia for a time when I still loved the show.
But their last case hit home too hard.
My last case did, too.
Now, I only listen to make Arrow happy.
I tune out mentally, letting my thoughts wander away from the podcast. The whole point of listening to something is to keep my mind busy, but it’s not working. I don’t want to revisit all these people’s lowest moments.
