Page 37 of Plain Sight

The car is starting to lighten in the east when I pull into a spot on the secure floor. Secure. Ha. I’m in it. Isn’t that an oxymoron?

I wouldn’t say it’s full morning. It’s summer, so the sun rises early, but it’s not risen. It’s just starting to glow. I want to close my eyes.

Bad idea. I rest my head on the steering wheel instead. The logo in the middle is so close that it should be blurry, but it’s clear. I’m so tired that I could throw up.

Tea. Tea would be fine. Or coffee. Something in a mug.

Getting harder to think of next steps.

But that’s easy, right? I have to get into the elevator. That’s all.

I get my throbbing head and my burning eyes and my crime scene ass into the elevator and then into the foyer. Mason’s apartment is quiet, like it should be. I’m the only one who has any reason to be awake at this hour.

Oh—Robin might. But it sounds like he’s asleep, too. Good for him.

I make the responsible determination to get an ice pack from the kitchen. I’ll take it to the bathroom with me, where I will responsibly take a fucking shower. Then I’ll get another ice pack and take that to bed, so that when Lily wakes up, I’ll be⁠—

“Jameson,” Gabriel sings, from his spot at the kitchen table. My heart lurches at the sight of him, which is very fucking normal. He looks fine. He’s wearing pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt with the logo from Elise’s bakery on it. Gabriel has a book open in front of him and a mug at his spot, and it is way too early—too late—for him to be here. “You’re back.”

“Did you stay the night?”

“You didn’t.” He quirks an eyebrow at me.

“I stayed most of it.” The lie is almost compulsive, at this point. I’m that tired.

“You just stepped out for a fist fight?” Gabriel closes his book and stands, looking me up and down. “Run-in with the cops?”

“Of course not. This was an accident.”

“A car accident?”

The whole kitchen spins, and then I really do almost throw up. Gabriel doesn’t look right because he’s standing in the doorway, facing the cop, and saying a car accident? and he’s not even sixteen yet, he won’t be sixteen for another month, and it does not occur to me that I might be full-on hallucinating until I dry heave and lose most of my balance and Gabriel’s there with his hand on my arm and his voice sounds echoey and wrong.

“Sit,” he says, more clearly.

I sit.

My vision starts to clear once I’m off my feet, and there’s Gabriel again. His face is right this time. He’s bent down to my level.

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “Was it the cops?”

“I fell.”

“Into a cop’s fist? How many times did they hit you?”

“It was a sidewalk, and it was just the once.”

I want to close my eyes so fucking badly.

“Okay,” Gabriel sings. He doesn’t believe me. “If I leave you here, will you fall off the chair?”

“No,” I scoff. “I’m fine.”

He walks away in a wavy line and turns on the sink. I watch him for entertainment. Gabriel tests the water temperature several times, then washes his hands. He wets one of Mason’s good washcloths. He gathers a couple clean dish towels and more washcloths, then gets an ice pack, too. He brings all of that back to the table and pulls his chair so close to mine that our knees touch.

“Hold still,” he says. “You have blood on your face. I’m going to get it off.”

“Okay.”