Page 125 of Rising Heat

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

tyler

By ten, the station’s settled into that weird middle ground between dead quiet and one call away from chaos.

The TV murmurs somewhere behind me, somebody flipping channels without watching. Gear is drying where it got dropped earlier, that faint smell of smoke still clinging to it. The coffee on the counter has been reheated twice too many times and I know this because my mug is sitting untouched beside me and has been for a while.

I forgot it was there, which tells me everything about where my head is tonight.

I’m leaning back in my chair near the front of the house, boots kicked out, one arm slung over the back like I’ve been there longer than I actually have. Coop’s halfway through a story he’s already told twice, getting louder with every retelling. Marco sits at the table rolling a pen between his fingers. Trick’s stretched out on the couch, phone in one hand, contributing just enough to keep Coop talking.

Normal shift.

“I’m telling you,” Coop says, pointing around the room like he’s addressing a jury. “There is no reason for a grown man to be that confident in flip-flops in February.”

“We’re still talking about this?” Trick asks without looking up.

“We’re talking about it until one of you admits I was right.”

Marco finally looks up from the table.

“You were judging a stranger’s footwear?”

“Wrong. I was judging his survival instincts.”

Coop sits forward.

“Picture it. Twenty-three degrees. Snow everywhere. Guy walks into Dunkin’ wearing cargo shorts, flip-flops, and one of those loud Hawaiian shirts. Orders an iced coffee.”

“So?” Trick asks.

“In February.”

Marco nods once.

“That’s commitment.”

“That’s like every female in New England,” Trick argues.

Coop ignores him.

“So I look at him, because obviously I have questions, and this guy looks me dead in the eye and says…”

He throws both hands in the air.

“...cold’s a mindset.”

I snort.

“He’s not wrong.”

The room goes quiet.

Trick lowers his phone.

“You weren’t listening to a word of that story, were you?”

“Bits and pieces.”