Page 36 of Rising Heat

“You make the rest of us look bad.”

“I think you accomplish that on your own.”

I catch the smile Marco hides behind his coffee.

The phone gives up before any of us do.

By nine the board has gone quiet, and the house has settled into its overnight rhythm, the kind that only shows up when nobody’s waiting on the next call. The kitchen smells like whatever Tyler had put together for dinner—something with garlic and enough protein to justify the portion sizes—and the table has that post-meal looseness, chairs pushed back, nobody in a hurry.

Trick is at the end of the table, turning his phone over in his hand the way he does when something was sitting with him.

I notice, but I keep my mouth shut. With Trick, saying something is usually the fastest way to make sure he never tells you. You waited, or you didn’t find out.

Coop, naturally, has no such instincts.

“Alright, what’s with the face?”

“I don’t have a face.”

“You’ve had the face since about six o’clock.”

Trick rolls the phone once more across his knuckles.

“Andrew’s moving in with his boyfriend.”

I glance up.

“Thought that wasn’t until April.”

Trick’s eyes flick toward me.

“It got moved up.”

Tyler doesn’t even react.

Coop frowns.

“How’d you know that?”

“He told me.”

“When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

Trick points at the table.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Making me feel less insane.”

Marco turns a page.

“He remembers everything.”

“And?” Tyler says.