Page 49 of Glitched Play

Witt listens as though every word matters.

My chest tightens unexpectedly.

Because this version of him doesn't exist at work.

The man who terrifies executives and challenges billion-dollar companies is currently helping a six-year-old build a blanket fort in his living room.

It's unfair, honestly.

I was doing fine being attracted to the mysterious genius. The kind uncle thing feels like cheating.

An hour later, one child is asleep.

Curled against Witt's side.

The other is watching a movie.

I realize I've been staring.

Unfortunately, Witt notices. "What?"

I tilt my head considering what to say. "Nothing."

"That's inaccurate,” he says as he lifts his brow.

A smile escapes before I can stop it.

"You're different with them."

His gaze drops to the sleeping child tucked against him.

For a long moment, he says nothing.

Then, quietly he mutters, "They don't expect me to be normal."

The words land somewhere deep and suddenly I understand. Not everything but enough.

Enough to know that underneath the systems and routines and perfectly organized mugs is a man who has spent a lifetime feeling different.

ten

. . .

Witt

Encrypted Message: Glitch

The best technology doesn't replace people. It removes the barriers keeping them apart.

Friday morning, my routine fails before seven.

I wake at five.

Shower at five-oh-seven.

Dress by five-twenty-one.

Coffee at five-thirty.