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I had nothing here.
At the top of the stairs, I didn’t even see Pike coming out of his apartment until I nearly bumped right into him. “Whoa there, doc.”
I glanced up, mumbled a “Sorry.”
“Hey,” he said, putting his hand on my arm when I tried to walk past him. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I muttered and tried to move forward again, but his hand stayed on me.
“Look, doc, I know Foster is being an asshole. Believe me. But don’t give up on him yet. I think you two—”
“My job fell through,” I said flatly. “This isn’t about Foster. Can you please let me go now?”
Immediately, his hand lifted from me. I felt bad being a bitch to Pike. He hadn’t done anything to me, but I couldn’t handle talking to anyone right now, especially about Foster. “But I thought you had that job locked up.”
“Yeah, well, not so much, apparently.”
He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Is there another position?”
“Yeah,” I said with a bitter smile. “Back home.”
“Oh, doc, you don’t need to do that. I’m sure there are—”
“I have no job, Pike. No job means no money, no rent, no anything. I have a position waiting for me at home, a house, and my family. It’s where I should’ve gone in the first place.”
“But what about Foster?”
“What about him? I haven’t seen him in days.”
Pike stuck his hands in his pockets. “He’s out of town.”
“With Bret?” I asked.
Pike’s brows went up. “He told you about Bret?”
“No, but you just did.” My throat tightened until I could barely draw breath. I stalked past him and into my apartment, slamming the door behind me.
Screw. It. All.
I grabbed my cell phone and tossed my purse onto the kitchen counter. He answered on the second ring.
“Papá, it’s me. Everything’s wrapped up here. I’m coming home.”
“Well, it’s about time, mija.”
Yeah. It was.
PART VII
NOT UNTIL YOU BELIEVE
THIRTY-TWO
Foster shoved open the door to his apartment, feeling like he’d been put through a meat grinder, then stuck back together again. The weariness of days on the road and the scent of airport bars clung to him like some unwanted traveling companion. He tossed his keys on the counter and grabbed a beer out of the fridge.
Pike strolled into the kitchen, pulling a worn Toadies concert T-shirt down over his head. “Heh, well, look who it fucking is. He returns. All hail the King of Douchebaggery.”
Foster shot Pike a murderous look. “Fuck off, Pike. I’m not in the mood.”
