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“Hey, thanks for the assist, man,” Elvo said, shaking my hand before he left the room.
“Hmm? Oh, sure. No problem,” I murmured, Hux’s angry glare still playing on an endless loop in my brain.
I’d known he was going to be annoyed that I’d touched his precious system. I would have been if the shoe had been on the other foot. But why couldn’t he see that I’d done it for the right reasons? That my intentions had been good?
“Great job, Kev,” Riggs said, pulling me in for a one-armed bro-hug. “You showed real initiative.”
“Huh? Oh, cool,” I mumbled, but it was hard to summon a smile when my mind couldn’t stop replaying Hux’s smirky smirk as he said, “I bet you get most of your experience from the internet and television.”
How had Hux guessed that I’d never had sex with anyone but Anomaly and that the closest I’d come to seeing someone’s orgasm face was in porn? Did I emanate virgin vibes?
Could Hux tell that I’d been dreaming about his smile before they’d woken me up a half hour ago?
I swore by the many moons of Vulcan I had never been so mortified.
“Don’t mind Hux. He’s taking this case hard,” Champ explained, clapping my upper arm with one giant hand. “It happens like that sometimes. He feels personally responsible for the security of our systems, you know? And guilty when he thinks he’s let us down. When he’s in the right frame of mind again, he’ll thank you too.”
I mumbled something agreement-ish and nodded along, but as I stared at the spot on the sofa where Hux had been sitting, I knew Champ was either lying or delusional.
Jasper Huxley was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for everything I did, always.
And I was tired of it.
I looked around the empty room and set my jaw. All my life, I’d felt less than. My grandfather and Carter loved me, but they didn’t understand me. The computer science geeks like the ones I’d met in college understood me but didn’t love me. And the rest of the world—whether it was bullies like Wayne Montrose or my own dang parents—didn’t do either.
For the longest time, I’d figured that was my fault—that I must have some flaw in my code that made it impossible for me to have the easy friendships that other people took for granted. I’d spent years cutting myself off from the real world, living almost entirely online—working on algorithms and data structures, developing technology, and playing massive multiplayer online games like Horn of Glory—because when I interacted through a computer interface, I knew the rules and how to achieve things. I rarely made mistakes. Other users sought me out to collaborate with me, learn from me, and spend time with me.
And it had been satisfying. Safe. Easy.
Then my cousin had gotten kidnapped a few months back, and everything had changed.
When Carter went missing, I’d been frantic to help him, but I hadn’t had the first clue how. In Horn of Glory, I had a cache of weapons and an army of orcs on air speeders to command. In real life, I had few practical skills and not a single contact I truly trusted not to take advantage of me to gain access to my name and wealth.
I realized I’d tried so hard to hide from the world I had no resources to help my family when they needed it. If Champ’s crew hadn’t been on the case… ugh. It made my stomach flip to imagine what might have happened to Carter or to my grandfather when he heard the news.
Since then, I’d resolved not to feel powerless anymore. I’d talked to a therapist who’d given me strategies to manage my social anxiety. I’d forced myself out of my lair. I’d visited Grandfather often. I’d reached out to new people, both online and in real life, and made an effort to forge connections, which was how I’d become friends with SmittyKitty. I’d tried to use my resources to help others. I’d chatted with Anomaly and let things develop instead of walling myself off. I’d tried to assist Champ’s team as much as possible.
And I’d felt… better. Not powerful, exactly, but definitely more in control.
So it was incredibly lowering that Jasper Huxley, with his secret smiles and piercing eyes, his sandalwood scent and his bunny-talk, could make me feel vulnerable again with just a few angry words.
I hated how much his opinion mattered to me. I hated that even though the rest of the team was giving me kudos for a job well done, none of it made me happy because the guy I respected most was angry at me.
In frustration, I slapped my palm against the doorframe on my way out of the room—which accomplished nothing except giving me a sore hand—and stalked down to my lair.
