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“See,” I said, “that wasn’t so hard.”
“No, it wasn’t, Mr. Bear.”
I scowled at the use of the fake last name Deb had made sure ended up on my name tag, and I could have sworn that earned me a tiny speck of a grin from him, but he’d shifted into the shadows of the roof again, so I couldn’t be sure.
Franky gave his back to the brick wall supporting the door, so I did the same. We were a good distance from the lip of the roof, but that didn’t hinder our view of the city. We were quiet for a while, content to take it all in.
“I’m afraid of heights,” I admitted, breaking our stretch of silence. Franky craned his head my way, but I kept my gaze forward. “I was thrown from a fourth-floor window when I was eight. Spent months in the hospital, then a rehabilitation center. I’ve still got a nasty looking scar on the back of my leg. A souvenir, I guess.”
“Thrown?”he asked.
“You heard right,” I said, heart pounding. I could still remember the feeling of free falling, of reaching for my would-be murderer as I plunged to the pavement. Could still paint the look of freedom—of fucking jubilee on her face when she thought it’d be lights-out for me. I could still taste my tears as I laid on the curb, broken and still loving her.
“Who would do that to a child?” he demanded. I found his astonishment weirdly touching.
I turned to him then, hoping his expression of rage and disgust could eraseherhappy one from my memory. “My mother,” I said.
We breathed into the wind together, our pace syncing and easing after a few minutes, like we somehow had calmed each other without words.
“Are you always this candid with strangers?” he whispered.
“Never,” I whispered back, wondering if my tone had sounded as awed as his. Franky didn’t apologize for something he didn’t do, which was typically what people did after learning about someone’s trauma. It was like a default setting in their brain or some shit.
Maybe his refusal to be sorry for me explained why I didn’t regret telling him. I didn’t wish I could take the words back and relock them in that place inside of me that I didn’t allow anyone access to, even if I couldn’t express why I’d told him in the first place.
“The trick is to look out, not down,” he said. “That’s what helps me.”
Was he afraid of heights too? Were we just two idiots torturing ourselves for the hell of it? “So what are you doing up here, Franky?”
He sighed, staring straight ahead again. “I thought maybe I’d look down, for once. Maybe doing one brave thing will lead to me doing another.”
“Like a domino effect.”
“Precisely,” he said. “And you?”
“Besides stalking some hot guy?” I joked. Franky glared at me in reprimand. “Sorry, I tend to flirt when nervous, or tired, or wired with energy, or angry, or simply breathing. Just ignore it—for the most part.”
“For themostpart?” he asked. “And what about the non-most parts?”
“As long as my frank and beans are covered, we’re safe,” I deadpanned, and naturally his gaze moved downward before flicking back up to my face. “What? Are they not covered? Are they just hanging out shooting the breeze? Please tell me they’re covered,” I said in mock horror, and this time his grin was unmistakable.
“I don’t know why I’m up here. Maybe I came searching for a kindred spirit. Maybe I hoped I’d discover I was a daisy,” I said under my breath.
“A daisy?” His brows puckered in confusion.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”
A bright and equally stupid idea hit me. “Let’s do this together,” I said. “Let’s look down together.”
“No,” he said resolutely, straightening and eyeing the partially open roof door. “This was a terrible idea, and I need to get back to the party.” Except Franky didn’t move. Getting back to the party seemed like the last thing he wanted to do.
“What’s everyone celebrating anyway?” I asked, hoping my question reminded him why he’d walked out on the celebration in the first place, hoping it would get him to stay.
“Nexcom has just acquired a company on target to become one of their largest competitors.”
“Sounds like a big deal,” I said, and he grunted, still watching the door. I twisted to face him, resting a shoulder against the wall. “So you work here? For Nexcom?” There were more people than offices downstairs, and Deb had mentioned there being an employee list as well as a guest list. I’d assumed maybe he was a special guest with the way everyone whispered from their corners while pointing toward him, or how some swarmed him like he was their hive. But maybe they were the guests.
“Something like that,” he said, evading the question, but at least he wasn’t eye-fucking the door anymore.
