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By late afternoon, I’m two seconds short of pulling my hair out. Brylee won’t answer. Jet said Donna won’t crack, and Candy still hasn’t called. Christa, my coworker, is getting on my nerves, giggling every time I pass with her friends, bent over their phones. I’m itching to barge in and see what’s on their goddamn phone screens.
Don’t be paranoid, I tell myself. You’d know if they’d seen the picture.
Right?
After some internal debate during which I call myself all sorts of names, I call Ellen to ask her if her girlfriend reposted that damn picture on the internet. She doesn’t sound that pleased to hear from me—or maybe it’s the news that the pic is circulating again?—but she is incensed that I’d think so lowly of her girlfriend.
Moot point.
A guy whose name I don’t know grins as I pass in front of him, on my way to piss. Another one lifts a brow as I come back out, his phone in his hand.
What the fuck? I glower at him, my skin crawling. This day sucks.
Then it literally goes to hell when Donna calls me—well, calls Candy’s phone that’s still in my pocket—to ask me if I’d go pick Jet up because he doesn’t look so good.
Shit. “What’s wrong with him?”
Donna hesitates. “He’s been distracted, and clumsy. Quiet. When I pressed, he said he’s fine, but then he dropped a stack of books on a customer’s foot, and she left in a rage.”
“Okay…” I rub at the crease between my brows. “Accidents happen, right?”
“Look, Joel. I’m not thrilled about sending home my one remaining employee, okay? But since that phone call he received he hasn’t been himself. He keeps rubbing at his temples as if he has a headache, and he looks pale, and uncoordinated. I don’t want him falling on his face, and I’m not only thinking about how the customers would react. He looks sick. He’s your friend. What will you do?”
Fuck. “Did he say who called him?”
“Nope.”
“He may be stressed because Candy isn’t there. He gets headaches from stress. If I could talk to her…”
“I can’t give you her number or address, Joel. I told you already.”
“Yeah, yeah, so you have.” I glance at the pile of work waiting for me on my desk, at the emails I need to answer and the letters I need to write, and sigh. “I’m on my way to pick him up.”
“Also, you should give me her cell phone. I’ll make sure she gets it back.”
Damn.
***
“Told you, I’m fine,” Jet grumbles for the tenth time, and I shake my head in frustration. He won’t tell me what the phone call was about, won’t admit to feeling unwell, and won’t come with me. “And I have work to do.”
“Jethry boy, your boss called me, all right? If she’s concerned about you, how the fuck do you think I feel, huh?”
He looks up from where he’s been stuffing old bookmarks into a recycling bag, his eyes wide and damn vulnerable. “How, then?”
Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything, express these wild thoughts spinning inside my head. “Concerned. If your cousin has trouble at home, why won’t you tell me? Is it a money problem? Is it something worse? Maybe I could help.”
His eyes shutter, and he looks back down at the bag. “You can’t help, mate. Told you that before.” He pauses, hands gripping the plastic bag so hard it’s a miracle he hasn’t torn it apart. “What about Candy? Any news?”
“Nope. Nada.”
“Jesus fuck. What if something happened to her? Her running away like that, and not showing up, not talking to us…”
“Listen, Jet.” I pry the bag from his white-knuckled grip, set it down. “She hasn’t left and moved to another city. She’ll be back to work tomorrow. We’ll see her.”
He gives a jerky nod. If there’s one thing I know about Jet it’s that he’s scared of people leaving. Since he won’t tell me anything about his past, I don’t know why that is, but it’s pretty clear that between Candy’s vanishing act and that damn phone call he received, he’s freaking out.
“We’ll get her back.” I pat his shoulder. It’s like patting a piece of rock, he’s so damn tense. “I’ll explain to her about Ellen, about the scandal. I’ll tell her everything, man, I swear. I don’t fucking care anymore. If nothing else, she’ll come back to you.”
