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“Post-concussion syndrome,” Finn supplied.
“Yeah, that’s it. You don’t have a concussion?” I asked, looking at the battered state of him.
“Dunno. Didn’t go to the hospital,” he said. “But probably not. Got a headache, but not the blurry vision, nausea, or ringing in my ears.”
“Ugh, that’s what that is,” I said, grimacing. There’d been this on-and-off high-pitched sound in my ears since I’d gotten to work.
“I wish I could say it won’t last, but you could have symptoms for weeks or months. Especially if you get stressed. Which is why you shouldn’t be at work.”
“There’s nothing stressful about this job,” I said, waving around. “And it couldn’t be quieter,” I added.
“Know what’s less stressful? Lounging around in bed.”
“I have to earn a living,” I said, shrugging it off.
“What do you make?” he asked, making me straighten.
“What?”
“What do you make? Your salary?” he asked.
“Why?”
“I’ll pay it.”
“You’ll… pay it?” I repeated, sure I was misunderstanding him.
“Yeah. For a few weeks or months. Until you are back to normal.”
“God, I think I was hit harder than I realized,” I said, pressing my palms into my eyes. “You’re not making sense.”
“I am. I want to pay you to sit at home and recover.”
“Okay,” I said, hands falling. “Maybe you’re the one who got hit harder than they realized,” I said. “Because you’re talking crazy.”
“I’m dead fucking serious,” Finn insisted.
“You want to pay me to sit at home and watch Forensic Files in my pajamas for… months?”
“Yeah.”
“My head hurts too much for mental gymnastics right now. What the hell are you talking about?”
“You said you have to earn a living. I am offering you a living.”
“To sit at home.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re hurt.”
“That’s not your fault.” His head turned away at that, like he didn’t agree with me. “Hey, it’s not. You were… just trying to be a good guy,” I said.
To that, he shot me a smirk. “Sounded like you were choking on those last two words.”
“Good guy?” I repeated. “Well, in my experience, those words are an oxymoron.”
Fine, not all the time. I knew a few decent guys. But I was feeling a little down on the man part of mankind. And I felt justified in that, given the state of me.
Finn was about to open his mouth to say something when the door suddenly flew open, bringing in some blinding sunlight, then Andrew, a coworker of mine.
“Lexy, what the fuck?” he asked, gaze on my face. “I got a text from one of the guys who practices here. I was sure he was exaggerating. But, fuck, it’s worse. What are you doing at work like that? And who the fuck are you?” he asked, looking over at Finn’s damaged face, his jaw going tight.
You had to give Andrew credit for trying to puff himself up and appear ready to go toe-to-toe with Finn. When Andrew was all of five-five, so skinny that he looked like skin hanging off bones, and didn’t actually have a violent bone in his body.
Andrew was one of those decent guys I was lucky enough to know.
“This is Finn. He was… carjacked with me,” I told him.
“Oh, okay then,” Andrew said, going back flat on his feet. “Anyway. Go home. I’m here now.”
“You’re off today.”
“I’d always rather be here than sitting around at home,” he said.
That was probably true enough.
We all actually loved our work, loved being in close proximity to musicians and music.
“I—“
“Am going to get out of my seat,” Andrew cut me off as he plugged in the code to the door, then moved into the office with me. “Yeah, you need to do that. I got three new EPs to listen to. And every minute you’re not getting out of here is time I am not getting to listen,” he said, producing one of his six—yes, six—iPods.
“You still use iPods?” Finn asked, frowning.
“Trust me, with Andrew’s collection, he could never have enough memory on a phone,” I said as I gathered my things.
“About broke my fucking heart when they stopped making these,” he said.
“So he went to every local electronic store and bought out their stock.”
“I almost needed to take out a loan,” Andrew said, smirking. “But it was worth it. Go home,” he grumbled when I just stood there with my purse on my arm.
“Fine,” I said. “Thank you,” I added, voice softer.
He waved that off, already pulling his headphones on. I’d been eyeing those ones for months, but couldn’t quite excuse their price tag. Not yet, anyway.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Finn said, already reaching to open the door for me as I pulled my sunglasses out of my purse and slipped them on.
“I have to call a ride,” I said.
“Let me drive you,” he said.
I must have stiffened at that as the memories flooded back. The fear and pain.
“Not my bike today,” he said, waving toward a massive SUV instead. “Windows are even bullet-resistant,” he told me, making my brows go up. “It belongs to the club. We all borrow it here and there,” he explained. “Safer than a ride-share.”
