3. CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 3
Colden
“ I ’m telling you, Cold, this is my best brew yet.” Dacker holds up a pilsner glass filled with honey toned liquid, his white teeth shining through my screen.
“You say that every time you try a new recipe.”
He leans his elbows on the wooden bar, his ugly mug taking up the entire screen. “Stop being your surly self and congratulate me.”
“Fine. Congratulations on another Davis-Price masterpiece. Happy?” Behind me, a sound somewhere between a squealing pig and a crashing jet plane punctuates my words.
“What the hell was that?” My nosy friend stretches his neck like that will help him see into the office.
The obnoxious sounds have become background noise. “We need a new air conditioner.”
He stands, looking down at the screen like a disappointed parent. “Pissed off April again?”
“Probably.” Definitely.
“Dude, not smart. I don’t even know her, and I know not to piss her off.” He makes a show to shiver, shaking his upper body and arms with exaggeration.
“I’ll be fine. Arlo’s some kind of April whisperer. We’re getting a new one next week. How’s Neo?” I not so subtly change the subject.
Dacker video chats with his brother every morning at seven sharp. He’s done so since Neo left for college. Just like he’s video chatted with me daily since I took the job with SPAM five years ago and moved to Eternity. My best friend likes routine and predictability, not that I blame him. His life has been anything but predictable. Asking Dacker about Neo shows interest in my friend. I know how much he adores his brother, and I’d be a shit friend if I didn’t inquire about Neo. My interest has nothing to do with wanting any scrap of information about the man with the eternally cheerful demeanor and adorable smile. Or the fact that I sent him a good luck text this morning and haven’t heard from him.
I know he’s busy, but I’m eager to hear how the presentation went. It will be a boon for him and the university if he gets the grant. And Neo deserves everything good in the world.
Dack runs his hand over the top of his chestnut hair. Hair so similar to his younger brother that one would have to look closely to notice the golden highlights that streak Neo’s hair are missing in Dacker’s. Not that I’ve looked closely. I’ve just known Neo since he was in kindergarten, so I’ve had opportunities to notice such differences.
“I’m worried.” A line forms between his brows and he rubs his finger over it.
My muscles contract and I sit up straighter. “What’s going on?”
Dacker sighs out a long breath. “Nothing new. It’s just Mom’s been gone, what? Sixteen, seventeen years? And he’s still determined to bring her back in his way.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I scratch my cheek, the scruff of my beard abrading my fingertips. Anytime we discuss Mrs. Price, I get itchy. What good is having a father with the power to heal when the one time you need him, he’s on the other side of the world attending to some world leader, leaving a loving mother to die? And subjugating your best friend and his brother to a life without the woman who loved them most. Not that my parents or brother were ever around much, anyway.
“Not necessarily. The VirtUal technology he’s created will help so many people. Hell, I texted my mom’s Virtsona two days ago because I needed advice on—” He clamps his mouth shut and whips his hand in front of his face like he’s shooing away the idea. “Whatever, doesn’t matter. I worry that he’s never really grieved properly. Maybe I should have done more to help him.”
Glancing at my lap, I search for the words that will put my friend at ease. Surprise, surprise, the denim covering my thighs is void of anything meaningful to say. I’ve never been great with words, but saying the right thing to comfort my friend after his mother died was nearly impossible, and it’s never gotten easier. I bring my gaze back to the man who’s lost more in his thirty-two years of life than most people do in a lifetime. “You were just a kid yourself.”
“High school.”
Cocking my head at him, I lean into the screen. “Still a kid. As far as Neo… is there really a proper way to grieve?”
“You know what I mean. He’s so focused on coming up with the perfect replica of her I worry…” His sigh is bone deep. “I just worry.”
“What’s your dad say?”
He rubs his shoulder. “That I worry too much.”
“He’s not wrong.” I bite my cheek and nod, waiting for it.
My friend flips me off. “Whatever. Did you hear? Neo secured the grant.
“No surprise. If your brother could talk my parents into staying in town, long enough to attend our high school graduation when he was only twelve, getting a bunch of rich people to give him money to continue working on VirtUal is cake.” I smile in spite of the sinking sensation dragging down my stomach. Why didn’t Neo tell me he got it?
“Yeah, he’s amaz—” Dack’s gaze catches on something beyond the computer screen, and his cheeks go rosy.
Off screen, I hear a deep voice say, “Coffee. Dack, I need coffee.”
“Who’s that?” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“My tenant. Gotta go. Talk to you later.” Dack bends, reaching under the bar, and comes up with a coffee mug that is not a standard white mug he has for the bar.
Before I can give him shit, the screen goes black. Interesting… If a vendor or customer strolled into the bar, my friend would push me into traffic to get to them. The only thing he loves more than the bar his step-father gave him is his baby brother. But Rain, the guy who rents the apartment above the bar I once called home, is new.
Not new, in that he’s been there for at least a year. But new in my friend’s reaction to him.
What’s not new? The craving to gather every morsel of information pertaining to Neo, which is why I’m itchy to call Dacker back and find out more about the grant.
Could I text Neo myself?
Yes.
Will I?
Absolutely not. I’ve already texted him once today, and that’s enough. Needy isn’t my thing, and what I really need is to keep the boundaries I established tight. Neo is my de facto friend because his brother and I have been best friends since my parents moved us to Philly in the middle of fifth grade to be closer to my Aunt June. Really, it was so they and my brother could run around the world at a moment’s notice and they had someone to watch me. For five years, I’ve held myself back, and I’ll continue to because risking my friendship with Dack, the one person who has always had my back and has never left me, isn’t an option.
Fingers throbbing, I fist my hands, then straighten my fingers, but the ache remains. Holding my hand above the over-sized mug on my desk, I toss a few cubes in. I wiggle my fingers, but nothing else comes out. “Useless power.”
“Who has a useless power?” Arlo strides in, as chipper as ever.
I push the mug aside. “You, me, Aunt June, most people in this town, everyone at SPAM.”
“My power is awesome. I just need to learn to harness it. Watch this.” Ever the optimist, Arlo points a finger at my right arm. Squinting, like that helps with his concentration, he says, “Wave.”
My right leg bounces, and my knee hits the underside of the desk. I twirl my chair, and wait about ten seconds, and my leg stills. I narrow my eyes at my office mate.
“It was the same side this time.” From his grin, one would think he had the power to fly, which is what every supe really wants.
I turn my chair back toward my desk and flip open my book. “Find someone else to practice on.”
For a blissful three pages, the only sound is the wheezing air conditioner and Arlo puttering around. Of course it doesn’t last because my co-worker has something against silence.
“Did you see this?” He flops a newspaper on my desk.
I look up. “How old are you, eighty? Who reads actual newspapers anymore?”
“I’m supporting the local economy and local reporting. That’s why so many local newspapers have been bought out or closed.” He points to an ad, taking up half a page.
Get healthy and heal with evidence-based practice and state-of-the-art technology.
I bring my gaze to Arlo, rocking back and forth with his ever-present grin. “A therapy group advertising. So.”
“So,” he taps the ad, “keep reading.”
Knowing there’s no way I’ll get back to my book in this century if I don’t do as he wants, I continue. My aunt’s voice filters through my head about being nice, and I stifle my sigh and continue reading.
Want to be confident, calm, creative, clear, curious, courageous, compassionate, and connected? We all have many parts of our personalities, and they don’t always play well with each other. Learn to blend these parts so they work together. We have the technology to create your virtual self so you can talk to the different parts of yourself like you’re talking to a friend through video chat. Text 757-555-3845 and take the first step to being the You, you’ve always wanted to be.
There’s a stock photo of a man smiling at a boy who looks like a younger version of him as they ride bikes next to each other. Below the picture text reads, I’ve never felt happier! It’s cheesy as hell, but most ads having to do with physical or mental health usually are.
“I’m not getting therapy.” I push the paper toward Arlo.
“You’re obviously quite healthy. I’d never dream of suggesting such a thing.” His tone drips with sarcasm, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. As chipper as the kid is, he has a bitchy side I appreciate. He folds the paper in half. “Why text? And why a Virginia area code? Why didn’t they state the name of the company or group in the ad? Or give a website?”
I pick up my book, hoping he’ll take the hint and go to his desk. “Probably because it’s a scam of some sort, and they can only afford to advertise in the local papers in pissant towns.”
“Exactly.” He rolls the paper and hits my desk with a wap . “But they’re trying to make it sound like they care.”
Focusing on the pages in my book, I scan the words to find where I left off. “Isn’t that how most scams work? They claim to be doing something for the person, but they’re really bilking them?”
“I think we should investigate this.” He taps the rolled up paper against my book.
It was so nice when I could spend my days quietly reading. Maybe Gilbert would stop to recount some irritating incident, but he never stayed more than fifteen minutes. Occasionally Howard would drop by wanting me to try his latest spam creation—spam rice crispy treats are a hard no—but, again, he would only stay long enough for my critique, then he’d hurry out to tweak his masterpiece.
I blow out a long exhale of air, close my book, fold my hands in front of me, and pin my co-worker with a hard glare. “We are a recruitment office. We do not investigate. We do not have cases. We do not look for cases. And if, by some infinitesimal chance, we were to be assigned a case, I’m sure April would notify us.”
“But—”
“I know this town has to be boring as hell for you, but I accepted this assignment precisely because it’s boring.” The groan of my office chair punctuates my statement. “Do you really want to deal with bomb threats, dead animals reanimating, traveling through time but never knowing where you end up, or whatever other crazy shit that happens out there? Hell, I heard there are Weres and Sasquatch on the west coast.”
His shoulders slumping, he gives me sad puppy eyes and lowers the newspaper to his side. “I want to do my part to make the world a better place.”
“The world needs a lot more help than a couple of recruiters with shitty powers can provide. The sooner you accept it, the happier you’ll be.” I pick up my book and go back to reading.
Without a word, Arlo returns to his desk. I don’t pound on my chest to loosen the pinch in it, nor do I grimace at being the one to put that look on his face. It’s better for him to understand that we’re just two mediocre guys with second-rate powers that aren’t good for much more than party tricks.