18. Greg
CHAPTER 18
GREG
Cal was quiet after the call with Mom. I knew I needed to say something, but I wasn’t quite sure how to address the situation.
Sorry we’re accidentally tied together for eternity?
I’m maybe getting used to the idea of being bonded to you. How do you feel about me?
Did I mention you’re exactly my type?
Instead I just kept my mouth shut and drove. I was a DM and a pet resort owner, not a relationship expert.
When we got to Bent Oak, I cleared my throat and said, “Um, when we get to your apartment did you want me to come upstairs so you can try calling a vision? I’m happy to.”
Cal gazed out the window and drummed his fingers on the book he hadn’t opened since he picked it up an hour ago. Then he sighed and said, “Yeah, I’d better start practicing. Thanks.”
“Of course.”
We lapsed into silence again .
When we reached Cal’s apartment building, I parked a row over from his truck. From this distance, it looked well-cared for, if distinctly old.
Cal turned around in his seat, opened his mouth, then shut it with a frustrated expression. He said, “Ms. Jackson, I was going to ask if you wanted to come up to my apartment or stay in the car and go with Greg to his place later, but you can’t answer me in this form. Um.” He darted a glance in my direction. “Why don’t we bring you upstairs right now anyway, and you can change your form to the Ouija board where it’s private?”
I nodded. “Plus, you might have questions Ms. Jackson can answer after you try to call a vision.”
Cal shrugged. “Maybe so.”
He got out and leaned back down to pick up his backpack and the stack of books he hadn’t looked through on the drive. I opened the hatch and grabbed Cal’s leather duffel. Circling the back of the car, I unbelted Ms. Jackson and picked them up.
Cal waited until I’d locked the SUV before leading the way toward the building entrance. We walked past his truck, and I saw him look into the bed, still littered with trash, and grimace. He said over his shoulder, “I need to take it to the car wash.”
I eyed the beer cans, cups, and cigarette butts. “Do you smoke?” He’d never done so in my presence, and I hadn’t noticed him smelling like cigarettes.
Cal shook his head, then called back, “My company does a quarterly cleanup of one of the local parks. I’m in charge of taking the trash bags to the dump, but some of them always break. I got so distracted with all this stuff—” He lifted the stack of books. “I haven’t had time to get the truck cleaned. ”
“Oh. Got it.”
Well, fuck me. I was an asshole making asshole assumptions.
My chest was hollow, guilt swallowing every other emotion.
When I’d met Cal Monday morning, what had made such a bad impression on me? I’d noticed his tattered backpack, which was now fixed and had an emotional backstory.
Then there was the coffee stain on his t-shirt, which had said “Moist” on it. To be fair, anyone could spill coffee on themselves, and I hadn’t seen Cal with any stains on his clothing since Monday.
I’d cringed every time I’d noticed “Moist”, but now that I knew Cal better, I was certain he’d intended to generate that reaction in everyone he walked past.
And while the “Moist” t-shirt would never be my favorite, I could see I’d let my visceral reaction to it color my perception of Cal as a person. Fuck.
And finally there was the trash in his truck. The coffee cups in the cab were gone; I’d checked when I walked by just now. And he’d had a damn good explanation for the litter in the truck bed.
I felt horrible. I’d made incorrect assumptions and decided Cal wasn’t good enough for me. And I’d shown it. What a fucking entitled prick I’d been.
Would he let me salvage our relationship?
I scoffed at myself. We didn’t have a relationship. I should be asking whether he’d let me start over and try to build one.
Luckily Cal didn’t seem to notice my silence while I processed my epiphany. I followed him onto the elevator, and we went to the third floor. The building was nicer than mine. The carpeting in the hallway seemed new, the paint wasn’t scuffed, and it was well-lit with no burned-out lightbulbs.
Cal set the stack of books down outside unit 301 and fished his keys out of his pocket.
“Go on in,” he said, gesturing me ahead of him after he’d unlocked the door. He bent down to pick up the books again, so, carefully not admiring his ass, I walked past him into the apartment.
It was a standard layout, much like mine. But Cal hadn’t spent any real effort on his décor. His furniture appeared solid and comfortable—important for a man of his size—but most items were in shades of black or gray. There wasn’t any artwork on the wall, just a large TV above a media center that held three different game consoles, plus their controllers and accessories.
But what he did have were bookcases. Eight of them in the living room alone. They were all filled with books, graphic novels, and console game cases. Here and there were some action figures, but they were few and far between.
“Wow,” I said as I set Ms. Jackson carefully down on the Ikea-style wooden dining table.
“Yeah, I don’t decorate much, sorry.”
“No, I like all the books.”
Cal flushed, walking past me into one of the bedrooms. “Thanks.”
I trailed after him, which was probably rude, but I was dying to see what his bedroom was like. And I needed to put his duffel in there too, right?
Except this bedroom was not for sleeping. This was... well, calling it a study or an office didn’t quite do it justice. It was more of a command center. He’d set up three rectangular folding tables in a horseshoe shape with four monitors. One wall was covered in white boards, and the window was flanked by some pretty razor-sharp-looking metal replicas of Klingon weapons. One was easily four feet long and curved, with handles in the center of the outer blade. The other was about half as long, and it appeared more like a pirate’s cutlass with an additional blade over the hilt, pointing in the opposite direction of the sword part.
“Was that where you were trying to figure out what the fuck was going on?” I pointed at a white board, which sported phrases like, “NPC”, “DM”, and “bear shifters”.
Cal set the stack of books down on a corner of one of the desks. “Uh, yeah. I like to make lists.” He chuckled, but the sound seemed tentative, like he was waiting for me to make fun of him.
“Smart,” I said, and he flushed again. “And I have to ask. Are those Klingon weapons?”
Cal laughed. “Yeah. The big one’s a bat’leth and that other one’s a mek’leth. Steve gave me the bat’leth when we released the Rogues Gallery app, and then the mek’leth on the first anniversary of our company being founded. When we were kids we used to pick up tree branches, and instead of pretending they were swords or light sabers, we always pretended they were bat’leths and we were Klingon warriors.” He shrugged and smiled as he stared at the blade on the wall. “We thought Klingons were the coolest Star Trek characters. We even tried learning to speak Klingon for a while, but most of it didn’t stick.” He jumped a little, then gave me a slightly guilty look. “Sorry. You didn’t ask for a biographical essay.”
I smiled. “No apology necessary. I liked the story. Um, you probably want to get sorted or cleaned up or something before you try the vision. Can I raid your kitchen for a glass of water?”
“Sure, help yourself.” Cal put his backpack in the gaming chair behind the desk before coming back toward the doorway.
I handed the duffel bag to him then retreated into the living room. Ms. Jackson had transformed themselves into the Ouija board.
“Your form reminds me that Cal hasn’t asked about ghosts yet,” I told them as I passed the dining table. “That’ll be a fun conversation.”
The Yes sparkled.
I opened cabinets until I found the glasses. I pulled out two mismatched glass tumblers. The refrigerator didn’t have an ice maker in the door, but a square bucket inside the freezer was full. I filled the glasses with water from the sink.
I didn’t see any coasters or paper napkins, so I folded up a couple of paper towels to put under the glasses and set them on the coffee table. I guessed Cal would want to sit on the couch to call his vision, so I went back over to Ms. Jackson.
“Would you like me to move you to the coffee table so you can watch?”
Yes sparkled, so I carefully lifted them and put them on the coffee table with the letters and numbers oriented to be read from the direction of the couch. It probably didn’t matter—they were a magical being after all—but this way seemed more like the board was facing where Cal would be sitting.
I settled into the gaming chair to the right of the couch so I wouldn’t distract him .
He came out of the bedroom. He’d changed into navy sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that read, “And yet, despite the look on my face, you’re still talking.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Nice shirt,” I said with a small grin. It was borderline flirty, but I had to start somewhere.
Cal wrinkled his forehead and grunted, then sat down on the other end of the couch and picked up his glass of water. The paper towel stuck to the bottom. “Thanks,” he said, lifting the glass toward me.
“Sure. Um, do you know what you want to focus on for your vision?”
He made a face. “Nothing to do with Wonders. Not for this.”
“That’s understandable.”
He set the glass back down on the coffee table. “I’m going to focus on my friend Steve. He can get into some crazy situations, and I’ve had a ton of visions about him over the years.”
Cal scooted back and wriggled his body so he was half laying on the cushions and his head was supported by the back of the couch. He closed his eyes and started breathing in a regular in-and-out rhythm.
I tried to stay as still as possible so I wouldn’t make any noise. I wasn’t getting any feedback through my connection with Cal, so all I could do was wait.
After a few minutes, Cal’s face started moving through several expressions I couldn’t quite interpret. Was he having a vision? From what I knew, it would be unprecedented for an unbonded Seer to call a vision. Interesting that Mom and Edgar had suggested he try.
I felt a tugging on the connection between us. I looked down, and I could swear it was even more substantial and brighter. Cal was pulling on my magic to help him call his vision, and as a result the link between us was strengthening.
I smiled, but then I quickly blanked my expression. Cal and I needed to discuss our connection. Maybe today would be a good time for that conversation.
The pull from Cal stopped, and he opened his eyes. “Well, that was a bust.” He sat up and took a sip of water.
“It was? Because you were drawing on my magic through our connection.”
His eyes went wide. “What? I didn’t mean to do that. I’m so sorry!”
I put a hand out. “It’s okay. That’s what’s supposed to happen, at least for bonded couples or those who have a strong connection. They draw on each other’s magic to boost their natural abilities.”
He frowned. “Like Shane and Ellis were talking about? That boost?”
I waggled my hand in a so-so movement. “There’s a lot more to bonding than that. But sharing magic and pulling it from your partner is a big part of it.”
“Your mom didn’t mention that.”
“Yeah, it needs to come naturally. When people are told to use their, uh, bonded partner’s magic, sometimes they pull too much, or they get too worried about how much they’re pulling. But without any instruction you’ll instinctively know what to do. Just like you did.”
He made a disgruntled noise and ran his thumb over the side of his water glass. “But it didn’t work. I didn’t get anything.”
“It was your first try, Cal. You won’t be perfect the first time. ”
He grunted again. Then he sighed and said, “Well, thanks for hanging out while I gave it a shot. Um, I can look through the books in my stack by tomorrow night. I’ll let you know if I find anything interesting. How long do you think it’ll take you to go through your stack?”
He was trying to get rid of me. But that wouldn’t be happening until we had a little talk.
“I’ll get started tonight, and I’ll talk to Craig and see how much I’m needed at the pet resort tomorrow. Maybe I can finish then.”
“Great.” He set his glass down on the coffee table and stood up. His eyes fell on Ms. Jackson, and I knew he was going to ask them whether they wanted to stay here or leave with me.
“Cal,” I said. “Before I go, we need to have a conversation.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, then he fell back onto the couch with his face toward the ceiling and said, “Fine.” He waved a hand in my direction without looking at me. “You start.”
“Um.” Shit, I hadn’t actually thought this through. I ran my hand through my hair. “I guess I want to talk about our connection. It’s here to stay, so I was hoping we could discuss maybe making a go of it.”
Cal made a scoffing sound. He sat up and turned, bending his leg so he could face me on the couch. “I’m sorry, but are you seriously suggesting that we get together? Like, romantically? Sexually?”
I smiled. “Yes. All of those things.”
He stared at me, his mouth hanging open. Then he gave a harsh laugh. “Greg. When you met me two days ago , you looked at me like I was something nasty on the bottom of your shoe. And now you’ve decided, what? Since I’m the only person you’ll be able to get it up with for the rest of your life that you’ll close your eyes and pretend?”
“No, I’m not?—"
He stood up and pointed at me. “I have way too much self-respect for that. I’m better off alone forever if my only other option is someone who’s settling for me.” His eyes shone, his face was flushed, and his magic sparked off him like fireworks. He was magnificent.
And I was a dumbshit.