Chapter 6
Titus
“HELL.” I LEAN back, rubbing at my stinging eyes. I’ve been at this for hours and I’m no closer to figuring out how in the hell someone breached one of our customer’s servers than I was when I started.
I’m exhausted, but I need to get to the bottom of this. If for no other reason than my own curiosity, because if it can happen to them, it can happen to us.
Pushing up from the chair where I spend the bulk of my time, I kick through the mess of empty water bottles and protein bar wrappers littering my workspace before ducking out into the hall. I barely reach the top of the stairs before my phone starts to ring.
I quickly connect the call, hopeful I can finally crash and get some much-needed sleep. “Heidi. Tell me you’ve got good news.”
The technical team Pierce has at Alaskan Security is unmatched. Even by my own team at McKinley Security Systems. When I got the call from one of his in-house hackers, I was shocked they hadn’t been able to figure this out on their own.
I was also flattered to be the one they called for help. I work hard at what I do—though maybe not in the same capacity most other people would—and it’s nice to know it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Even if that’s how I normally prefer to be. Unnoticed.
“Ugh. I freaking wish.” Heidi sounds as tired as I feel. “I haven’t figured out how they got in yet, but I think I’ve got us locked down tight enough they won’t make it through a second time, so you are relieved of duty.”
I pause halfway down my darkened stairs. “Are you sure? I don’t mind keeping working.” I want to sleep, but not at the cost of their company’s security. They deal with too much high-level shit to be susceptible.
Even though everyone is technically susceptible. All it takes is someone a little smarter than everyone else and with access to tech a tiny bit better than what most of the world is working with.
I try to be that person, but someday someone might beat me. In all honesty, Heidi gives me a run for my money. If I thought I could convince her to leave Alaskan Security, I’d offer her a job so fast it would make her head spin.
“Nah. We can pick it up again tomorrow. If I don’t show up to Thanksgiving on time, everyone will come find me and drag me out of the office anyway.”
“Thanksgiving?” I squint at the heavy drapes covering my windows. “What time is it?”
I’ve been so wrapped up in figuring out what happened to Alaskan Security, that I haven’t been keeping track of the hours.
And now I’m wondering if way more of them have passed than I realized.
“It’s almost one, so probably nearly three where you are?”
Shit.
“In the afternoon?” I rush down the remaining stairs and go straight to a window, flinging open the curtains and twisting the angle of the blinds. The day is dreary, but the light still hits me like a slap to the face.
I can’t remember the last time I looked outside, but it probably should have been two hours ago when I was supposed to be at my parents’ for Thanksgiving dinner.
“I’ve got to go. Happy Thanksgiving.” I don’t wait for Heidi to respond before disconnecting the call.
I do take the time to close my blinds and curtains before darting back up the stairs, taking them two at a time, feeling grateful I might have let a lot of other shit go, but I haven’t given up my love of working out.
I wasn’t sure there was any point in it since I rarely leave my house, but if all that cardio can help get me through a shower and to my mother’s doorstep in record time, it will be worth every sweaty minute.
I manage to get under the spray, scrub down, and dry off before the reckoning—aka my mother—arrives.
I knew it was a pipe dream to think I’d still be able to walk into the house like nothing happened, but I was going to give it a shot. It’s what I do best. Pretend like nothing happened in spite of all the evidence proving otherwise.
When I come out of the bathroom, I can hear my mother mumbling downstairs. I’m far enough away I can’t make out her exact words, but I’ve heard them enough times to know they’re directly related to my living conditions.
Since I don’t seem to be going anywhere, I pull on a pair of joggers instead of jeans and dig out a wrinkled T-shirt from the clean laundry basket shoved into one corner of my bedroom. Dragging it over my head, I aim for the door, knowing it’s better to just get this over with.
I go downstairs to find my mother doing what she normally does, but in a very different sort of state.
Whenever she decides to be brave enough to venture into my home, she immediately starts tackling all the things I’ve neglected.
Loading the dishwasher, wiping down counters, analyzing the two items stocked in my refrigerator.
And today is no different in that sense.
What is different is that today she looks like just as big of a shit show as I am.
Her coat and boots are in a pile at my front door, leaking water and mud onto the mat.
Her shirt is relatively clean, but her pants are absolutely covered in something I don’t even want to attempt to identify.
They’re rolled up past her ankles, revealing a set of pruning bare feet as she huffs and puffs her way around my kitchen.
“Sorry I missed Thanksgiving. I didn’t realize what time it was.
” It sounds far-fetched, but is a normal part of my life.
I get my days and nights confused regularly.
Since I work from home and no one else is ever around, time is pretty irrelevant in my world.
All I know is it keeps moving on even though at one point I fully believed it would stop.
And probably should have.
“Imagine that.” My mother glances up at me from where she’s scrubbing at my sink. “It’s like a fucking tomb in here. No wonder you don’t know day from night.”
Huh. Never heard my mother say that word before. And for some reason it puts me at ease.
I was expecting her to come here carrying sadness and disappointment, ready to impose guilt. Instead she seems angry.
And anger is an emotion I can totally get behind. It’s one I’m well-versed in.
“Might as well be a tomb. Probably should be dead anyway.” I know I’m going to piss my mom off even more with this kind of shit. That’s actually what I’m hoping for. To goad her into a fight. An argument that will allow me the opportunity to release a little of what’s always breathing down my back.
Forget having a chip on my shoulder. That can be hidden.
There’s no missing the source of my rage. It’s etched into my hide. Burned into my skin and my soul.
But instead of taking the bait, my mom drops the sponge in her hand, expression filled with sadness as she meets my gaze. “I just left Walker’s. He’s having a tough day too. Maybe you should —”
I know where she’s going with this. This isn’t the first time my mother has attempted to align my cousin’s pain and mine. But I think he’d agree with me when I say the two couldn’t be more different. Just like our ways of coping.
“Maybe I should leave him the fuck alone.” I point at her. “And so should you.”
Somewhere along the line, my mother has come up with the idea that if I just talk about what happened, I’ll feel better. That somehow words will magically make me forget everything I lost in the blink of an eye.
“Sometimes people need help, Titus. They can’t move forward on their own, and they need a little push.
” My mother rounds the large island in the house she designed for me since I didn’t give two shits what it looked like.
“That’s why I’m going to hire you a housekeeper and an in-house personal chef.
” She gestures around, lifting her brows.
“You’ve lived like this for too long. You’ve punished yourself enough. ”
The scars winding across my jawline and down the right side of my neck to my shoulder start to itch. Almost seem to tighten, like they want to remind me they’re there.
As if I could forget.
“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.
” I turn away from where she stands, done with the conversation and done with being awake.
“Because I’m pretty confident I haven’t even come close to what I deserve.
” I scale the stairs again, but this time my feet feel heavy.
My body exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with how long I’ve been up.
This is what always happens when someone else invades my space. When someone tries to push me places I don’t want to go.
It makes me shut down. Close off. Want to hide from everyone and everything.
Which is what I’m going to do now. Because I don’t want to hear anything else my mother has to say about the way I have to live. I wasn’t given a choice and she won’t be getting one either.
But—true to her nature—as I’m closing the door to my rooms, she manages to sneak in one last thing.
“I don’t think we disagree as much as you think.”