Chapter Four
Tyler
W hy do people suddenly get hungry when they think the world is ending?
I mean, I’m not complaining. I’m busy as hell and tips are great.
But I am concerned about my brothers being out to sea. And they are still out there because I can see their location, two blinking purple circles far away from the city and bay.
Aaron is a good captain. It wouldn’t be the first time he got caught in a storm, with a boat full of clients, no less. He’ll navigate the storm like he always has.
I can’t shake the gnawing feeling deep in my gut, though. It eats at my stomach lining as I wait for the woman in front of me to decide which of the sugar-laden coffees is the healthiest. Finally, she makes a decision and I’m able to order Tabby’s drink.
As I wait for them to make her drink, I overhear two guys in suits discussing a sinkhole in Ohio.
“It’s a lot,” the older of the two says. “My wife is ready to go to Tahoe.”
“She thinks this is the end?” the other guy asks, sipping his coffee. “Goddammit, they added more than two pumps of hazelnut. I can’t drink this.”
The older man chuckles. “Have them remake it, Bart. It might be your last for the foreseeable future.”
My frayed nerves relax at their teasing. If these guys, obviously successful businessmen, are more concerned about their coffee order than the high winds whistling between the buildings, I suppose I should take a page from their book.
I’m not like Mom and Dad.
Bile creeps up my throat, but I swallow it down. My parents connected every raindrop to the moon’s imminent demise. Once, during a particularly stormy season, they made me and Jesse stay in the bathtub wearing helmets. They even kept us buried under couch cushions. It was hot and uncomfortable. If we even mentioned leaving the bathroom, we got a whipping.
I can’t remember where Aaron was during that time. Probably hiding out at a girlfriend’s house as much as possible to escape our parents’ overprotective hold.
“Tyler,” the barista says, holding up an iced coffee.
I snatch the coffee and then make my way back outside where my bike is propped against a parking meter. My next delivery is in the same building as Tabby’s daycare. Hopefully, the quick detour to grab her coffee won’t count too much against me and my tip. It’s all downhill from here—literally—and I’ll make up time on the ride down to her building.
Wind lashes almost painfully at my face as I stow her coffee in the food satchel I keep attached to the front of my bike. The sandwich I’d picked up from Evan’s Sub Shop is still hot in its wrapper, neatly wrapped up at the bottom.
Hopping onto my bike, I set off down the sidewalk, happy for the path being clearer than usual. The impending storm and higher than usual winds have people hidden away in their buildings, making my job a heck of a lot easier.
The wind pushes against my front, making me almost lose my ball cap. I flip it around and keep pedaling, thankful for the downhill route. A raindrop lands on the tip of my nose. Another splashes on my forearm.
Great.
It’s about to pour.
I’m nearing the intersection before the building of my destination when a car screeches in front of me despite my signal that it’s safe to cross. It’s then I notice the red blinking stoplight. Cars start honking at each other, everyone confused and agitated as to who gets to go next. I wait for them to hesitate and then zoom across the road.
The rain steadily drops, soaking through my black T-shirt and making me wish I’d thought to wear a windbreaker. I manage to find an awning that’s whipping furiously but still provides protection from the rain and park my bike there. Since this may take a while, I chain my bike to a handrail in front of the building before quickly removing the satchel from its perch on the front of my bike. Careful so as not to spill the coffee, I tuck the bag under my arm and trot inside.
The daycare Tabby works at is high-end and looks expensive. There aren’t any snot-nosed kids here. Most of the kids are as polished and put together as the parents standing around, ready to fetch them.
Wait.
It’s not close to five.
“…Leon says we need to head east to stay with his parents,” a pretty brunette woman says to a very pregnant blonde. “But Nebraska? Really? I can’t stay with my in-laws more than a few days during the holidays. He’s talking about packing up and moving. I’ll kill Ramona if she tries to make the boys eat burgers again.”
The pregnant woman frowns in sympathy. “She doesn’t know you’re off meat?”
“Oh, she knows,” the brunette huffs, “but she thinks it’s a phase. And don’t even get me started on the redneck militias building a presence where they live.”
“Why would you need to move there?” I ask, unable to keep from interrupting.
Both women turn toward me and eye me with suspicion. The brunette sneers at me before completely ignoring my question, turning her back to me. I want to ask more about the militias and the potential move, but it’s clear by their condescending glares it’s an AB conversation and they want me to C my way out.
“Maybe Leon’s not far off base to get us out of this town. It’s falling apart. Nosy people everywhere.” She eyes me over her shoulder, hugging her purse closer to her body. “I’m sorry, but do you have children here?”
“Deliveryman,” I grumble. “Sorry. Just thought you were discussing the weather.”
The woman sneers at me before not-so-quietly saying to her friend, “When the city drove the homeless people out once and for all, I thought we’d made a turn for the better. It seems there are some just a step above that who should have gone with them.”
“But then who would bring us our Starbies?” the other woman says with a giggle, eyeing my bag with disdain.
I step out of line since it’s taking forever and I’m not one who takes well to being talked down to, peeking my head in the door to search for Tabby. Her crimson hair is pulled into a messy bun and she has a wailing toddler on one hip and is steadily texting with her long claws in the other hand.
“Tabs,” I bark out over the chaos of crying children and bitchy moms all around me.
She looks up and grimaces upon seeing me. Good seeing you too. With pursed lips, she sets the crying kid down and strides over to me.
“What?” she snaps. “Did my boyfriend send you with a peace offering for ignoring me?”
“He’s working,” I bite out, unable to keep from feeling defensive over my brother.
Her eyes roll and her ridiculously long lashes flutter at the motion. “Well?”
I set my satchel down and unzip it, thankful to see the coffee is still safely stowed in the cupholder. Pulling it out, I offer it to her, waiting for some sort of show of gratitude.
“What?” she snarls. “I’m supposed to thank you?”
Bitch.
Tabby Holmes is on the fast track to becoming like the non-meat-eating witch I’d had the pleasure of talking to moments before. I’ll be damned if I let my brother keep dating her.
“Aaron sent me to break up with you. Apparently, he can’t handle when you cry. It’s not him, it’s you.” I flash her an evil grin. “Oh, wait, maybe I fucked up the wording.”
She scoffs at me. “You’re a prick, Ty.”
“Takes one to know one, Tabs. Bye forever.”
I don’t wait to see if she flips me off or not, instead zipping up my bag to keep the sandwich hot and tucking it back under my arm. I pass by the brunette who’s managed to gather her three young boys—all lettuce-eating rabbits apparently—and wonder what it’s like for them. Their mother is a helicopter parent from the sounds of it, but that still has to be better than being a moon maniac like mine were.
As I dart around the people gathering in a messy line to pick their kids up early from daycare, I try to envision a life where we had normal parents who worried over meat consumption rather than every raindrop or storm cloud. Is it really any different for those three boys than it was for us?
My mind takes a dark turn, imagining the brunette losing her head about her mother-in-law handing her kids a cheeseburger and then her carrying out a murder/suicide like with my own parents.
Nope.
Hard to imagine.
My parents still win in the crazy category.
I dart into one of the elevators, mash the button for the top floor, and then slink to the back of the metal cage. Several suits load in after me. One guy eyes my worn-out backpack warily like I’m carrying weapons I plan on using to rob him of his stupid tie that probably costs more than what I’ll make all day. It’s a good thing the tips are so good around here because I have to put up with a lot of condescending stares that grate on my nerves.
The doors open on the sixth floor and an older woman squeezes in, her black Chihuahua hugged to her ample chest.
Yap! Yap-yap-yap-yap!
The dog continues yelling at all of us for even existing. I reach over to pet it and it howls. Cute, annoying, little shit. The woman sees me and scoots away from me, glowering my way.
Whatever.
I sigh heavily and opt for checking my phone for the millionth time since this will be the longest elevator ride ever apparently. My phone shows zero bars. Wonderful. I cram it back into my pocket and glare at the numbers on the panel as we slowly ascend. We lose and gain people several times on our way up. The woman and her dog disappeared several floors ago. Just two more floors to go.
The last of the people on the elevator exit when the doors open and three more people enter. A man, about Aaron’s age, wearing a suit, an older woman with a white-haired bun and yellow cardigan, and a younger, nerdy-looking guy with thick-rimmed glasses wearing suspenders.
“He listens to you better,” the suit says to the woman. “I’m just the complainer.”
She chuckles. “You’re not a complainer. Your job is important and you need quality help. We’ll find you the right person soon.”
The power flickers as the doors close. I consider mashing the button to let me out so I can run the last flight up the stairs but hesitate long enough that we start up.
And then the power flickers again, this time, plummeting us into darkness for several long seconds. I hold my breath, waiting for the power to return. With a weak flicker, it does. Along with it comes the sound of a low buzzing within the elevator.
The suit reaches over and hits the top floor button. Then, over and over, he hits it like persistence will do the trick. Nothing.
“It’s stuck,” he says in exasperation. “What the hell?”
“Maybe give it just a minute,” the woman says, voice unsure.
“We could call for help,” the geek offers.
The suit shoots him a withering glare that has the geek wilting. “No shit, Sherlock.”
“Kyle,” the woman admonishes. “I didn’t hear that.”
Kyle flashes her a wolfish grin. “Hear what? You know I’m your favorite, Barb.”
“Apologize to Brian,” Barb orders. “He’s only trying to be helpful.”
Kyle smirks at Brian. “Sorry, little dude.”
Asshole.
Ignoring the three of them, I reach past them and hit the help button. It trills and then a deep voice answers.
“We’re stuck,” Kyle tells the operator. “Send someone to get us out.”
“All the elevators in the building have ceased moving,” the operator says in a bored tone. “We have maintenance on the way. Please sit tight until we get them going again.”
“Sit tight?” Kyle grumbles. “As if we have a choice.”
“How much longer?” I ask, already irritated at being trapped here with this douchebag.
The operator prattles on about it taking anywhere from fifteen minutes to a few hours.
Unbelievable.
There goes my damn tip.