4. Savvy
“THANKS! Don’t forget to leave a rating on the app!” I call after the guy climbing out of my backseat. He hasn’t said a single word since I picked him up outside a big office building downtown, choosing instead to stare at his phone screen and grunt when I asked if he wanted the AC on.
The door slams shut, and my shoulders sag.
Today has been endless, and it’s not even close to over. I spent the morning at the hardware store buying new locks and fresh cleaning supplies for Galactic Guild, then picked up a six-hour shift on the rideshare app that’s been my main source of income for the last few months.
I don’t love it. Unfortunately, my degree in English (because pre-med, history, and philosophy didn’t work out), checkered work history, and inability to be on time even if my life depended on it hasn’t yielded many profitable job offers.
When Galactic Guild is up and running, I’ll be there full time, but driving will have to do for now. Even if it allows a lot of time for thinking, something I’ve been resolutely avoiding since I left Darwin’s house three days ago.
Seeing him again… I was determined not to let it affect me, but it did. It really did.
Not just because the man is gorgeous, with his dark hair—that always seems to be perfectly tousled regardless of the humidity level—broad shoulders, and sharp, angular features that are only slightly softened by his dark beard. With all that going for him, nobody could blame me for being attracted to Darwin Wilder, but the truth is a lot more embarrassing than that.
As much as I like to pretend it wasn’t the case, once upon a time, I was in love with my father’s oldest friend.
It wasn’t a crush, or infatuation, or some kind of youthful obsession. I wish it had been, maybe then I would have recovered from it, but no. Facts are facts, and the fact is that by the tender age of eighteen, I was head over heels in love with a man I couldn’t have.
I messed up a lot before that day, and I’ve messed up a lot after, but I’m not sure my heart ever fully recovered from being handed over to a man who had no interest in it. The finer details of the last time I saw Darwin Wilder seem to be permanently ingrained in my memory, faithfully shuffling forward whenever Im at my lowest. Like now.
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel as I turn my car toward Galactic Guild.
It was a special horror to walk back into that house, the scene of the crime, all but begging for his help. Everything was the same as I remembered it, a time capsule of one of the worst days of my life, and all it took was knocking on the door for the memories to come rushing right back.
Just seeing his face… I wanted to run. I wanted to run so far that I’d never, ever have to look into those cold, dark eyes again, knowing that my being there at all was confirmation of what he said to me nine years ago.
Is there anything worse than knowing that the person who hurt you the most was totally and completely right? It turns out there is, and it’s realizing you’re still attracted to them.
Haven’t I been through enough lately? Is the emotional groin kick necessary?
Thankfully, a distraction arrives in the form of Raven’s name on my car’s caller ID, and I hit accept before the first ring has even finished.
“Hey, you!” she sings before I can say a word. “Are you done for the day?”
I make a face at the dark road ahead of me. “Ha. I wish. Just heading to Galactic Guild now. I’m doing the bathroom tonight.”
I still haven’t ventured in there since my ill-fated attempt to make use of it last week. Just the memory makes me queasy, and this is coming from a girl who
was once convinced to go dumpster diving for dinner (and a side order of salmonella) with her crunchy ex-boyfriend.
While I’ve entertained the idea of boarding the room up and making my customers pee in the woods, I’m assuming that would negatively affect business.
A pile of crusty poop will not be my downfall. I refuse.
Raven cackles. “It’s Savvy Laurence versus Caleb’s caca, round two.” She drops her voice, adopting the theatrical drawl of a wrestling announcer. “Who will come out on top and claim the bathroom domination belt? Only one way to find out, folks! Stick around for when they go head-to-head in the stall!”
“You’re the worst.”
“Obviously,” she agrees cheerfully. “So, have you heard from him?”
A sour taste fills my mouth. “You can say his name, and no. I haven’t.” Nor do I expect to beyond the weekly updates I promised him. “He’s doing me a massive favor. I should be grateful and leave it at that.”
That’s what I’ve been telling myself anyway, that it was good of Dar to agree to help at all. I’m positive he’s good on money, what with the massive TV show premiering next year and the best-selling books. Selling Galactic Guild at a loss wouldn’t cripple him the way it would me, and there is no guarantee spending more would recoup his investment. Still, he’d agreed.
Why?
Was it out of loyalty to Dad or just because of the money? It certainly wasn’t out of any kind of fondness for me.
I shove the thought away.
It doesn’t matter why. Not really. Trying to gain any insight into the inner workings of Darwin Wilder’s mind would be a waste of time. He threw me a lifeline, and I’m not proud enough to turn it down.
Raven lets out a long, heavy sigh. “We’re busy this weekend. Jonah’s boss invited us to his lake house, and then there’s that wedding the week after. We’ll drive up and help you clean soon, though, and my parents offered to help too. We’ll get the place up and running in no time.”
I’m glad Raven can’t see the tears in my eyes. Her moms, Penny and Julia, are the best people on the planet, and her boyfriend, Jonah, is a close third. I love all of them, they’re family to me, but I still have to bite back the urge to turn down their help.
Would I ever hesitate to pitch in for one of them? Of course not. So why does the thought of showing weakness, or relying on anyone, make a hot ball of shame open up inside me?
I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands. “That’s so nice of you guys.”
“Hey, none of that,” Raven says, and I let out a watery laugh. This interfering jerk always knows when I’m crying.
“We’ve been friends too long.”
She snickers. “Yeah, you’re right. Time to call it. That one girl at work is always trying to hang out with me. Maybe I’ll give her a shot.”
“If you do that, I’ll leave threatening notes under her windshield wipers until she relinquishes my bestie.”
“Super healthy.”
“I know, right?”
We fall silent as I pull into my new favorite spot outside the strip mall. The karate place is all lit up with dozens of kids in white uniforms and colored belts running around inside, but next door, Galactic Guild is conspicuously dark and still.
Not for long. I’ve spent the last few nights cleaning the lobby and finalizing the list of what needs to be done before we reopen. The list is intimidating, but doable.
“I should let you go. Just got here,” I tell Raven, watching the kids romp around next door, laughing and wild, as wistfulness and regret twist painfully inside me.
Was I ever that carefree?
If I was, I don’t remember. Most of my earliest memories are of trying to hide my shitty grades from my parents or saying something awkward in the middle of science class and shriveling up when the pretty blonde girls next to me exchanged that look. I was weird, and a little dorky, and my dad sent me to school in vintage sci-fi T-shirts instead of Gap, but that wasn’t the reason I didn’t have many friends.
I wish I could blame my unpopularity on something external and out of my control, but people didn’t like me because of me. Because I blurted out the wrong things at the wrong time and could never quite read the room. If it weren’t for Raven, I wouldn’t have had a single friend, and I’ll never forget that she’s stuck by my side since pre-school, even when I’m positive she could have found cooler friends.
Now, she has a great job in the closest city, a cute apartment, a cat named Arnold, and a boyfriend who is both hot and respectful. My best friend has her shit together, but she still doesn’t judge me for having to cut open the end of my toothpaste tubes to scrape the last remnants.
I definitely don’t deserve her.
“I’ll see you next Saturday, okay?” she says, her voice determinately cheerful, undoubtedly trying to offset my plummeting mood.
Though she can’t see me, I nod. “Okay. Thanks, Rave. Love you.” “Love you back.”
I end the call, staring into the dark windows of my business. God, it’s so weird to call it that, but it is. Mine, for better or worse.
A small, bitter corner of my brain wonders if that’s why Dar agreed to pay for this. Maybe he wants final confirmation of what a fuckup I am. It’s a stupid thought, even my bitter ass knows that, but it’s enough to spark a defiant sort of determination inside me.
Not waiting around for it to fade, I shove open the car door and step out into the warm summer air.
A few of the karate parents are waiting in their cars, and I feel their eyes on me as I haul two armfuls of cleaning supplies up to the dark door. I shoot them a sheepish smile over my shoulder as I fumble with my key, as though that will make me look any less like I’m cleaning up after a murder.
According to the marketing podcast I’ve been listening to, these people are my target customers. They want to shove their kids through the door with enough money for cheap pizza and some games so they can steal a few minutes of well-deserved silence.
I’m not a parent, but I don’t think I’d send my child to a sketchy, possible crime scene run by a pink-haired lunatic.
It’s a good thing I thought to tape sheets of paper over the big front windows, because nothing about how this place looks right now is going to dispel that impression. I’m still not used to being here alone, with all the arcade games silent and the ghostly shapes of aliens and starships leering at me through the darkness.
It’s just so still. Even my footsteps, muffled on the faded purple carpet, seem unnaturally loud, and every thud of a car door closing outside makes my heart jump into my throat.
Apparently, the bill for the alarm company hasn’t been paid in over a year, so the deadbolt better work until money is coming in and I can
reconnect the service. I refuse to spend Darwin’s money on anything that isn’t essential, even if that means walking around with the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
I shake myself as I set the cleaning supplies on the counter of the snack bar, then move past it to flick on the fluorescent overhead lights. This action might make it slightly less creepy, but improving visibility does not do this place any favors or discourage the inevitable crime-scene rumors.
It’s nothing I can’t handle. Or, at least, that’s the lie I keep telling myself whenever the panic sets in.
The only room I’m determined not to enter alone is the actual laser tag arena. It lies behind a set of double doors and a briefing room—where players learn the rules of the game, get assigned to teams, and are outfitted with their weaponry.
It’s huge in there, full of places to hide, bridges, and barrels of fake radioactive waste. Raven and I snuck a quick peek, and even with the overhead lights on, and no flashing lasers, fake smoke, or pulsing music, it’s eerie.
I’m just at the point of pouring cleaner into a mop bucket when the soft brush of the door opening over the entryway mat makes my heart leap into my throat. Turning wildly, I only narrowly avoid falling on my ass beside the gallon of cleaner, which is now spilling everywhere.
I have bigger problems, though, because there’s a tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he frowns at me.
“Darwin,” I hiss, pressing a hand over my racing heart. “Holy fuck.”
“Sorry.” A deep frown pulls at the corners of his lips as he watches me scoop up the bottle.
My pulse is still thudding unevenly as I get to my feet. “You’re, um, here?” Instantly, heat rushes to my face. What is it about this man that makes me say and do such stupid things?
Darwin doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s too busy examining the mural to my right, a galactic battle depicted in bright neon colors. After an age, he turns his gaze back to me, and something low in my stomach gives a little flip.
I ignore it.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, and outside his natural habitat, his voice has lost some of its authority.
Dad once told me that Darwin has “issues”. He hadn’t said it meanly, but it was clear enough what he meant. In all the years we knew Darwin, I can only remember seeing him outside the house a handful of times, and he’d been visibly uncomfortable for all of them. Then there were the periods when he didn’t want us to visit at all, or when the house smelled so strongly of disinfectant that it made my head spin and my skin itch.
Which makes it even more confusing that he’s here now.
We’re only a few miles down the road, but this place is a universe away from his obsessively clean, contemporary house full of sharp angles and glossy white paint.
I blink, trying to come up with some reason he’d come here. “Did you need to see the receipts?”
“Receipts?”
“For what I spent on your card,” I clarify, turning to my makeshift desk on the snack bar’s counter. Little slips of paper generally get shoved in the center console of my car and used for gum disposal, but I’ve been careful to account for every penny I’ve spent so far.
When I find the folder and hold it out, though, Dar just frowns. “That’s not why I’m here.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and as the silence stretches on, I feel a prickle of annoyance. Did he just come to see the train wreck for himself? “I have a lot of work to do,” I say waspishly, planting my hands on my hips.
“Yes.” His throat bobs. “I thought you might like some help.”
For a moment, all I can do is blink at him, trying to think of other possible meanings for that particular combination of words.
“Help?” I choke belatedly, “With… this?” I gesture around at the dusty lobby, not bothering to disguise the disbelief in my voice.
Darwin nods jerkily, even as a nerve in his forehead twitches, repulsion evident in every tense inch of his body. He’s strung tight, a bow ready to snap. “Correct.”
I cross my arms, struggling to comprehend why he would want to be involved with any of this. “You don’t like germs. Or people. Or loud noises.” Or me.
Dar’s head bobs. “Also correct.”
“So, why?—”
He scowls. “As you said, you don’t have experience with this sort of thing. I think it would be better if I took the lead.”
My mouth pops open.
Is he joking right now? Of course he isn’t. Darwin Wilder doesn’t joke. He’s as straightlaced as they come, and the stone-cold serious expression on his face confirms it.
Maybe these supplies will clean up a murder after all.
“Okay. Fine.” Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, I continue, “You have every right to be here. It’s your business too.” It’s pretty impressive how calm I sound right now, despite how I’m resisting the impulse to hurl something at his stupid face.
His stupid face that I stupidly still find handsome. Goddammit. Why is everyone here so stupid?
I try again. “But… Darwin. You have to know, it’s disgusting in here. The manager Dad hired when he got sick didn’t give half a crap. Trust me, you don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. If you don’t believe me, stick around to watch me clean the bathroom.”
Dar’s jaw tightens, and there’s a steely, defiant look on his face now. “I’ll clean the bathroom. It’s not a problem.”
He’s apparently trying to prove something right now, either to himself or to me.
Instead of easing himself into facing his phobias like every therapist on the planet would probably recommend, he’s going straight for the Satan’s butthole of bathrooms.
On the other hand, maybe I can make this work for me. He’s determined to do it. I did my moral duty in telling him it was a bad idea, but he doesn’t trust my judgment.
If the giant prick wants to “take the lead”on this, he can be my guest.
I hitch a broad, fake smile on my face and march over to where he’s standing to shove a bottle of bathroom cleaner and a roll of paper towels into his gloved hands. “Do you know what? Fine. Go for it.”
He blinks in surprise, evidently expecting me to put up more of a fight. “Now?”
“Yup.” I point unnecessarily toward the back hall. “Have fun. I’m not sure I’m experienced enough to handle it yet, but I’m betting you can, Mister Big-Time Author. Didn’t they call you a genius in that Times profile? Wow! Color me impressed. Don’t let someone like me hold you back.”
Darwin just stares at me, and I can practically hear the wheels in his mind turning.
“Chop, chop!” I chirp, and the smile I’m wearing isn’t fake anymore.
He stares at me for a moment before slowly turning in the direction I indicated.
My grin doesn’t slip an inch as he walks out of sight, clutching the supplies I pushed on him. Ordinarily, I’m very respectful of people’s eccentricities—I have enough of my own to be sympathetic—but I can be a ruthless asshole when the occasion calls for it, and Darwin Wilder deserves it.
Seriously, why does he have to be so mean? What happened between us was nine years ago, and before that—bang!
Down the hall, I hear the unmistakable sound of a bathroom door being thrown back open. Seconds later, Darwin stumbles back into view, his face chalk white and lips pressed together like he’s trying not to vomit all over the carpet.
Oops.
“Yeah.” I sigh in a clearly fake show of sympathy. “It’s a shit show. No pun intended.”
Darwin looks like he’s going to puke, though, and reluctantly, I feel a twinge of regret. Also, concern for the carpet.
Goddammit, I really need to work on my ruthless asshole side.
I groan. “Come on.” Marching forward, I loop my hand through his elbow, tugging the giant of a man back through the lobby and outside into the fresh air. “Sit down.” I push down on his shoulders so he’s forced to fold his long limbs into a seated position on the curb.
He curses under his breath in between panting. “That was appalling.” “Appalling,” I echo, and sit beside him, the asphalt crunching under my sneakers. “Always the writer, Mr. Wilder.”
It’s a perfect, warm summer’s night, the kind that makes you think of soft-serve ice cream and fireflies. Kids are laughing in the karate place, and I’m sitting side by side with a man whom I hoped never to see again.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and there’s a low strain in his voice, as though every word is costing him.
I turn so fast that my neck twinges. “For what?”
Darwin’s lips flatten into a grave line, but he keeps his eyes on the asphalt beneath our feet. “For what I said. About taking the lead. I… I didn’t come here to say that. I’m sorry.”
Huh.
He’s apologizing to me, so why do I suddenly feel vulnerable? I swallow. “So why did you? Come here, I mean.”
“To say the opposite.” He smiles wryly, turning his gaze to a car backing out of the parking spot across from us. “It doesn’t seem fair that you shoulder the burden of Stone’s choices alone. Especially when I’m far more to blame for this than you are.”
I turn my gaze back to the parking lot. “You’re already helping more than you need to.”
“No. I’m not. I—” His voice falters, as though he’s struggling to find the right words. Cool, controlled Darwin, who always seems to know what to do, is as rattled by all this as I am. “I thought we could be partners.”
Silence stretches between us, and I drag my sneaker over a pebble, my heart in my throat. A tiny, pathetic part of me is so relieved at what he’s offering. Wasn’t it only a few days ago that I wished for someone to save me from this mess?
But, how could he? There isn’t a single job in the building that wouldn’t make his skin crawl. By the look of his hands, his compulsions are not under control.
I swallow. “You saw how bad it is, Dar. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
It’s pretty high talk from someone who just sent him into the bathroom of doom, but I mean it. The only thing worse than Darwin being here as a superior, controlling jerk is Darwin being here to actually help me and hating every second of it.
Besides, there’s no way he wants to be around me. Nine years of radio silence seem like pretty convincing evidence of that. He doesn’t need the money, either, so why would he put himself through this?
I hazard another peek at his profile, expecting to see him staring off into the night, but my heart flips when I meet his eyes instead. Neither of us turn away.
We’re so close, I can see that there are a few strands of gray woven through the temples of his dark hair and tiny lines branching out from the corners of his eyes. He looks older than I remember, but it suits him. He’s handsome. Too handsome.
I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. A mess, probably.
“I’ve been comfortable for a long time, Savvy, and it hasn’t made me happy,” Darwin admits quietly. “I think it’s time to try something else.” Slowly, like he’s trying to work himself up to it, he holds out a gloved hand in the small distance between us. “What do you say? Partners?”
This feels like a trap. Every instinct I have is screaming: No! Turn back! Danger!
I don’t listen. I never do.
Reaching across the small space between us, I take his hand.
I hate that it makes my pulse race and warmth spread through my veins.
I hate that I know very well that this may turn out terribly, but I’m doing it anyway.
I hate that when I open my mouth and say the words that will bind me to Darwin Wilder for the foreseeable future, the world seems to tilt on its axis, and the teeniest, tiniest bit of hope flickers to life inside me.
“Okay,” I agree. “Partners.”