Chapter 33 #2
We both look at Gavin. With his eyes on mine and through his still gritted teeth, he says, “Fine.”
The woman looks back to me, wary as she pinches her nightgown.
With a too-big smile I say, “Nothing like getting caught red-handed for picking your nose, right, honey?”
Gavin’s severe glare needles my throat.
From somewhere in the house, a voice hollers, “Mom! Who is it? I’m live!”
Live?
“A nice couple who needs tissues,” the woman calls back. She scoops up the dog and its yap turns to a steady growl. To us, she says, “C’mon in and I’ll get those tissues.”
Bingo!
“Thank you.” I sigh appreciatively. “You’re so kind.”
She directs Gavin to a bathroom and me to a living room where I sit on a couch. Across from me, an entire wall is covered with lights and technical equipment. There’s a microphone. Several screens. A camera. A glowing ring light.
And Holden.
He glances over his shoulder from a chair that looks like it belongs in a space shuttle and holds up a finger.
I nod, trying to make this make sense.
“Those guys came out of nowhere,” he says in a loud, dramatic voice into the mic. “Noooooo!”
On the screen in front of him, blocky cartoons hop around.
Gavin sits next to me—most of the blood is gone, but his scowl is intact. “Barely bleeding, my ass,” he mutters.
Holden shouts about creepers and spiders and a place called the Nether then a black box fills the screen. He sighs the most audible sigh I’ve ever heard. “Gah! Guess that’s a sign to call it a night.” He chuckles into the mic. “Like, subscribe, and Hold On because I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
He clicks a few buttons, closes out a screen, then spins in his chair to fully face us. He looks exactly like he did in his picture, just fifteen pounds heavier, covered in grease-stained grey sweats . . . and playing computer games.
“This is my son, Holden,” the woman says, handing Gavin a plastic bag of ice and a box of tissues. “I’m Donna.”
“Hi,” I think I say, mindlessly plucking tissue after tissue from the box then smashing them against Gavin’s face. “Sorry for interrupting your . . .”
“Work,” Holden finishes for me.
“He’s an internet video game player,” Donna clarifies.
Oh, God.
“Ow!” Gavin barks.
I lighten my pressure on his nose and give him an apologetic smile. “Like a gaming designer?” I ask Holden. “Or . . . ?”
Holden opens a mini fridge under his desk and pulls out a canned energy drink with a lime-green toxic symbol. He cracks it open and takes a long drink. “Streamer.”
“Really?” Gavin asks, his face now completely blood free. He shifts his jaw around. “That’s an interesting profession.” He eyes the equipment like he’s truly interested. “That full time?”
Holden sips his drink, says, “Hope not,” then chuckles.
My soul deflates.
“And where do you live?” I ask Donna.
“Born and raised right here,” she says.
“So your son lives here?” Gavin asks in a tone I hate. “With you?”
“Sure does,” Donna beams. “Saving money while he gets his video game business going.”
“Streaming channel,” Holden corrects.
He’s nowhere near as attractive as his photo made him look—thank God I didn’t listen to my sisters. He’s covered in sweat-pant, living with his mother, and drinking energy drinks that probably make his sperm radioactive. I wouldn’t fuck this man if there was a gun to my head.
“That’s so wonderful,” I say in the cheeriest voice I’ve ever used. “We should go, honey.”
I start to stand, but Gavin pulls me back to the couch. “I work for the city if you ever want something part time,” he tells Holden.
Holden shakes his head. “No can do.” He taps one of the computer monitors. “Gotta do this as much as I can to keep the algorithm happy.” He takes another sip. “I mostly just do one-offs when I need the money for new gear.”
“He loves his gear,” Donna chimes in with a chuckle. The dog in her lap bares its teeth at me.
Gavin looks right at me as he asks, “Any of those one-offs tied to Chicago, Holden?”
I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it. The hard set of Gavin’s jaw, the line between his eyes, the way he’s engaging.
Holden says, “Only went there once for a Gamer Con.”
“So no big businesses tied to the city?” Gavin presses. “Apex Properties or the Rutledge Group?”
My heart lurches. Gavin isn’t engaging, he’s trying to figure out why we’re here.
I clap my hands and smile wide. “Well, I’m sure we’ve been enough of an inconvenience, honey.”
“No, it’s fine,” Holden says between sips. “I’ve logged off for the night. I love talking shop.” To Gavin: “I focus on smaller jobs, if you catch my drift.”
“Really?” Gavin slinks one hand around my thigh and rubs the line of his nose with the other. “What kind of those you find around here?” Oh no. “Because my wife here loves money”—he looks at me—“and I never seem to have enough for her.”
Our eyes hold with that. He’s being honest—he thinks that. He thinks that I care at all about how much money he makes.
“I never said that,” I tell him. “I don’t care how much money you make. What I care about is that you—” I remember Holden and Donna. “Buy me a boat.” I smile brightly. “I love boats.”
“Donate plasma,” Holden says. “That’s what I do.” He dips his chin and points a finger at Gavin. “And sperm.”
I flinch at the admission and Gavin notices. His eyes widen and his mouth opens—he knows.
I physically feel the blood draining from my face, maybe my body.
Donna says, “I might have grandkids somewhere out there right now.” Her chipper tone relays that this would be the best thing ever and that she has no idea the room is spinning.
“We really need to go,” I say.
Gavin doesn’t fight me this time.
I give Donna the ice and shove all the blood rags in my pockets. “Gavin.” I gesture with my head toward the door.
He stands, eyes not leaving mine.
“Thank you so much for your help,” I say to Donna. “I’m so sorry to intrude.”
I don’t breathe or speak until we’re both in the truck, and even then, my throat feels like it’s been stung by bees.
Gavin knows.
Maybe not all of it, but enough.
“Drive,” I say without looking at him.
He does. All the way back to his house without speaking. No radio. No wind. Nothing. Just a silence that feels loud and the presence of a man who was never meant to be mine.