The Geek and the Ghost (The Protectors #2)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Rett
Two Years Ago…
I wasn’t sure what was worse: the copious amount of bone-chilling flakes tumbling from the ashen sky or the skin-numbing wind accompanying them.
Perhaps it was the combination of the two. After all, wasn’t two better than one?
I wouldn’t know because I was chronically on my own, but the tag team this winter weather created sure convinced me.
Snow wasn’t exactly a surprise in Buffalo, New York, but it did make me wonder about my life choices. When I’d hopped a bus a few months ago, what had possessed me to get off here? I should have kept going south, crossing state lines until I reached a place where the sun kept blizzards at bay.
Maybe if I had, my fingertips wouldn’t be stinging painfully, my knees stiff and cheeks peeling off my face. The fact that I could only afford a bus ticket so far seemed like a worthless excuse now.
Tucking my chin into my chest, I burrowed into the nicest thing I owned—a black North Face coat—and made my way down the block and around the corner to a small internet café.
Stepping into what should have been a blissful kiss of heat was more like a rabid bite as my constricted blood vessels began to dilate and my nerves woke from the numbing cold.
The sting elicited by the foreign warmth was almost unbearable and nearly sent me back out into the very weather I’d just been daydreaming about fleeing.
Eyes watering, I glanced out at the white tundra blanketing the city and debated if the pain of thawing out would be worth it because I wouldn’t be able to stay indoors long.
I had no cash to purchase any internet time, and the free ten minutes they offered was a tease.
A phone went off close by, startling me and making me turn.
“Yeah?” The guy at the computer nearest the door answered on the first ring. “Shit, for real?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair. At his elbow was a cup of what was probably coffee from the complimentary bar at the back of the room.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the day before.
“I have thirty minutes left here,” he said, then listened for a moment before grunting. “Fine. I’m coming.”
He stood, pocketing his phone, and grabbed his coat, hurrying to shrug it on.
“What are you looking at?” He confronted me with a glare.
I stiffened, embarrassed he’d caught me staring. “Nothing,” I replied.
“What?” he challenged, pausing as he hooked his scarf around his neck.
“Uh, noth—” I started, but he cut me off.
“You know what? Whatever. I don’t have time for this. Clean this up, and you can have my last thirty minutes.”
It took a second for his words to sink in, and when they did, I nodded dumbly.
He scoffed and shoulder-checked me on his way by, and I fell against the partition blocking his computer screen from view. Internet dude didn’t even look back as he rushed out, snow swirling inside the second he opened the door.
The attendant openly stared through the service window at the back of the space, and I pointed to the newly empty seat. She rolled her eyes and gestured for me to go ahead.
I slid in immediately, embarrassed to note the body heat still lingering in the chair yet sinking in a little deeper. It seeped through my threadbare jeans, making me shiver.
Grabbing his empty cup and a wrapper for some sort of sub sandwich, I tossed them in a nearby trash bin and glanced back to note the attendant had disappeared back inside the small cubicle.
I took that as my chance to visit the coffee bar and help myself to a cup of the dark, steaming liquid, adding too much sugar.
The cream pitcher was empty, but there were some of those little plastic cups, so I added a few and then shoved some more in my pocket for later.
Hey, calories were calories.
Sure, technically, the coffee was complimentary for paying customers, but I did have thirty minutes of purchased Wi-Fi to use. That counted, right?
The anticipatory rumble my stomach threw out made someone lift their head on my way back to my seat.
I was too excited about the hot, sweet bounty to be embarrassed and took a generous sip before I was even sitting down.
The coffee was scalding and it burned going down, but I didn’t mind. The warmth was so nice.
Staring at the monitor, I marveled at my good luck. I hadn’t had thirty minutes of Wi-Fi in so long. The possibilities were endless.
My fingers itched to pull up a few sites for free reading.
I loved webcomics, mostly the pay-by-chapter ones because that was all I’d really had access to in the past few years.
I had a library card here in the city, but our library didn’t have webcomics and those computers also required payment.
A few times, I considered buying a little bit of time so I could catch up on the comics I’d never been able to finish, but I’d have to pay for those too.
It was frivolous and irresponsible to spend money on those things when I needed to eat.
Someday, I promised myself. Someday, I’d be able to read all the webcomics I wanted, and I’d finally know what happened to the characters I’d had to leave behind.
Drinking more of the coffee, I noted the small timer at the bottom of the screen indicating how much time remained. I wouldn’t waste it. I was out of money, and with the winter storm, getting a bed at the shelter was going to be tough. Even if I did manage one, keeping it would be even harder.
Sitting forward, I typed in the address of the local classifieds I’d learned about from one of the shelters. I clicked on the gigs/same-day jobs category and helped myself to more coffee as it loaded.
My fingers ached as I scrolled the listings, looking for some work that offered payment after shift.
These were easy to find because a lot of places often needed odd jobs done but didn’t want to hire full-time staff.
But as easy as they were to find, walk-on jobs were surprisingly competitive, usually first-come, first-served.
And since I didn’t always have access to the listings, I was usually too late by the time I got there.
Using the filtering option, I selected “newest” and scanned the short list before scrolling back up to one posted just ten minutes ago.
Snow removal help needed. Shoveling sidewalks, parking spaces, and entrances.
Small commercial and residential properties.
Must be willing to work in inclement weather, have warm clothing, and be able to lift a shovel for several hours.
No experience needed. Just show up and work.
$40 per hour. Cash payment at the end of shift.
The listing went on to give an address, which I searched in a new window. It was about three blocks from the café. The area had an apartment complex and a few businesses.
Sitting back, I considered the work. My shoes and clothes weren’t really suited for shoveling snow, but my coat was warm. I’d be doing physical labor, so I probably wouldn’t get too cold.
Between you and me, I wasn’t really cut out for physical labor—short, thin, and with zero muscle mass to speak of.
I’d get tired easily, and my body ached more than it didn’t.
For a young guy, it wasn’t normal, but being homeless wasn’t either.
I knew I needed to see a doctor. But first, I had to get the hell out of this arctic city.
I’d likely be able to walk right onto this job. How many people would be lining up to shovel snow in the middle of a blizzard? The conditions outside were miserable. But I could withstand it. Misery was something I knew well.
Let it be known that just because you could withstand misery didn’t mean you should seek it out. I wasn’t really a guy who wanted much in life… But there has to be something better than this.
So was this job a means to an end or a punishment for wanting more?
Pondering the answer was more energy than I could spare as I labored, gusts whistling around every corner, rattling street signs, and cutting through my jeans.
Just when my weary body felt as if it had given its all, the wind would ease, and I’d convince myself I could do just a little more.
But it was always a false calm, as if Mother Nature were taking a breath before exhaling another blast of teeth-chattering cold.
If not for the gloves the on-site boss had handed me, I’d already be down with hypothermia.
Sheer will kept me on my feet. That and the few breaks I’d snuck inside empty stairwells away from prying eyes. After four hours, the lot, entrances, and sidewalks were clear. The few other men hired for the day and I turned in our shovels, ready to collect our pay.
“Fifty extra if you spread this salt on the sidewalks,” the boss said, hauling a bag of salt from the bed of his truck. Without warning, he turned and tossed it at my chest, and I panicked.
Already shaking from exertion, my arms were slow to rise and incapable of catching the bag.
Instead, it went down, taking me with it.
I landed on the freshly shoveled pavement, hip taking the brunt of the fall.
Sharp pain radiated down my leg and into my knee.
I lay there a moment, breathing rapidly before pushing up.
“Gotta put some meat on those bones, kid.” One of the nearby men chortled as he bent and picked up the salt. “I wouldn’t mind an extra fifty.”
He turned away as another man grabbed the second bag from the truck.
When they were gone, I stood on wobbling legs, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my coat.
“Here’s your pay.” The man who’d tossed me the salt reached into his coat to pull out a plain white envelope. “Four hours at fifty totals out to two hundred.”
Surprise had me looking up. “You said forty an hour.”
“The conditions were worse than expected. You all endured a lot.”
Despite the screaming of my body and the way my finger joints ached from clutching the shovel so tightly, two hundred dollars suddenly felt worth it.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it sincerely.