That I left him when he needed someone the most.
I walk to the complex faster than I ever have, cringing when I pass the alley where I found him.
My cell buzzes, and I glance at the notification from Griffin.
I've been ignoring his calls and texts, for obvious reasons. I haven't been in the right headspace to deal withthissituation, let alonethatone.
Griffin has managed to go from blowing me off, to cussing me out, to apologizing and begging me to answer him. It’s a mindfuck, but it’s totally Griffin’s way. He’s trying to get some kind of reaction out of me so he’s flipping through the versions of himself to see which one I will respond to.
Little does he know, I’m dealing with something much more important than his many mood swings.
I have a missed FaceTime from Rosie, too, but she was easily pacified with a quick text telling her that I’m swamped with assignments already.
It’s not totally a lie, all things considered.
I arrive at the gate for my complex, and an idea pops into my head.
If Johnnyisn’tdead, and he’s just resting, he’s probably hungry. Given the takeout containers throughout his kitchen and living room, I doubt he has much to eat at his place.
I turn on my heel and go to the one place I’m familiar with.
Bram waves from his spot behind the counter when I walk in. “Welcome back.”
“Do you happen to sell soup?” I ask him, not totally versed on his menu yet.
He glances behind him briefly. “Yep. Chicken noodle and broccoli cheddar today.”
I bite at my lip as I deliberate. “I’ll have a cup of both.” Better safe than sorry. “To go,” I add. “And two BLTs.”
He jots it all down on his order pad. “Any coffee?”
“Um, yeah. Large black and…uh…” I rack my brain. I know next to nothing about Johnny, what if he’s a tea drinker instead? “Make that another, too. Cinnamon in one, please.”
“Coming right up.” He attaches the slip to a little metal clip thing and spins it to his cook.
“Thanks,” I tell him and settle onto a stool to wait.
He punches buttons on his register. “That’ll be seventeen even.”
I pull out a twenty and slide it across the counter. “Don’t worry about the change.”
“Thanks.” He smiles, but then shifts his attention to my incessantly bouncing knee. “You okay?”
What a loaded question. How do I begin to answer it?
I force myself to sit still. “Yeah. Just waiting on news for something.” No big deal, it’s only life or death. And here I am, thinking soup and sandwiches are going to somehow make things better.
“Ah, that does sound stressful.” Bram pulls out two disposable coffee cups and fills them to the top. He places them carefully into a drink carrier. “I’m sort of in the same boat.”
I open my mouth to ask him if he’s okay, to focus on anything other than my own issues, but a bell dings and steals his attention.
“Order up,” the guy in the kitchen says. He shoves the bags through the opening to Bram who puts them in front of me.
I open them up, taking one of the sandwiches out and putting it with the soup, leaving the other behind for me. I can’t say I have much of an appetite, but I need to eatsomethingtoday if I want to stay somewhat sane.
“Any crackers?” Bram reaches under the counter and pulls a few packets out.
I hold the bag toward him to let him drop them inside. “Thanks, Bram.”