Zero Day Exploit (Bayou’s End #1.5) (18 page)

“Yeah.”

He fumbled for something else to say. He knew what he wanted to say.
I was worried about you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t pull you back in time. I care about you. I need you. I’m so glad you’re all right.

But he couldn’t say those things. He couldn’t
feel
those things. Sometimes he felt like he was cursed—and anyone he dared to care for would only be taken from him in horrible, painful ways.

So he went with the first thing that came to mind, as he shrugged and collected her bag and coat for her. “I still think you should start your own company.”

Not that, idiot
.

Zoraya gave him an odd look. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” He told himself to shut up. Told himself not to push the matter, but the words were already spilling out of his mouth, everything but what he really wanted. “You’re stagnating here. I can’t even fix this company. It was on its way down before I showed up; all I’m doing is slowing its fall and making it look good even while it crumbles. You might as well bail out now while it’s your choice.”

“Why do you keep pressuring me about this?”

“Because you’re always unhappy.” He held out her coat so she could slip her arms into it without fumbling with her cast. She wrinkled up her nose, then stuffed herself into the sleeves.

“It’s a job. It’s not exactly meant to be fulfilling.” She fidgeted and tugged at her coat, then headed for the exit. The automatic double doors whooshed open, letting in a swirl of snow. “You were the one giving me all the lectures about growing up and toeing the line. Now you want me to buck the system?”

“Maybe I was wrong.” Yes. That was closer to what he wanted to say.
I was wrong. I was wrong, now please let me get through this without sticking my foot in my mouth. I was wrong—about so much more than just your job
. “It doesn’t have to be one extreme or the other. Middle ground isn’t a bad place to be. So dressing up for work isn’t a big deal…but you said yourself it’s not the dress code that’s killing you. It’s being stuck.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Make your own place.”

She tossed him a slit-eyed, peevish look as she fumbled in the pocket of her coat to pull out her phone. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just…can’t.”

“Because you don’t want to.” He caught her good arm to still her rapid strides down the sidewalk. “You keep talking about the economy, and rent, and a million other excuses, but you know what I think the real reason is? You’re scared. You’re scared, so you’d rather stagnate and complain than take a risk.”

She just stared at him. Stared at him, and he wondered if he’d lost her already. “That’s not fair,” she said softly. “I’m trying to be pragmatic. I’m making adult decisions about my life.”

“No. You’re playing it safe. And if that’s your choice, fine. But when you feel like complaining about it again, just remember: you chose this.”

He was saying everything to her that he wanted to say to himself. He was playing it safe. Making choices out of fear. Pushing her away out of fear. Making the choice to cut her from his life so he wouldn’t have to feel the pain of losing her.

It was easier that way.

And it was what he always did.

She jerked her arm from his grip. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she bit off.

“That’s fine. I need to go anyway.”

Her stride slowed, her eyes widening. “You’re leaving?”

“I need to pack. My flight leaves tomorrow.”

“Evan…”

He couldn’t stand that hurt, liquid look in her eyes. The shock of it. No doubt she’d been hoping for a few last kisses, a last soft goodbye. That would only make things ache more. He was sparing them both, he told himself. No point in dragging this out.

“Don’t.” He unslung her bag from his shoulder and held it out. “You knew I was only here until the assignment was over.”

She didn’t take it for long moments, seconds ticking on. Seconds in which some inner voice screamed at him to take it back, to stop doing this, to for once in his life make things right. But it was too late. He’d screwed up again, and this time she wouldn’t forgive him.

Maybe he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

And maybe if she hated him, breaking things off would hurt that much less.

“So that’s it,” she said, taking the bag with her good hand. “You just…walk away.”

“That’s what I do.”

“I’m catching on to that.” A brief, incredulous laugh escaped her lips. “So you’re just going to move on. Back to a life of meaningless nothings and shallow connections.” She shook her head, swallowing hard, lowering her eyes. “Is that really all you want?”

“It’s all I’m cut out to handle.” He clenched his hands, then stuffed them in his pockets. His fingers brushed against Zombie Evan, and he wrapped his hand tight around the little toy, holding fast for the strength to say, “Maybe all I want is shallow connections. Not…
this
.”

“‘This.’ Okay.” Her lips creased in a bitter smile; she tilted her head back, looking up at the snow-dotted sky. “Okay. I’d almost forgotten what an unrepentant asshole you are. Let me guess, you don’t believe in goodbyes either?”

“You got it.”
Don’t do this
, he told himself, but his feet wouldn’t listen. His heart said
stay
, but his head was already turning him away. “Have a nice life, Zero.”

He almost begged her to say something. Anything. Something to turn him off this path to self-destruction, to slow his headlong tumble into the emptiness he’d once thought he wanted.

But she said nothing. He didn’t blame her.

And so he walked away, and tried to tell himself he was doing the right thing.

S
HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER
.

Long after Evan had left, Zero stood on the sidewalk and watched the snow fall down, imagining she could make out each individual flake in the golden halos of the street lights. It was so quiet, after midnight. Quiet enough to hear herself think.

And to hear her beat herself up for ever thinking Evan James could change.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, aching breath, her throat tight, her eyes and nose damp. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself. Not over him. Not out here. It would just freeze on her eyelashes and cheeks, and she already felt cold enough inside to make the winter night feel like summer in the tropics.

What had she been hoping for? That those little half-conversations and feints would finally turn into something? That he’d make an eleventh-hour play and somehow turn this absolutely maddening week into something more? They’d gotten what they wanted out of each other. That was what it had always been about, from the moment she’d met him in the bar. They’d both had an itch to scratch and nothing else.

So why had her heart nearly broken when she’d come out of the examining room to find him looking at her like he was afraid he’d never see her again?

She closed her eyes and felt the snowflakes melting on her cheeks, running down her skin in lieu of the tears she refused to cry. A smile tugged at her lips. Maybe she’d keep her cast for a souvenir.
The week I lost my mind, and had crazy sex with the biggest asshole on the planet
.

God, she didn’t want to go home right now. Her bed would still smell like him, and suddenly her tiny apartment would feel too small for the very first time. She was still clutching her phone in her good hand; it had practically frozen to her ungloved fingers. Biting her lip, she pulled up Ravi’s number and hit
Call
.

It wasn’t Ravi who answered but his girlfriend, Alyssa. Zero had met her a few times. Had a few beers, talked shop about neural network programming; Alyssa was into advanced robotics, and programmed things Zero could only dream of working on. She liked her. She liked even more that she and Ravi were getting serious enough for Alyssa to sleep over, even if she felt a faint pang of jealousy—and a bigger one of guilt at the sleepy slur of Alyssa’s voice.

“’lo?”

“Hey, Alyssa. It’s Zero.” She sniffled, then forced it back; she started to rub at her nose, only to flinch as she bonked herself with her cast. “Could I talk to Rav for a sec?”

Alyssa paused; when she spoke again, she sounded much more awake. “Sure, honey. Sure. You okay?”

“It’s been a bad night.”

“Just a second, sweetie.” The muffled sound of voices rose, before Ravi’s voice piped in her ear.

“Zoraya? What’s wrong?”

“Depends. Are you asking about the arm fracture, the asshole who just dumped me, or the fact that I’m standing outside the hospital in the freezing cold?”

Ravi’s sharp inhalation echoed over the phone. “Go back inside the hospital. You’ll be warmer in the lobby,” he said. “Let me get dressed. I’ll be right there.”

*     *     *

He showed up as crisply dressed as if he’d just gotten ready for work, not one crease out of place. Zero couldn’t help but smile; going out in his pajamas or even tossing on jeans with an old t-shirt would have driven him crazy. But her smile faded when he hugged her, and she fought back that urge to cry. “It’s okay,” he said, and smoothed a hand over her back. “It’s all right. I’m here. Tell me what happened.”

So on the drive back to his apartment, she told him everything. How a few days of fighting turned into a few days of something else. The accident. The way Evan had looked at her. The things he’d said before the accident, and the way he’d completely one-eightied after. And why it didn’t matter in the slightest, when he was leaving town anyway and probably wouldn’t even look back.

“I think he will look back,” Ravi murmured. “He lies to himself as much as he lies to others, this man. You said yourself he was afraid to get close to people, Zoraya. And what do people do when they are afraid?”

“They run.”

“Exactly.” He patted her knee. “Stay with us for the weekend. Alyssa will be glad for the company. So, I think, will you.” He grinned. “If only to have someone to be your left hand.”

“You’re funny, Rav,” Zero said, but she wouldn’t turn him down. “You’re real funny.”

Alyssa was waiting with hot chocolate and a sympathetic hug when they arrived. Precisely four and a half marshmallows for Ravi; approximately five hundred for Zero. God, she was lucky to have friends. Friends who didn’t tell her how stupid she’d been, for hoping Evan could be something more than what he was. Friends who just gave her painkillers and settled her down in the guest room, and stayed with her until she fell asleep. She dozed off with Alyssa’s fingers stroking in her hair and her cheek resting to Ravi’s chest, counting the soft, strange ticks of his artificial heart until she was claimed by a deep and dreamless slumber.

She tried to go home the following morning, refusing to impose. Alyssa told her she could go home as soon as she could screw the cap off her toothpaste by herself. Zero tried, and ended up with a toothpaste goatee.

“Okay,” she groaned, wiping her face with a wet towel. “Okay. I’ll stay. I just don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be.” With a sweetly amused smile, Alyssa squirted toothpaste onto a spare toothbrush from the cabinet and held it out to her. “Now brush your teeth, dear.”

With a grumble, Zero stuck the toothbrush in her mouth.

Having a fractured arm
sucked
.

She took it easy for the rest of the weekend. Reading in her borrowed room; helping out around the house until Alyssa chased her to the couch to watch
World War Z
on Netflix. She almost couldn’t stand it, when she kept remembering how Evan had cringed and covered his eyes at the gorier bits. And little Zombie Evan, and the look on his face as he’d stared down at the toy. Her throat knotted up again, and she shut the film off—and avoided Ravi’s knowing gaze.

On Sunday she tagged along to the workshop space he rented in the basement of his apartment building, and watched while he welded a…thing…to another thing, sparks flying, reflecting in the faint hints of brown eyes she could glimpse behind his mask.

“What are you making?” she asked, lounging against a sawhorse.

“Not sure yet,” he said distractedly. There was a looseness to him that he only seemed to have in his workshop—as if he could only relax, stop counting, stop pacing, when the blowtorch was in his hands and the room filled with the scents of sparks and hot metal. “I’ll know what it is when it’s done.”

“So you won’t walk into a strange building without knowing where all the exits are, but welding? Just wing it.”

“Pretty much.” He smiled slightly, angling the blowtorch down. “This is my quiet place, Zoraya. You know that. As you love to watch the snow fall, I love to watch the sparks fly.”

“I guess everyone needs something like that.”

“It is sometimes the only way to stay sane in a world full of madness.” His eyes flicked up to hers, through the mask. “What do you think your Evan’s quiet place is?”

The question hit her square in the center of the chest and knocked the air out of her; she lowered her eyes. “I…I don’t know.”

“It’s all right to cry, you know.”

“Over him?”

Ravi cut the blowtorch and lifted his mask, dark eyes watching her far too discerningly. “He was good enough to bring home, but not good enough to cry over?”

“Look, we never said it was anything more than what it was.” Zero shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself. Her eyes stung; her mouth trembled, and she pressed her lips together and silently demanded that they
stop
. “There’s no point in crying over something that never was.”

“Sure there is.”

“And what’s that?”

“Because you want to,” Ravi said, setting everything down and stepping closer to her. “And you’re only hurting yourself by keeping it in.”

His hand fell to her shoulder—and as if his touch had shattered the fragile glass vial that held all her emotions bottled up, her tears spilled out and poured down her cheeks until they burned her skin and she tasted salt. Ravi only wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He let her cry—the kind of deep, ugly cry that made her breath come in huge hollowing heaves and made it hard to inhale when she choked on the wet knots in her throat every time. She felt like it lasted forever, but once it started it bled out in a matter of minutes, leaving wet dark stains on Ravi’s shirt.