Page 105 of The Rut in the Road

I watched the text app notify me that he was typing, then stop. Then more typing. Then it stopped again. More typing.

Finally, a message popped up.Would it be okay if I came over?

I’d been expecting a lengthy lecture on how I hadn’t been safe, especially after yesterday. I wondered if all the dots were an indication that he’d done that, but then deleted it all again.

Yes, I sent back.

See you soon, he replied.

I sighed, feeling conflicted because I both wanted him to come over and also didn’t want to argue with him about my safety or lack thereof.

I needed to do something to keep myself busy in the intervening twenty or so minutes so I wouldn’t spend it all worrying about what Raj was going to say when he got here.

Although I had texted him last night, too, when I got home, I’d told him I needed to eat and go to bed—then shut off my phone. I knew he hadn’t been as worried about last night, since it had been a private house. Tonight, on the other hand, had been more dangerous—downtown, a planned protest, circumstances not entirely unlike those that had left me with a concussion.

I kind of hated the fact that he’d been right to be worried about the protest, since it seemed to give credence to his other fears—about me walking a mile in daylight back to my apartment, for example.

I opened the door to the fridge and tried to decide if I wanted a beer. I didn’t really like beer. I didn’t really like alcohol all that much, since it reminded me of the taste of some of the medicines I’d had shoved down my throat—usually literally—at Tranquil Brook. Wine was okay, especially with a meal, when I could taste the way it complemented the food. Raj had offered me a sip of his beer when we’d gotten burgers once, and I could see the appeal in that context, too.

But none of that was why I was thinking about it now.

I was tired, still haunted by the memories of the dying orc and the man who’d deliberately run him down, and very much not looking forward to what I was expecting to be yet another argument with my overprotective boyfriend. TV and movies seemed to suggest that consuming alcohol somehow made things like that less problematic, and I was trying to decide if I thought it might be worth testing for myself.

I was about three somewhat-unpleasant swigs in—and not any less unhappy about my circumstances—when my phone vibrated, letting me know that Raj was downstairs. I was waiting at the intercom when he buzzed up, and I hit the button to let him in the front doors. Then I flipped the lock on my door as I walked back to the kitchen, where I’d been playing with Victor on the table.

One of the toys Vi had brought him was a small rubber ball, and I’d been… teaching isn’t the right word, so much as… manipulating. I was getting better at willing him specific instructions, although I wondered whether he might be able to learn how to do this himself through me.

“Rayn?” Raj’s voice called from the main room.

I sighed, releasing Victor to do whatever he wanted. “In the kitchen,” I answered half-heartedly. I knew he could hear me.

“I thought you were okay,” he said, his voice concerned.

“Physically, I’m fine,” I replied. “Just… worn out.”

“You’re working too much,” he said.

I clenched my jaw to avoid saying something I shouldn’t. Like pointing out the fact that most of my problem was working for the FBI, not working for Ward. Mostly because I knew he’d come back at me with the fact that it had been working for Ward that I’d ended up needing stitches.

I let the silence stretch out, hoping it would make my point for me.

It did.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I suppose that’s half my fault.”

“Would you like a beer?” I asked him.

“No, thanks.” He sat across from me at the table.

Victor squeaked a hello, then pushed the ball toward him.

“What the fuck?” Raj was definitely surprised—so was I, honestly, although I guess that answered the question about whether or not Victor could learn from being manipulated—but he instinctively stopped the little ball with one hand. He looked up at me. “He plays catch now?”

I nodded. “I taught him earlier,” I said. “Although I wasn’t sure if he actually understood, but clearly, he did.”

Raj rolled the ball back, and Victor grabbed it with a squeak.

I took another swallow of beer as I watched my boyfriend play ‘catch’ with my undead rat.