“Cool,” I say with a smile. It’s amusing.
“Will you watch it with me?” Maximoff asks me again. “Pleeeeeassssee.”
“Sure—”
He’s already grabbing my hand and tugging me to the big TV near the collectible toys. Blinds are snapped shut over the windows and glass door for privacy. I’m introduced to a couple extra bodyguards that Lily is leaving with her son and me.
Both men stand near the entrance like silent shadows.
Lily runs around, grabbing keys. She calls out to me. “The fridge is stocked and you remember where the good snacks are?!”
“Break room, bottom cabinet,” I mumble under my breath.
Lily doesn’t hear me, but she’s rushed and glances at the clock. “Thank you! I’ll be back soon!”
She exits in a hurry, and her son stares up at me like I’m his total world for the next hour. Maybe because I am.
If Maximoff even knew how I came into his dad’s life, would he hate me?
My stomach twists, and I try not to think about that. Moffy is a good kid. He just sits on a yellow beanbag and watches the movie, and when his favorite parts come on, he glances back to make sure I’m paying attention.
One hour and two bowls of popcorn later, the kid is out. Soft snores coming from his mouth. Finding an old Ant-Man fleece blanket on a shelf, I rip open the packaging and then cover Maximoff.
Babysitting duties accomplished. Yay me. I lean back against a bookcase, action figures on the shelves, and I scroll through Tumblr.
Willow hasn’t answered a questionnaire since she left for Wakefield. Either she doesn’t have time to do one or she’s just not into them anymore. She reblogged a couple gif sets of that guy from Gilmore Girls that she says I remind her of, so that’s a good thing, right? She’s still thinking about me.
Shit, I need to stop dwelling on this. I run a hand through my hair and bury my head on my knees. I should be working and avoiding all thoughts about Willow. Seconds away from grabbing my backpack and fishing out my laptop, my cell rings.
She’s Skyping.
My chest lightens, my lips lift. It’s like someone switching on the lights in a dark room, and I know I need to figure out how to find that switch when she’s not around. But it’s just hard.
“Hey,” she says, beaming when she sees me. Christmas morning can’t even beat getting to talk to her.
Underneath my happiness is a gnawing sensation. Like something eating me from the inside-out. Termites in my basement, eroding the foundation. I don’t know how to shake the feeling.
Focusing on Willow, I notice that she’s sitting at her organized wooden desk. Pens and pencils stashed in a cup.
She must be Skyping from her computer, since I have view of most of her room, including her opened door. Students pass by in the hallway.
In another life, could that have been me? College. A dorm. Friends. In another life, I would have lived there and hated every second of it. But I hate being away, too.
I feel like I’m seventeen again, hating two polarizing things and not being able to find peace within the middle. Split apart. Trying to be sewn back together. It hurts. I hate that it hurts.
I meet Willow’s eyes.
“Hey,” I whisper back, trying not to wake Moffy. “You look pretty cheerful.”
“So do you,” she replies. “Or at least, more than last weekend.”
Last weekend, I had two hours of sleep and downed four Lightning Bolts!—Willow told me that if I drank any more energy drinks she was sending Daisy to come check on me.
She scans my surroundings. “Are you at Superheroes & Scones?”
I nod and then flash the phone toward the sleeping toddler and then back to me.
She looks surprised. “You’re babysitting?”
“It’s hard to say no to Lily.” Plus, I genuinely like her kid. Maximoff is sweet and probably the easiest toddler to look after—not that I have a lot of experience babysitting other people’s offspring.
Willow nods like she gets it. “Lily has the best puppy dog eyes. They make you crumble.”
I pull up the hood of my black jacket. “So hey, I… um, I came up with my project for Cobalt Inc., finally.”
Her smile explodes. “Garrison!” she exclaims in a quiet voice, since Maximoff is sleeping. Her enthusiasm emits from the core. “That’s amazing. And see, you didn’t have anything to worry about.”
I shrug. “I’m not going to tell Connor about it yet. He’ll probably think it’s stupid and pull the plug. I’ll ask for forgiveness later or whatever.” Which, I know, isn’t something you should probably be doing when you’re an employee of a multi-billion-dollar corporation.
But I’m too invested in this project to risk losing it. Plus, when I have a prototype, I can better sell the concept to Connor.
I think about not telling Willow the details either. So she doesn’t have to keep this secret from her family, but in the end, I can’t keep it from her, so I just say, “I want to create a video game based off Sorin-X.” He’s a character from The Fourth Degree comics, the same titles that Loren’s company, Halway Comics, publishes.
I need the rights of these comics in order to adapt them into a video game, but I’ll jump through that hurdle later.
Willow looks like she could hug me through the screen. But we can’t touch, and that realization tunnels through me like a freight train at full speed. It’s excruciating. I wish I just told her the news in person—whenever that would be.
“Garrison,” she breathes deeply. “That’s perfect. And you really are the best person to create it. I won’t tell anyone, promise.”
I nod, knowing she won’t, and I quickly change subjects. “How’s your project going?” I’d rather talk about Willow because the more I talk about the game, the more I’m probably going to curse the thing to hell. I can already see the project combusting in flames.
She grimaces. “I mean—it’s a silly school project. It’s not like yours.” She pushes up her glasses that have fallen down her nose.
I’m about to tell her she’s wrong. That her school is just as important and meaningful than a stupid video game, but someone stops in her doorway.
“Hey, Willow.”
My jaw tenses.
It’s that guy. The one I heard over the phone. I recognize his Italian accent.
He leans against the doorframe. In direct view of her webcam. He grabs her attention, and Willow turns her head to meet his gaze.
I glare. Yeah, I immediately hate this guy for no real reason other than he’s showing up unannounced at my girlfriend’s door.
Also: he looks like all the assholes in every prep school that I’ve ever attended. Khakis. Fluffy, styled hair. Sports coat. And I’m thoroughly ashamed to say that I attended three prep schools because I flunked out of two.
But it’s whatever. I can’t really read the expression on this guy’s face because he’s standing too far away from the camera.
That doesn’t stop me from squinting at my screen.
“Hey, Salvatore,” Willow greets. “Is it six already?”
“On the dot,” Salvatore says. My brain starts processing more. This is the guy from Italy that Willow was telling me about. He’s in her group for her marketing project. Willow also told me his name is spelled the same as Damon and Stefan Salvatore from The Vampire Diaries, even though they’re not pronounced the same. She said it was kind of amusing, and at the time, I agreed.