Page 255 of Playing With Fire

Again.

I don't think he's ashamed of me. At least, I hope not. But sometimes I catch him looking at me like he's trying to solve a problem he doesn't know how to fix.

And I hate that I can't tell whether I'm the problem or the thing he wants badly enough to risk everything else.

My phone lights up in the cup holder.

A message from Declan.

Declan: You still at Mom and Dad's?

I wait until the next rest stop to answer.

Me: Nope. Heading back to Chicago.

Declan: Already?

Me: Work stuff tomorrow.

Declan: On Black Friday?

I roll my eyes.

Apparently everyone in my family has suddenly become deeply concerned with my shopping habits.

Me: Yes, Declan. Some of us have lives.

Declan: Debatable.

I laugh.

Then another message appears.

Declan: Tell Bish happy birthday if you see him. Haven't been able to get him on the phone.

I stare at the screen.

Me: I will.

For a moment, I consider asking whether he's heard from Bishop today.

But I don't.

Instead, I send Bishop a text.

Me: How's the birthday boy?

His reply comes almost immediately.

Bishop: Old.

Me: Tragic.

Bishop: Pretty sure my knees are filing for retirement.

Me: At twenty-eight? Better start looking at nursing homes.

Bishop: You volunteering to take care of me?