Page 15 of Surface Scratch
No phone.
He let out the breath he was holding and pulled the door to the room shut, once again sealing it up like a tomb he couldn’t yet excavate. It wasn’t just the smell and the medical items–it was all the pictures. In the months before a stroke took in her the dead of night, she’d asked Caleb to start printing out pictures of the three of them from before the accident. His brother Nick, their mom, and him, still smiling, still with their faces intact and free of the weary look that never left them after that day. She had told Caleb she knew she was going to die soon, but he hadn’t believed her.
He felt his face begin to heat up as his brain dug up the memory of the crash, filling his ears with ringing so loud that it felt like it was bouncing off the sides of his skull. He slammed his still-healing palm against the wall to ground himself in the apartment.You’re not back in the car, you’re home.He stomped his foot on the carpet, practically gripping the fibers between his toes. He needed to get out of the apartment anyway, for his own well-being.
Caleb grabbed a shirt from the laundry basket on top of the dryer and sniffed it, unable to remember if the basket contained clean clothes or not. It didn’t smell clean, but it didn’t smell bad either, so he shrugged and pulled it over his head. His phone had to be at the club, and since he was on his way to the check cashing place, he would have to walk past the club. He could at least see if it was open.
* * *
He tugged at the loose threads in the pocket of his hoodie, his fingers itching to do something as he turned the corner on his block and saw the three-story building of the club in the distance. He was thankful that he worked close to home, alleviating the need to use a car to get around, but as soon as he saw the neon glow of the windows against the gloomy gray autumn sky, he could feel his heart rate increase.
No, I’m not thinking about this anymore today. There are more important things to worry about.
He started humming some song he heard nightly in the club while counting his steps, trying to keep his mind focused on the task. He needed to call his landlord, cash his check, and make sure he had another month with a roof over his head. Part of him wondered if his focus on his interactions with Marcus was just a way for him to channel his energy into something other than the grief and anxiety that had plagued him for so many weeks after his mother’s death.
That was all it was. A distraction.
He heard the low rumble of a motorcycle as he approached the front doors and glanced toward the alleyway between the club and the building beside it. The rider turned toward him, helmet and visor already secured, and cocked their head at him in a way that felt familiar. Caleb watched them shut the bike off and put the kickstand down as they dismounted. He could tell it was Ophelia even before she pulled the helmet off, her brassy curls seeming to explode out from beneath the restrictive headgear.
“You here for your phone?” she asked, tucking the helmet under one arm against her hip.
“I did leave it here?” he asked, pursing his lips.
“Oh yeah, Oliver found it balanced on top of the urinal this morning when he came in to clean,” she said. For a moment Caleb thought she smirked before she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re a lightweight.”
“I know.” What did she expect? It was his first time drinking! “Can I go in and grab it? I have a really important errand to run and I need my phone.”
She was already walking to the door with keys in hand. “Yeah, it’s up in the office. Just ask Marcus to lock the door after you leave since you don’t have a key.” She unlocked the door and pulled it open, holding it for him as her dark brown eyes studied his face.
A familiar heat rolled up from his chest and into his cheeks.Shit.It made sense that Marcus could be at the club at any time, he did live directly above it, after all. He could just go down one flight of stairs and be in his office. But still, the thought hadn’t occurred to him that he might have to see Marcus one-on-one so soon after what happened in the walk-in.
“Why is he in so early?” Caleb asked, unable to stop himself. “Doors don’t open for another few hours.”
“Inventory, Caleb,” she said, her eyebrows rising toward her hairline in an exaggerated expression. “For some reason he didn’t finish it last night, so he’s finishing it up today.”
Caleb clenched his jaw as if it would stop the color brightening in his cheeks. Did she… did she know? Oh God, how much did she know? He took a step inside the dimly lit doorway, breaking his line of sight with her to escape her scrutinizing gaze.
“Thanks for letting me in, Ophelia.”
She only responded with a “Yup,” as the door closed behind him. He stood there in the doorway for a moment, listening to the sound of a motorcycle engine vibrating through the street before the sound faded down the block.
He waited for the heat to leave his face before stepping farther into the open room, glancing around and seeing if anyone else was there. It was eerily quiet and still, the room appearing almost boring under the plain fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling. The brightness of it all hurt his head.
Caleb adjusted his shoulders and willed himself to move his legs toward the staircase near the DJ booth. He felt like his footsteps were impossibly loud against the hard tile, the sounds seeming to bounce off the high ceiling. His stomach knotted as he approached the door at the top.Just get your phone and get out. Don’t even look at him this time,he told himself.
He reached out to knock on the door with a single knuckle, the sound so soft against the wood he wondered for a moment if he should knock again in case Marcus didn’t hear it.
“Come in.”
“In and out,” he whispered to himself. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, leaving it wide as tried to take in the surroundings.
The office was small, with rows of binders and books lining built-in bookshelves to his right and several stacks of banker’s boxes pushed against the wall. He couldn’t make out any of the labels or titles, the room only illuminated by a single lamp on the gray metal desk tucked into the corner. Several folding chairs were stacked against the opposite wall near a worn brown couch that looked like it had seen better days.
Marcus sat behind the desk, tapping away on a raised keyboard with his face illuminated by two monitors. He looked up, thick-rimmed black glasses balancing on the center of his nose. He gave Caleb that same soft, pitying smile as he had when they’d first seen each other at work in the days after he was beaten up by Vincent Bellenger.
For some reason, it was making Caleb’s blood boil.
Marcus nodded toward the far corner of the desk. “Your phone?” he asked, though it didn’t sound like a question.
