Page 50 of Eight Count Heat
Make it 5.
I roll my eyes. Some things never change.
Reese emerges from her dorm, now carrying a backpack along with her gym bag. As she approaches the truck, I notice her scanning the area, eyes moving over parked cars and nearby students with careful assessment. Looking for something. Or someone.
"Everything okay?" I ask as she climbs back in.
"Fine." She buckles her seatbelt. "Just thinking about classes."
Another lie, but I let it pass. Whatever she's carrying, she's not ready to share it.
We drive in comfortable silence for a minute before she speaks again.
"Can I ask you something about Tyler?"
Not what I expected. "Sure."
"Is he..." she hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "Has he always been so analytical?"
"Since day one," I confirm. "Why?"
"Just trying to understand the team dynamic." She fiddles with the zipper on her bag. "Sometimes I can't tell if he's actually concerned or just collecting data."
I consider this. "Both, usually. Tyler processes the world differently than most people."
"Is he on the spectrum?" she asks, then immediately backtracks. "Sorry, that's probably rude. You don't have to—"
"It's not a secret," I say. "He is. High-functioning autism with an IQ that makes the rest of us look like we're still learning our ABCs."
"That explains a lot."
"He doesn't usually talk about it, but it's not something he hides either. For Tyler, it's just data. Another variable in his equations."
"He notices everything," she says, almost to herself.
"Patterns, especially. It's what makes him such a good strategist. He sees connections most of us miss."
She falls silent, processing this information like she applies to steering our boat through rough water.
"Did he say something that bothered you?" I ask.
"No," she says quickly. "Just the opposite. He was... helpful. In his own way."
I pull into The Griddle's parking lot, finding a spot next to Gray's Range Rover. Before I turn off the engine, I reach out and gently lay my hand on her shoulder. She barely flinches. Progress.
"Tyler doesn't waste energy on people he doesn't value. If he's making an effort to communicate with you, it means something."
She nods, absorbing this. "Thanks."
"For that matter," I add, "the whole team wants you to succeed. Even if some of them have strange ways of showing it."
A smile touches her lips, but doesn't reach her eyes. "Noted."
As she walks away, I feel someone's gaze on me. Cameron stands a few yards away, watching me with that unnerving intensity of his. He sees too much, notices too much. Always has. I guess we all do, in our own way. Nature of the designation.
Inside The Griddle, the team has claimed our usual corner booth. Gray sits at the head, nursing black coffee with his usual intensity. Beckett and Zane are arguing about some party happening over the weekend. Tyler taps calculations into his phone. Jackson stares into his coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe. Eli reads from a textbook. And most surprisingly, Cameron is there, sitting silently at the end of the booth.
"Look who decided to join us," Beckett announces as we approach. "The Southern gentleman and his lady fair."
