Page 113 of His to Burn

“We are sticking with the plan. But we need a minute to breathe and figure things out. There are more of us now. We can’t just move like we did before.”

“More complications.” Jack skewered me with a piercing gaze so intense, my heart raced.

But I didn’t look away.

He didn’t, either, and his eyes told me this conversation was far from over.

Caitlin cleared her throat, breaking the spell.

I wanted to thank her, which only proved how much the world had changed.

Jack gave me one more look and then turned to Miles.

“Know how to use a hammer, kid?”

Miles swallowed hard as his eyes bugged out. But he was such a great kid, and fast on his feet, too. “Not really, but I can learn.”

Jack nodded. Just a flick of his head, but I saw it.

None of the anger I’d seen in his eyes before was there now. Instead, he looked at Miles with approval.

That meant something.

Jack didn’t hand out praise like candy—so when it came, it hit different. And I could tell Miles felt that when he stood a little taller and looked Jack in the eye.

“Good,” Jack said. Then he turned his attention to the others. “If we’re going to stay here, we need to get this place in better shape. Bridget and Lourdes, check the kitchen. Quick and quiet. Find anything useful. Asia, you and Caitlin take stock of other supplies. Elliot, you’re with me at the door.”

Elliot perked up. “I saw some boards outside.”

Jack stopped midstride and shook his head. “No. No one leaves this building. We’ll use the tables. Push them against the glass. It won’t be perfect, but it’s something. Kid, find garbage bags and tape and cover those windows. That film on the outside gives us some cover, but more won’t hurt.”

I’d noticed the restaurant’s opaque, ugly-ass windows. I remembered then how hard it was to see inside the restaurant from the outside. But Jack’s plan made sense.

They usually did.

After a beat, we all moved, everyone set off on their tasks, the most important of which was survival. Caitlin and I stood side by side as we rummaged through another supply closet that smelled like old fryer grease and sour mop water.

“Looks like you got lucky. Again,” Caitlin said a few minutes after we entered the closet, her voice low and clipped.

“Or maybe I made my own luck.”

I kept at my task and didn’t look at her and shouldn’t even have said that much.

Caitlin’s problem with me was just that. Caitlin’s problem.

I had other shit to worry about, and if Caitlin had any sense—a questionable proposition to say the least—she would, too.

She chuckled, and I looked over at her. “Found these.” She held up a six pack of lighters, the long kind with a trigger. Her smile faltered for half a second, like she wanted to say something more. Then it was gone, her usual edge back in place.

“Good find.” I smiled at her.

She shrugged, her hand drifting up to touch her hair, and then smiled back. “Not quite the way we expected to end up when we were 1Ls, is it?”

I laughed, remembering the first time Caitlin and I bumped heads during our first year of law school. She’d hid a book in the library, and I called her on it. Things went downhill from there. “No, but I’d definitely rather be in the stacks than playing survivalist. But here we are.”

She looked at me again, and something in her expression shifted. She gave me a smile, areal one for once. And for just a second, it felt like things could be okay.

Caitlin turned, and we went back to our task, the silence now its own truce. I found another pack of lighters and a flashlight that flickered on when I banged it against a shelf. There was also a three pack of plastic table cloths wrapped in packaging that smelled like mold. I kept it anyway, hoping the cloths inside would be intact.