Page 111 of Reasons We Break

He flicks his toothpick into the garbage. “Are we done?”

“Almost. Didn’t I tell you to put your shoulder in a sling?”

Their eyes connect. Rajan didn’t think she’d mention their meeting in the ER, since she seems perfectly content ignoring everything else.

Casually, he shrugs. “For what? It works fine.” While she’s shaking her head, he nudges the photo on the desk. “I see you got a new frame for your kid.”

“I finally found the perfect size,” Kat replies. Right. “Just a few weeks of probation left, Rajan. Stay out of trouble.”

Her voice is laden with meaning. It kind of pisses him off. He feels like he’s fourteen again, wondering why Simran didn’t rat him out to the principal. What’s Kat’s game? Why is she not bringing up evidence heknowsshe has?

As he leaves, Snake Tattoo loiters in the hall, waiting his turn. Despite being irritated, Rajan has the urge to turn back and tell Kat to put her photo in a drawer. But that would be stupid.

He waits until Snake Tattoo reaches him. Then he grabs him by the arm and slams him into the wall.

Before he can speak, Rajan says, “Make her cry again and I’ll break both your fucking arms.”

He emphasizes this with another shove, then lets go without waiting for a response. He doesn’t get one, anyway. Snake Tattoo remains silent behind him.

It’s a stupid move, attacking an Ace while this turf war escalates, but Rajan hasn’t been thinking straight in days. He punches the down button on the elevator. Kat’s right. He needs an outlet.

Rajan’s shift at the construction site ends at seven, and while everyone’s clocking out, he makes a show of taking off his hard hat and neon work vest. But he doesn’t go home just yet. He doesn’t trust himself enough not to detour. Whether that detour would be for drugs or for Simran, he can’t say.

Instead, once alone, he drags out a few saws from the shed, trying to decide which would best cut that tree in his yard. He figures the trunk is big enough to make a simple outdoor bench—a nicer place to sit than that broken-down swing set. Focusing on the problem makes him feel at ease for the first time in days.

Once he’s selected a chain saw, though, it changes. Staring at it, Rajan feels a strange sense of anticipation, like...it’s becoming real. Not just a theoretical possibility, not just something he’s doing to distract himself. Hecouldactually make something with that maple. Something cool. And with that realization comes all sorts of other questions. Like, what size boards should he be cutting for a bench? What angle cuts? Where will the screws go?

That’s how he ends up sitting on the steps of the construction trailer, sketching out bench designs on a wooden plank with a Sharpie. He’s on his fourth variation when a voice sounds in the dark.

“Rajan.”

His hands automatically close around the nearest two-by-four, ready to swing. But it’s—Simran. Standing there in a pair of small glasses he recognizes from ninth grade. Wearing an orange salwar kameez. Neither of these facts register properly.

“What the—Why areyouhere?” he sputters. It’s nearly nine.

“I asked your brother where you were.”

“Mybrother?”

“I have Yash’s number, remember? I figured if you weren’t home, you might still be at work.”

He sinks back to the step he was sitting on. Reluctantly. God, Simran is really testing him. At least with a drug addiction, the drugs can’t literally walk up to him while he’s trying to avoid them.

He can’t help but notice, though, that Simran looks tired. Probably his fault. “You didn’t answer my question. Why’re you here?”

“Because I missed you.”

Her voice is soft, a caress to his skin, which makes him remember the actual caress of her fingers, which makes him sit up to maintain vigilance against her sneak attacks on his sanity. It definitely doesn’t help that she then sits beside him, smelling overpoweringly of floral perfume. Her eyes are luminous, the blacks expanded. He has to say something. Anything. Before she does—

“Do you want a relationship with me?” Simran asks.

Rajan nearly chokes on his own spit. He scrambles to his feet. So they’re not ignoring it after all.“What?”

“Because I do,” she says heedlessly. Something’s off about her, but he can’t tell what. “I need to know where you stand.”

Oh no.Hellno.He starts pacing. “What about Jassa?”

She remains seated. “I don’t want him. I wantyou.”