Page 42 of Stop and Seek (Our Childish Games #1)
Theo would’ve never picked the restaurant. Not in a million years. Not even with a gun to his head and a countdown echoing in his ears.
It was haughty as shit—perched above a coffee shop that reeked of money and roast beans. For a second, as he climbed the too-narrow stairs, he half-expected a guy in a velvet jacket to pop out and demand a password.
The hostess barely looked at him when he gave his name. Her nose wrinkled like he’d tracked dog shit onto the imported rugs, and instead of taking him to a table like a normal human, she waved him toward the bar with a face that said try not to touch anything.
It wasn’t him.
He’d checked the rear view mirror a few times before he came in and he even managed not to cry.
Did he still want to hurl?
Yeah.
But he didn’t.
And that had to count for something.
Forty minutes.
Theo had been waiting for forty fucking minutes.
Jagger was never on time. He’d be late to his own funeral, show up as a ghost like nothing happened.
The stool beneath him had gone from eh to torture chamber.
His back ached. His head pounded. His jaw felt like it had been clenching since middle school.
And the martini? Twenty five dollars for a mini salt bath with six goddamn olives.
He should’ve held the olives. And the drink.
His phone sat face down in his lap, and every time Theo’s leg twitched, he hoped it was a notification. Jagger texting him to cancel. But that would’ve meant he was a decent person, and that wasn’t true. If he ever showed up, punching him in the throat would give Theo closure.
This was fucking insane .
Here he was, dressed like some bum off the streets in a fancy-ass restaurant, trying not to let everyone see how fast he was unraveling.
He let his eyes wander—nothing else to do. Couldn’t even pretend to sip the martini anymore.
The dining room was filled with couples and groups, every plate expensive enough to have its own decorative flower. He saw a bottle of wine on the menu two tables over that cost more than his electric, water and trash bill combined. Laughter floated around him, all teeth and averted eyes.
Theo wasn’t like them.
They were whole.
He was patched together with leftover trauma and a mood disorder so bad his therapists had given up on him.
Maybe he’d given up on himself.
Holy shit, where the hell was Jagger?
Another glance at the door—nothing. No sign. Just a couple in Louboutins and a Rolex watch.
Why am I even here?
What did he think would happen? That Jagger would walk in, sit down and—what? Apologize? Cry into his cocktail about how insensitive he had been?
Theo scoffed under his breath. Yeah. Right. He’d probably blame it on his Taurus Mercury or whatever-the-fuck excuse he spat out on command.
Jagger wasn’t the one who had to live in the fallout.
Wasn’t the one sent dick pics at two in the morning.
Wasn’t the one with strangers messaging him asking, hey hot stuff, twenty bucks for a BJ ?
Blood roared through his ears again and he had to focus just to keep his hands from shaking.
Theo pulled out his phone. Fingers stiff.
Theo
u got 5min b4 i split
Five minutes. That was way too generous. But each second dragged for an eternity.
His skin itched. His jacket was too tight. And all he wanted was to crawl out of his body and let someone else sit here and pretend this wasn’t hell.
I can’t breathe.
None of this is worth it.
The stairs took longer getting down than getting up. By the time Theo stumbled through the door and into the evening air, his lungs hadn’t remembered how to work. There was a vice around his ribcage, squeezing tighter every step.
He reached his car and yanked the door open with more force than necessary, collapsing against the wheel with a huff. Shoving the seat back, he dropped his head between his knees. The world swam. His vision tunneled .
Stop it.
Get it together. Right now.
None of your angsty bullshit.
But when he went to turn the key, his hands wouldn’t cooperate. They clenched too tight then spasmed, like they wouldn’t grip onto anything.
He was supposed to be past this part. This was him getting better , for fuck’s sake.
Someone knocked on the driver's side window.
Sharp. Right next to his face. Knuckles on glass that sent him spiraling right back down that rabbit hole.
Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away.
Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away.
Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away.
Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away.
Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away.
Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away.
Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away .
Theo squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to block it out. He counted backwards from ten, from twenty, from thirty. He didn’t care if he got it wrong.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Thank god. Gravel crunching.
Walking away.
The television didn’t help. Dim lights. A droning sound.
Screaming. All background noise. He sat up and realized he’d spaced through half the movie—someone was being split in half on-screen, blood flying like red party confetti—and he had no clue who they were or why it was happening.
He shut it off. The silence afterward was worse.
Gaming didn’t help either. He managed a couple solo matches, his fingers moving on muscle memory. Then he gave in and fired off a dozen messages to Calvin. The guy’s icon was grayed out, but Theo knew he was always lurking with that stupid appear offline status.
Maybe he was being clingy. Whatever. Let him be clingy. Let him be annoying. He needed someone to respond.
Nothing.
No texts from Noah either.
Not that he was checking his phone every ten minutes or anything. Not that he’d left their texts open like it might magically change reality.
His eyes skimmed the lock screen anyway.
Theo pulled the blanket over his lap, fingers twisting in the thick yarn. Drinking would’ve been great, but there was nothing in his apartment except near expired creamer and a two liter of flat soda .
Pills? No chance. Alyssa was rationing them off like he was some junkie raccoon that showed up at her window, rubbing his paws together and demanding Cheerios.
Driving was also a no-go. He’d blown through a red light on the way home and couldn’t even remember what intersection it was.
So… bed. That was the last option. Bed meant maybe he’d wake up when Noah called, or Calvin replied, or the universe decided to stop kicking him in the teeth.
Cold side of the pillow.
Air conditioner so low it probably had icicles hanging off it.
He was just starting to drift—mind foggy, eyelids heavy—when he heard the lock turning. The front door creaking open and then closing again.
It had to be Rachel. She’d been doing drop-ins all week, playing mother when he was too out of it to argue. Normally, she didn’t stay long. Peek in, verify he wasn’t face-down in a puddle of blood or vomit, and vanish again.
Not tonight. Please. Not tonight.
He yanked the blanket over his head and curled onto his side, hoping she’d get the hint. The universal sign for fuck off, I’m unconscious.
But the mattress dipped behind him. Springs groaned.
Heavy weight. Not cautious. Not soft.
Rachel never sat on the bed. Never touched him. And her arm had never felt that heavy.
Theo pushed down the cover, and the first wave of panic hit him when he smelled the booze .
Rachel would never drink and drive. She bitched at him about it all the time.
His heart fucking stuttered.
“Rachel?” he tried, swallowing past the terror twisting his gut.
“I missed you so much, baby.”