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Chapter thirty-four

Mike

“All right, folks, next question,” the trivia host called over the mic, his voice carrying through the bar’s low chatter and clinking glasses. “What is the capital of Liechtenstein?”

I didn’t even blink. “Vaduz.”

Matty groaned and tossed a peanut at me. “Jesus, man. You didn’t even hesitate.”

“Because it’s Vaduz,” I said, picking the peanut off my lap and popping it in my mouth. “It’s literally the only city anyone knows in Liechtenstein.”

Omar smirked, leaning his forearms on the table. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you are secretly a robot.”

“He is a robot,” Matty said. “And I’m pretty sure he’s running on Wikipedia’s internal servers at all times.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s called having knowledge. You should try it sometime.”

Matty flipped me off before turning his attention back to the game.

The bar was packed, the usual crowd here for Tuesday trivia. The air smelled like fried food and beer, and there was a low hum of conversation mixed with the occasional cheer from a team getting a question right. Our table was near the back, where we had a good view of the host and the screen displaying the scores.

We were in second place.

How was that even possible?

It was a travesty.

Trivia night was my thing. I didn’t half ass it. I was competitive as hell, and my friends knew it. So when the next question came up, I was already leaning forward, prepared to dominate.

The host cleared his throat dramatically. “Which Shakespeare play contains the famous quote, ‘The better part of valor is discretion’?”

I opened my mouth. “ Hamlet .”

Silence.

Matty and Omar slowly turned their heads toward me, their faces identical masks of disbelief.

A few minutes later, the host’s voice rang through the bar. “That’s from Henry IV , Part One.”

Matty stared at me. “Dude.”

Omar let out a low whistle. “Mike got a Shakespeare question wrong.”

“Aren’t you a literature teacher?” Matty asked.

“English. Not the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “I—whatever, I was close.”

Matty pointed an accusatory finger at me. “No, no. You don’t get to ‘whatever’ this. You teach this shit. Shakespeare is literally in your syllabus. You probably have his little theater tattooed on your perky little ass.”

“I do not!”

“Michael, are you all right?” Omar narrowed his eyes. “Blink twice if you’ve been replaced by an alien.”

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I’m fine.”

Matty wasn’t buying it.

He leaned in, his voice lower. “Come on, precious. You haven’t even talked that much tonight, and you live for trivia.”

Omar nodded. “Yeah. If you were any quieter, I’d think you were giving us the silent treatment.”

I shook my head, swallowing past a weird lump in my throat. “It’s nothing. Just . . .” I hesitated, gripping my beer glass a little tighter. “Elliot’s working the tornado damage.”

Matty and Omar exchanged glances, their teasing expressions shifting to something softer.

“That’s why you’ve been weird all night,” Matty said.

I let out a breath and nodded, still refusing to make eye contact with either of them. “It’s just . . . I haven’t heard from him since this afternoon. I know he’s busy, and I know he’s done this a hundred times before, but I hate not knowing if he’s okay.”

Omar reached for his drink, swirling the condensation on the glass. “We understand. His work is serious.”

Matty nodded. “Did you try calling him?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “No answer.”

“That means nothing,” Omar said quickly. “He’s probably up a pole somewhere, covered in grease and being a badass.”

“God, that’s hot.” Matty waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe he could take you up in one of those bucket things. You could do it a hundred feet in the air.”

“That wouldn’t count for the Mile High Club, but maybe the Hundred Foot Club? The Bucket List? Ooh, I like that one. Double entendre for extra points!”

I snorted, shaking my head. “You two are the worst.”

“We do our best,” Omar said with a wink. Matty waved a napkin in the air like some drag queen with a boa.

I tried to smile, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t loosen. I took a slow sip of my beer, forcing myself to focus as the next question was read out.

But I wasn’t really listening.

Instead, my eyes drifted up to the TV mounted in the corner of the bar.

And that’s when I caught the scrolling, crawling letters at the bottom.. brEAKING NEWS: LINEMEN INJURED IN ATLANTA STORM CLEANUP, STRUCK BY FALLING TREE. ONE STILL TRAPPED, OTHER TAKEN TO PIEDMONT HOSPITAL.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach.

My hand clenched around my phone as I scrambled for the volume button on the remote near our table. The bar’s noise made it hard to hear, but I could see the footage—rescue workers surrounding a man in lineman gear, lifting him onto a stretcher—the camera panning to another man whose torso was covered by a massive limb.

Other linemen surrounded him. Blue lights from police cruisers flashed. Then paramedics arrived.

The guy wasn’t moving.

I couldn’t see his face.

I couldn’t tell if it was Elliot.

My pulse pounded in my ears. I grabbed my phone and punched Elliot’s name.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Voicemail answered.

I called again.

Still voicemail.

My breath started coming too fast.

Omar’s hand landed on my arm. “Mike. Mike, hey—”

I shoved back from the table, barely noticing that my stool nearly tipped over. “I have to—fuck—I have to find out if that was him.”

Matty was already pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the hospital.”

My hands were shaking.

I tried calling Elliot again.

Nothing.

Matty was talking, his voice too fast. “Hey Brett. Yeah, yeah. You, too. Hey, I’m trying to get information about a lineman who was brought in tonight.” He paused, then made a frustrated sound. “No, I’m not family, but—Jesus, Brett, it’s me. I could drive down there and find out. Can you at least tell me if the guy’s—”

My stomach was in knots.

Matty’s jaw tightened. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks.” He hung up and looked at me.

“Elliot was definitely taken there,” he said. “But they won’t tell me anything about his injuries or condition.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Omar stood. “Let’s go. Now.”

Matty grabbed his jacket, and within seconds, we were rushing out the door.

The trivia game, the beer, the teasing—all of it was forgotten.

The only thing that mattered was getting to that hospital.

And praying that Elliot was okay.