Page 142 of The Revenge Game

I shuffle over to the printer alcove and go through the motions of fixing the paper jam like someone sleepwalking, barely registering what my hands are doing.

All I can think about is Justin, probably somewhere over the Atlantic by now, leaving behind two confused cats and one very messed-up IT guy who doesn’t know how to fix the most important thing he’s broken.

Just as I’ve finished fixing the printer, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

My heart skips hopefully. I nearly drop the phone twice while trying to extract it.

But it’s not Justin. It’s Leo.

My stomach feels like it’s riding a broken elevator, hope crashing through every floor until it hits bottom.

“Did Justin find out?” are Leo’s first words to me.

“How did you know?”

“All the missed calls from you gave me some hint. How did he take it?”

The memory of Justin’s face by the Thames hits me fresh, making me fold in on myself like I’m trying to protect some vital organ from further damage. Each breath feels like it’s scraping against something raw inside my chest.

“Not well,” I finally manage to gasp out.

“I’m sorry, Andrew.”

“It’s my fault. I deserve it.”

Leo doesn’t argue with me about that fact. “Look, I’m due to come over there to see a client in two weeks. Do you want me to bring my trip forward?

“Um…maybe. I don’t know….” I take a deep breath through my nose like I’m trying to inhale clarity along with the stale office air. All I get is the lingering scent of Dave’s questionable aftershave choices.

“I don’t know how I’m going to cope without him.” My voice cracks like I’m thirteen again.

My isolated pocket of misery is shattered by Pete and Dave barreling past, engaged in what appears to be a highly competitive game of office chair derby. They’re using rolled-up sales reports as makeshift jockey whips, their ties flying behind them like racing silks.

“I gotta go,” I say to Leo.

“Stay in touch, okay?” I can hear the concern in Leo’s voice.

“Okay.”

I end the call and then stare at my phone screen until it dims like it’s trying to mirror the way everything in my life feels darker without Justin.

Justin’s not here. He’s gone home.

Because he needs to escape London.

He needs to escape me and everything I’ve done to him.

Somehow, I make it through the day.

But I can’t handle going home to an empty apartment. I can’t handle staring at the carefully curated IT-guy décor that is evidence of my deception.

Instead, I find myself walking across Waterloo Bridge. The winter wind whips off the Thames, bitter enough to make my eyes water. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I blink rapidly behind my contact lenses.

London sparkles around me, festive lights reflecting off the dark water below. Couples hurry past, huddled together against the cold, while tourists pause to take selfies with the London Eye glowing in the background. Everyone seems to have somewhere to be, someone to be with.

Through the winter darkness, I spot a man and his teenage son waiting for the river bus. The boy is hunched against the cold, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, but his father’s disapproving glance has him immediately straightening, dropping his hands to his sides.

My stomach twists.