Chapter Twenty-Two

I got home many, many hours later. After four stops at Starbucks, one at In-N-Out, one at Taco Bell, and an hour and twenty minutes sitting in traffic.

It wasn't until midway through the day, when I thought, fleetingly, I could text Orion just to check on Scraps , that I realized we'd never exchanged phone numbers. I had no way to get in touch with him short of driving all the way back up into the mountains, where I almost certainly was not welcome (and didn't plan to go anyway).

It had been exactly six days since I'd been in my apartment, even though it felt like a month. A year. A decade. Like the landscape of my street should have been different, trees should have matured, a generation of kids should have grown up. Instead, the cream I used in my coffee hadn't spoiled yet, and my bananas had gone brownish but were still edible.

Everything was so loud. Everything moved so fast. I don't even like camping, but I was somehow fundamentally disturbed by civilization, like I was one of those white dudes who goes off into the wilderness to find himself and then accidentally eats the wrong berries and dies, but would genuinely rather die of poisonous berries than live around city buses and shopping malls.

I missed the silence, the strange snow-dampened soundtrack of the woods, the clatter of Scraps's toenails. I tried really fucking hard not to miss Orion, who definitely did not miss me, but I couldn't quite manage it. Because now I knew him differently. I knew his skin and his scent and his taste. I knew what his eyebrows did when he was recalling information about ice water plunges. I knew he watched YouTube to learn shit, like a fucking weirdo, and I missed finding out more about him.

Like, if he hadn't thought this whole thing between us was going to end the second I went back to the world, then what had he been thinking? And why hadn't I asked? And what would that even have looked like? And you know, there was no future because we hadn't resolved the past, so fuck him, but also there was no future because I hadn't even been open to the idea, so fuck me.

Speaking of fucking and futures, what was even the point of having sex with strangers now that I'd screwed a guy like Orion Broderick, who delighted in finding every place I was sensitive, who had teased and kissed and tickled and ...

I was definitely not going to jerk off to the memory, though the other alternative seemed to be crying about it, which was equally bad if not worse.

I'd gotten seven texts and three emails from Vix, in various states of concern for my well-being. The last text said, ominously, If you don't reply, Des, I'm calling for the cavalry. Unless we've realized that's a deeply problematic phrase and have changed it, which we should. WHERE ARE YOU?

Her emails were a lot more formal, so I picked one and replied with a generic "I'm taking a sick day tomorrow but I'll fill you in when I come back."

Then, as was only natural, I started googling.

And there we were. I wasn't as interesting as Orion, obviously, but there I was, and yep, he was right, there was my name, my age, and my general area of residence. Someone else had the year I'd graduated from Cal Poly. They hadn't gone trawling for quotes from people I barely knew yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.

Orion was featured everywhere, even in the nonsports outlets. Former Pro Soccer Player Snowed In with Reporter Who Outed Him. Way too many words for a headline, I informed the editor in my head. Conquistos FC Player in Secret Tryst. Much better, if less ethical. Who Is Soccer Star's New Boyfriend? That one just made me sad.

No one. No one was Orion's new boyfriend. Least of all me.

I made myself put away my computer and take a shower. Clean clothes that fit were a nice perk of getting home. Ditto coffee. All the coffee. Coffee in the evening if I wanted it, though I was so spun out from the Starbucks I'd had on the drive that I settled for opening the bag and inhaling deeply before putting it away again.

Morning coffee tomorrow. Life is good, I told myself, even though I didn't believe it.

My late-night Orion Gossip Roundup included a few feel-good fluff stories about Scraps going home to her real family. Apparently, they'd stopped on the highway to put their snow chains on and let her out to pee, but some loud noise had startled her and she'd run away. They had, reasonably, assumed she'd frozen. For them, getting her back was a literal miracle.

I could not stop watching the clip of it (uploaded to TikTok by, I gathered, a preteen kid in her human family, who'd now gone viral). Orion comes out with Scraps in his arms. A younger kid squeals and runs toward him, tearing away from a more reserved (but also legitimately thrilled) parental type. Scraps loses her mind, launching out of Orion's grasp and bowling over the kid into the snow, then covering its face with dog kisses. Orion steps forward, smiling broadly, to shake hands with the parents and wave to the camera-kid.

It's not a long clip, and it ends with the camera-kid kneeling down and calling, "Here, Dolly!" At which point Scraps abandons the littler kid and flies through the air, tumbling over the camera-kid and cutting off the video.

So that was her real name. Dolly. As in Parton. I decided it fit her. She was super fucking regal and sweet while also not putting up with bullshit.

I told myself I was happy for this family, who had gotten their beloved dog back, but secretly I had imagined some reunion in which I would use Scraps/Gizmo/Dolly as an excuse to see Orion. Which now could never happen.

Who was I fucking kidding? I didn't even have his phone number. It wouldn't have happened anyway. A family had gotten their dog back, and all I'd lost was a stupid fantasy. Whatever.

It took a really long time for me to fall asleep, even though I was warm and had electricity and the promise of coffee in the morning.

The ringing of my phone woke me up what felt like twenty minutes after I'd finally managed to lose consciousness, but the sun was out, cars were honking, and clearly the day had progressed beyond what one might strictly consider "morning."

I hadn't heard my phone ring the entire time I'd been away. And I really had not missed it.

"Hello?" I croaked, sounding every bit like someone who was still in bed squinting at daylight.

"Is this Desmond?"

Christ, had they already found my phone number? "Yes," I said shortly.

The man on the other end cleared his throat. "This is Gary Shelton. You are scheduled to be in the office today, Desmond."

Gary Shelton? I sat upright and rubbed my eyes. He was Vix's boss, head of the department. "Oh, hi, Mr. Shelton. I emailed Vix that I wouldn't be in today."

"For what reason?"

"I'm sick." I did not bother trying to make myself sound sick. He could demand a doctor's note if he wanted, but I figured after being snowbound for almost a week, I could probably get one.

"I see. Well, we generally like to have this sort of meeting in person, but if you are sick, I suppose this will have to do." His voice was emotionless, like he was a poorly programmed AI. "I'm afraid after this latest situation , we can no longer continue to employ you, Desmond. I will have your things boxed and sent to you. Please do not attempt to reenter the office, or security will escort you out. It seems you have signed up for direct deposit, in which case your final pay will be deposited within forty-eight hours."

My chest was tight and my mouth was open, like I couldn't get any air in but my body was trying anyway.

"Are you still there?" the robot on the other end of the line asked.

What would he say if I didn't answer? He'd probably just call again until he got what he wanted.

"You're firing me?" I finally managed. "Seriously?"

"You put an entire client account in jeopardy by disclosing the private residence of a potential campaign participant to the press, Desmond. We have no choice but to let you go."

"Okay, one, you can call me ‘Mr. Cleary,' Mr. Shelton, because we don't know each other. Two, I was only there because you guys sent me there. And three, no, I fucking well did not disclose anything to the press or anyone else."

"Do not curse at me, Desm—"

"Die in a fire, asshole."

I hung up.

Right, so, in basically every way, that could have gone better. Why hadn't Vix been the one to call me? Had she really wussed out on firing me after it was her fault I'd been involved in the first place? Because that would be fucking cold. Also, wow, I'd just really blown through all the best practices for being fired. Don't burn bridges, stay cool, maintain relationships; you never know when you'll need to rely on your references. Yeah, well, fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck everyone.

Also, Jesus, had I just been fired ? Fired, to be clear, for something I didn't do. They could have fired me for not giving a flying fuck about the job, or writing bad press releases, or not paying attention in staff meetings. But instead they'd nailed me for a thing I hadn't even done.

I looked around at my bedroom, in my apartment I could barely afford even with a full-time job, and then only because I was subletting from a guy who just wanted to hang on to his rent control even when he was currently living in Austin for work.

Fired? Fired, as in no job, as in Don't come back, or security will escort you out . Fired, as in Fuck off forever, Des Cleary . Fired, as in I had one more paycheck and then nothing.

Fired. As in I had no reason to stay in LA. As in yeah, I was fucked, completely, and also ... I officially had nothing to lose.

I sent an email to my sublet landlord saying I would be out in two weeks, sorry about the short notice, something's come up. I didn't feel that bad about it because the dude was working on some reality show that was highly classified and also I was pretty sure was a Queer Eye spin-off. More power to him. He could cover the rent until he found someone else, which he would, immediately, because it was cheap and just outside Los Angeles.

Then I started packing.

That's a lie.

Then I made a pot of coffee and looked up all the Orion Broderick headlines that were new since last night. His publicist (he had a publicist?) had put out a statement that he appreciated his privacy and would further appreciate it if people would stop harassing his neighbors, who had been nothing but kind and respectful to him ever since he moved to Bakers Mine. He also invited anyone interested to donate to the local rec league soccer agency so they could take on more scholarship players.

It was a great statement. Just enough shaming, with a chaser of Want to offset your guilt? Send cash! I appreciated the nuances. Not much else was happening in the world of Orion Gossip, but I kept hunting.

Three hours later I made another pot of coffee.

And then I started packing.