Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(55)

“I won’t, but I can ask the judge for more time.”

“You think he’ll give it?”

“I don’t know.” I sat in a chair and pulled on my work boots. “Randall says he’ll put me back on the job on Monday, so I’m still employed—”

“Whoa, whoa, you’re going to work on Monday?” Vic shook his head. “I was here when the doc gave you your marching orders, remember? You’re supposed to rest for at least another two weeks. At least.”

“I feel fine,” I said, tying up my boot. “And I have to work. The judge might give me a break on finding a new place, but without a job, there’s not even the prospect. Not to mention I have a shitload of bills to pay.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I can’t lose Callie,” I said. “I mean, I’ll probably get my ass handed to me on Friday, but I have to try.”

Vic ran a hand through is dark hair. “I hear you, man, but damn. You got shot.”

“And now I’m better. To be honest, I’m more shocked Randall saved me a spot on the crew.”

“He came to see you?”

“Yesterday. Said he signed off on my journeyman hours to. To the state.”

Vic made a face. “Yeah, so he said. Watch out, man. I’ve worked for Randall longer than you. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. The only reason he don’t mess with my hours is because he’s screwed over every other decent electrician in the city. Aside from you.”

“Nah,” I said. “I’m okay.”

“Okay? You’re good at everything. You’re gonna ace that contractor’s test. Aces.”

“Yeah, well, I need my own place to study up.” Does it matter? Why am I still trudging on, as if I have a chance?

“And you need Randall to be telling the truth about turning in your papers. And when you do make GC, we’re all going to come work for you.”

I clasped hands with Vic, not trusting myself to speak, as my friend pulled me in for a hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay. We all are. You’re one of the good ones.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks.”

I thumped Vic on the back and scanned the room one more time for anything else that belonged to me. There wasn’t much to begin with. My bloody shirt and jacket had been thrown out. Vic had brought me a change of clothes from my stuff before my landlord had a chance to sell it all. An agent from the F.B.I. had come to question me a week ago and had returned my wallet—with my last paycheck intact—the keys to my old F1-50 pickup, and my watch. There was nothing else.

“This yours?” Vic held up the baseball cap Alex had worn that first night.

“Oh, uh. Yeah.” I stuffed it in my bag. My souvenir, I thought bitterly.

Georgia appeared in the doorway, Callie at her side.

“Daddy!” Callie rushed to me, blonde hair flying, and I knelt to hug her close. “You’re going home now?”

“Yep. Just waiting for the nurse to come in with the last paperwork.”

“Are you coming to Sitka with us? Mommy says it’s pretty there.”

“I’m sure it is.” I exchanged looks with Georgia over Callie’s head. She shifted in the doorway, something like a shrug, and looked away.

Vic cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m gonna split, man. See you in a few.” He nodded at Georgia.

“Thanks again, Vic.”

“Least I can do,” he said, and went out.

Georgia crossed her arms. “You’re going to live on Vic’s couch?”

“Until I get a new place, yes,” I said, while Callie climbed onto the chair by the window and peered down at the view below.

“The hearing’s Friday.”

“Yeah, it is,” I said in a low voice. “So until then, you need to stop telling Callie she’s moving. It’s not done yet, Georgia.”

“It will be. Especially once the judge hears you have no place of your own.” She bit her thumbnail. “Not to mention your medical bills.”

I winced, wounded that after everything, she’d use that. “Really, Georgia? Yeah, fine. Go ahead. Give your lawyer something else to nail my ass to the wall with.”

“You said ass,” Callie laughed, still watching the window. We were on the fourteenth floor, the entire city stretched out below.

“Why are you being so cold?” Georgia asked, hugging herself.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re so bound and determined to…” I glanced at Callie. “We’re not going to do this now. We’re not. And you’re not moving to Sitka.”

“We’re not?” Callie asked, turning. “But Mommy said—”

“Mommy has to wait and see, baby,” I told her. To Georgia I said, “I still have my job, and soon enough I’ll have another place. I—”

A nurse breezed in with a clipboard full of discharge papers and a plastic baggy with two orange plastic pill holders in it. “Here we are.” She handed over the paperwork for me to sign. I did so while Georgia shuffled impatiently at the door. When I finished, the nurse went over the doctor’s instructions again.

“You’re to rest for two weeks, minimum, and if you find yourself short of breath, or with sharp stabbing pains in your chest, call 911 immediately. These are your prescriptions: the blood thinner you won’t need a refill for, but the painkiller you can have refilled once should you need it.”