Never Let It Go by Emily Moreton Page A

ribs still sprained, but at least the bruises had gone down again—followed by the mind doctor in the afternoon. Will was never entirely sure whether he hated those sessions or sort of liked them, but either way, they weren’t making anything worse, which was about all he felt he could reasonably ask for.
    Thursday also meant dragging himself across the city via public transport, stubbornly refusing to take a cab that he wouldn’t have needed before his injuries. The bus stop was only a block from their apartment, though, and the walk took him right by a new coffee shop, usually an hour or so before the evening rush started.
    Today he was a little later, but the two women in suits occupying his preferred table were gathering their things to leave as he walked in, and Maria was behind the counter, smiling when she saw Will.
    “Hey, Will, how’s life?”
    Will leaned his good elbow on the counter, doing a passable imitation of casual, rather than someone who needed to lean or fall over. “Nice hair.” Maria was a grad student in sociology, back in school for a year after working in local government for six years, and liked to embrace her freedom from business wear by dying her shoulder length hair a series of increasingly unnatural colors. Today’s was bubblegum pink, with silver ends.
    Maria grinned. “I could do yours some time. I’m thinking… camo green?”
    Will kept his face carefully neutral, but apparently it didn’t matter, because Maria’s grin softened into a concerned frown.
    “You okay? You don’t look too good.”
    Will dredged up the best smile he could manage. “That’s just what a guy wants to hear.”
    “Go sit down,” Maria said instead of taking it back. “Usual?”
    “Just orange juice, thanks. And an English muffin if you’ve got any?” The warmth and steam of a coffee would probably be fine, even soothing, but Will’s shoulders were still tense with the morning’s flashback, compounded by the session with his counsellor, and he drew the line at freaking out in public.
    “I think I can find something,” Maria promised. “Go on. Jack’ll clear the table in a second.”
    Will took the corner seat, like always, and unfolded the local paper the women had left behind. Turning the pages using his wrong hand was still awkward, but reading about the mayor’s new parking initiative while Jack quietly gathered empty mugs never failed to ease the tension of a whole day out in the world.
     
     
    W ILL ENDED up staying in the coffee shop well into the evening rush, so that the apartment was mostly dark by the time he managed to fumble the lock open and get himself inside. All he really wanted was his painkillers and sleep, but the message light was flashing on the machine, too bright to miss.
    Will dug out his cell phone and checked the screen, then unlocked it and went into his messages, just in case the notification wasn’t showing up. Nothing.
    That had to be a good thing. If anything bad had happened, someone would have tried his cell, not just left a message on the apartment phone.
    Except that Isaac’s parents called on Friday evenings, Ade’s mom called Sunday afternoons, Will’s sister Jenna on Tuesday mornings, and Isaac and Ade on Monday evenings if they could, or sometime Saturday if not. No one called on Thursdays, because Thursday was the day Will came home and crashed out, the only day he could actually sleep through the night, exhausted from the day.
    It was probably a telemarketer, or their landlord. It was probably nothing.
    And whatever it was, it wasn’t going to change, no matter how long Will stood and watched the light blink.
    He took a deep breath, reminded himself firmly that he was being ridiculous, and hit Play.
    “Hey, Will.” Isaac, sounding warm and pleased and not at all like he was calling with bad news. Will breathed again, relief flooding him so fast he felt shaky with it. “Sorry we missed you”—in the background, Ade said something Will