Is it possible to do right by one of them without betraying the other? I’ve been thinking of Eliot and Jack as standing on opposite sides of the road, with me in the middle. To walk toward one of them is to turn my back on the other one. But maybe there’s a way? Maybe there’s a way with both of them by my side?

I take off my helmet and tuck it under my arm. I call my brother. I’m striding away from the building because I don’t want anyone I know to overhear this conversation. An absurd amount of disappointment swamps me when I get his voicemail. I really thought that maybe if he answered, I’d magically be able to say something to him like I’d just said to Raoul. There’s this man named Eliot, I’d tell him. He’s gotten banged up, but help me treat him right. Help me fix this, Jack.

The thought of saying those words aloud to Jack turns my blood into water, puts sweat down my back. But it’s the only way out of this, isn’t it? The only way I can ever hear Eliot say my name, my real name, and know who I am, is if I’m locked and loaded with Jack’s blessing.

I try Jack one more time, but he doesn’t answer then either. I send him a quick text telling him to call me when he gets a chance, but there’s a very high probability that a return call will never happen. If I really want to talk with him in the next few days, I might have to track him down.

I sigh and tuck my phone away.

Patience, I remind myself. Patience. But now that I see a potential solution, I want to sprint. Every moment I spend in limbo makes me feel like Eliot is slipping away.

The evening light is starting to change, but it’s still warm, and I know that when I get back home, I’m going to take over for Carl and my quasi-day off will be completely over. I want to prolong this feeling for just a little bit longer. So, I turn away from my apartment building, deciding to take a stroll around the neighborhood, and—I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise—I call Eliot.

Chapter Seventeen

“Hey, JD.”

“Hey . . . what’s wrong?”

“Oh. Nothing. I’m just kind of embarrassed about my freak-out last night.”

“What? Why?”

“Okay, I think it’s time I came clean about some stuff.”

“. . . Okay.”

“You know how you wanted to make sure that I wasn’t thinking of you as Zaza Habib?”

“Gigi Hadid, but sure.”

“Right. Well, you know I’m not, like, The Rock. Right?”

“. . . You mean Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson?”

“Yeah.”