Orion smiles, and I know I must have it wrong.
“Ready for what?” I ask.
“To live.”
“I’m confused.”
“You want to go home and get the place ready for Scarlett, right? Then let’s go do that.”
“You’re coming with me?”
“Just to back you up, but if you really want to go at it alone, I’ll let you do your thing.”
I definitely don’t want to be by myself. This is all scary enough. But I don’t know how this is going to be helpful for Orion. “You sure this isn’t going to be weird? Like you’re hanging out with the pig before you kill it for dinner?”
“I don’t eat meat anymore, and I’m not a murderer.”
“You better not be,” I say, finally rising from the chair.
“I don’t think anyone would throw down money on me overpowering you in a fight.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have friends in bad places. You are trying to harvest my heart after all.”
Orion looks stunned. “Oh, you got jokes.”
I’m surprised too. I really credit Orion for dragging a little humor out of me. The way he’s keeping up the energy reminds me of the times I’ve been the most relaxed on a photo shoot. I’ve worked with photographers who are trying to get in and get out, which builds pressure on set and tightens my body. My best shoots have been with photographers who are smiling and laughing like they’re the ones in front of the camera. When they’re having fun, I am too.
Orion is a good person to be around until Scarlett arrives.
I’m nervous about returning to the outside world, but I’m grateful that I get the chance to do so. That’s a big leap from where I was a few minutes ago when I was accepting defeat.
“Thanks for buying me some time,” I say.
“All good. You’re the one who has to cash in,” Orion says, putting on his hat.
When I signed up for Death-Cast, there was that paragraph on the website about how Deckers got their name. Joaquin Rosa apparently wants them—wants me—to remember that we’re all the captains on the decks of our own ships, setting sail for one last journey.
It’s nice to have a co-captain.
Joaquin Rosa
2:57 a.m.
Joaquin is watching footage of the Times Square shooting when someone bangs at his door. His heart races. He relives what it was like to hear those gunshots over the phone as he delivered the first End Day call. The disturbance startles Naya and wakes up Alano and the puppy. Bucky skitters off the couch and barks at the closed door, scaring no one with his adorable yapping. As Joaquin rises from his chair, there’s more banging.
This better be urgent.
He opens the door to find his customer success engineer.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Aster Gomez says, her hand frozen in her long dark hair like she’s considering whether she should rip it all out. She’s great with people but had no interest in telling them they’re about to die, so she applied for customer service instead. She was so savvy that Joaquin hired her to lead that department, even though she’s only twenty-five. “We’re having major issues with the server.”
“What’s happening?”
“Um . . .” Aster looks down the hall. “It’s best if you follow me.”
Joaquin follows along with the rest of his family.
“It all started when I received a complaint a few minutes ago,” Aster says, speed-walking. “This woman’s boyfriend was killed in Times Square tonight.”