Better Than People - Roan Parrish Page 0,17

it was fine with me if that’s what he wanted. I had what I wanted, so. But, uh.”

Jack’s low voice went softer.

“I had this...idea. For a story. Kind of about me and my brother, but different. I dunno. It felt like something that I could write myself in addition to drawing. It wasn’t gonna be instead of stuff with Davis. I just wanted to try. When I told him about it he didn’t say much. He didn’t seem upset or anything. Mostly I thought he wasn’t very interested because it didn’t involve him. He’s kinda...he likes to be the center of attention. But then...”

Jack made to stand up in the move of a habitual pacer, but he’d clearly forgotten both his broken leg and the cat on his lap because he ended up grabbing Mayonnaise as she leapt onto the table and sprawling back onto the chair, wincing, the wood groaning beneath him.

“Fuuuuck.”

Simon reached out a hand to steady him, palm skimming soft sweatshirt and hard muscle beneath.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched someone who wasn’t Grandma Jean.

“Y’okay?” Simon got out.

“Yeah. Goddamn it.”

He slammed a fist down on the table, face a mask of frustration, then put out a hand to soothe Mayonnaise when she bristled. She rubbed her cheeks against his fist and he let her nibble at his fingers and then flop down on her back, batting at his hand.

“Anyway. Two months or so after I told Davis about the project I get this email from him saying he sold it. I thought maybe he meant he sold it for me? He’s in New York and I’m here, and I know he goes out for drinks with our editors sometimes. I thought it was weird but I was excited. It felt like a chance to really do something of my own.”

Jack cracked his knuckles.

“But he didn’t sell it for me. He pitched it as his own idea. The publisher loved it.”

Simon sensed what was coming next and bit his lip, hoping he was wrong.

“Only, they thought it would have an older market than our kids’ books and they wanted to pair Davis with an artist who does middle grade books. One who’s a bigger deal than me. And that fucker agreed. Well—” Jack cut a look at Simon, suspicious and mocking. “He said his agent agreed and it was a done deal before he could get me on board, but I know that’s bullshit.”

Simon’s heart ached. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Yeah, cheers,” Jack said, toasting him with his empty coffee mug.

Simon raised his eyebrows to say, What happened next?

“I called him and he dodged me for days. Finally I got him on the phone and I put it to him straight. I said that I’d told him my idea and he’d stolen it. He acted like I was nuts. Said he thought I’d meant for us to work on it together. That he knew I couldn’t’ve intended to do it myself since I wasn’t a writer, so of course he’d thought I wanted to collaborate. And it was out of his control that the publisher had replaced me.” Jack shook his head. “Fucker.”

Simon asked, “What’d you do?” A flush of relief went through him when the words came out.

Jack’s sigh seemed to deflate him. Mayonnaise chose that moment of weakness to strike, pouncing on his hand and sinking playful teeth into his wrist. He lifted her with one hand and cuddled her against his chest where she started purring immediately.

“Nothing.”

“Huh?”

“What could I do? I told him to go fuck himself. That he was a greedy liar and he knew exactly what he’d done. I called our editor and explained what had happened but she wasn’t the one who’d signed the book. She said that I could sue Davis, but what the fuck. Who sues someone? Whatever. Probably I couldn’t have written it anyway.”

“But—but it’s your story! About you and your brother!” Simon said, outrage loosening his tongue.

“Yeah. Sucks. And now every time I go to draw it just reminds me of that. Of Davis. Thought he was my friend, man. Known the guy ten years. Guess trusting people is for suckers.”

Jack looked so sad, so lost, that Simon desperately wanted to disagree. To say something that would comfort Jack. But what could he say? He had no experience trusting people. No experience at all.

Jack’s broad shoulders were slumped, his full mouth pulled into a scowl. He was cradling Mayonnaise to him like the cat was all he had