around the world, trapped, used. He knew there was so much on the line—more than he had thought possible when he’d come to learn the truth about Jake.
But Rufus was three inches to his right, close enough that Sam could reach out, if he wanted to. How the hell was he supposed to think about anything else when the universe had just gotten so very fucking small?
I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.
The memory of Rufus’s words made Sam stumble, and when Rufus glanced over, Sam felt his face heat, and he was grateful for the thick shadows.
When they reached the edge of the park, Rufus led them onto Central Park West. Green-tinged darkness dropped away, replaced by the granular nightlight of the city: like the ugly version of a summer rainstorm, particles of light suspended in a haze of exhaust and heat-warped darkness instead of in raindrops. At Seventy-Seventh Street, they cut west; the Museum of Natural History had shadows petaled around it. At the end of the block, Rufus jogged across Columbus, ignoring the single, frantic blat of a taxi. The redhead barely seemed to notice; he was in that Rufus place, dealing with Rufus things, alone.
Alone wasn’t new for Sam; he’d always had a part of himself that he kept separate, isolated. The part that wanted more than a one-off. The part that thought about stupid things like the future. But Rufus took alone to a new level. Sam had been with him for almost twenty-four hours now, and he hadn’t seen any sign that Rufus had anyone in his life. Jake, maybe. But Jake was dead now. Who did Rufus call when he needed help moving that enormous stack of books in his apartment? Who did Rufus meet for lunch? Did people “do lunch” in a place like this? Or was that just a thing on TV? Who did Rufus hang out with, go to the movies with, shoot the shit with? In a city of almost nine million people, it seemed impossible that the answer was no one.
Sam followed him another block, watching Rufus more carefully now. But Rufus stopped at the next street, Amsterdam, and glanced back at Sam. The intersection was a mix of old and modern: red brick and stone stood alongside hulking modern designs of glass and steel. A girl jogged past them, not even glancing at them as she got in her 5K of sidewalk running or whatever the hell people did in a city for exercise.
“How about that?” Sam said, pointing to a Halal food truck twenty yards down the block.
Rufus turned in the direction Sam motioned to, then looked back with wide eyes and a growing smile. “Really? Yeah, that stuff’s the best.” He headed toward the cart against the curb with a new determination in his step. Rufus was already ordering by the time Sam reached him. He pointed at the picture menu to the side of the service window and then motioned with his hands for something the size of his head.
When it was Sam’s turn, he tried to decipher the four-color-process print on the side of the cart, but the images had been sun-bleached into ghosts of lettuce and french fries and who knew what else. After twenty seconds, he gave up. “Whatever he’s having.”
He paid, and a few minutes later, the man was handing them their food in disposable Styrofoam carry-out containers. Rufus snatched his before Sam could touch it, and Sam bit the corner of his mouth to keep from grinning.
“Should that guy count his fingers?” Sam muttered.
Rufus was holding the container to his face and smelling the food through the tiny flap that held it shut. “Don’t be an ass.”
About a hundred yards down Amsterdam, Sam spotted a twenty-four-hour convenience store. Passing his container of lamb and chicken to Rufus, Sam said, “Hold this. And don’t eat it.” He let some of a smile slip out on the last part, and then he jogged down to the store. He picked up what he wanted, paid, and jogged back. “Did you eat it?”
“I spit in it,” Rufus replied without missing a beat. “What’d you need at CVS?”
“Stuff. Jake’s is back that way, right?”
Rufus looked mildly interested, but the expression didn’t linger. “Yeah.” He took the lead again, and they returned to a tall, slender building between avenues—Jake’s Home Away From His Other Home. Rufus reluctantly passed the food to Sam in order to help himself to the doors of the building, and after a