Man Down (Rookie Rebels #3) - Kate Meader Page 0,2

started listening in, assuming a month meant at least two. Yeah, plenty of misery fodder there. But not the worst of it. Not the early days when he could barely tap out a few misspelled words and everything was filtered through a haze of Jack Daniels.

Gunnar: It belonged to my wife. She’s dead.

Bluntness was the one trait Kel said she enjoyed about her husband but suggested he might want to temper in company. Not everyone appreciates your searing wisdom, G. *wink emoji*

Right this minute, he didn’t care. Anger surged, a sucking surf in his chest. He wanted to shame this person who had come into possession of something that didn’t belong to them. With all the More You Know drivel, he suspected a her. She should feel embarrassed for reading those private messages.

No response. That shut her up, though that wasn’t relief overwhelming him, more like pettiness. He didn’t feel proud of it, but neither did he have it in him to soften.

That would be the last he heard from this stand-in. Though “stand-in” wasn’t right. What did you call the person who took over your dead wife’s phone number? His mind was a fog of pain.

He opened up the contacts, ready to expunge it and assign it to the bowels of history. He would be closing the door on his talks with Kelly but that was done. Ruined. After over two years of numbness, he didn’t like this new feeling. This rage. He’d gone through this stage in the so-called grieving process, so why was it back? Why did he feel worse?

Just as his finger hovered over the block option, another message came in.

Kelly: Fucking AT&T.

He blinked through the sting of tears. Read it again. His hand shook.

An unfamiliar noise erupted in the dead silence.

It was him. Laughing.

Merely a reflex, a biological reaction to the stimulus of a smart-ass comment, but a laugh all the same.

Fucking AT&T. That was it. That was her response to him gutting out that his wife was dead.

He stood there, frozen, partly because the laugh had cracked something open and partly because he had no clue what came next.

The words were on the screen before he could second guess them.

Gunnar: Yeah. Waste not want not. That was his response. Kind of bland but he had no idea what to say.

Kelly: Still, have a heart, soulless corporation. A (much) wittier comeback.

He added with a shaking finger, Unreasonable to expect them to never use the number again. Only so many number combinations, after all.

9 million, this know-it-all said.

Gunnar: Really?

Kelly: Well, 9 million for the 7 digits, not counting the area code. (I Googled it!) So each area code could have 9 million potential numbers. LA would need more, what with everyone being so important and all.

Right. This person was in LA.

And suddenly, out of nothing, in the middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire, Gunnar Bond was enjoying himself.

More precisely he wasn’t not enjoying himself, which while not quite the same thing, was better than the thick, heavy mud of before. The tightness in his chest had eased to the level he could breathe without a sharp draw of pain.

Gunnar: Are we making excuses for the soulless corporation?

Kelly: LOL. I think we are! Coming up with unused numbers is a tough business, even for those fuckers at AT&T.

We. He’d started it but she picked up on it. They were suddenly a team, united in their mutual disdain for a multinational corporation.

Maybe it was a guy. The swearing with abandon to a total stranger hinted as much, though that was probably sexist. And what difference did it make? He wasn’t going to be getting friendly with this person.

Yet he found himself not quite ready to quit. He found himself feeling something other than pain, grief, and despair for the first time in over two years.

Gunnar: AT&T is absolved. Sure they’re thrilled.

Kelly: Yes! They’re probably reading along. YOU’RE OFF THE HOOK, ASSHOLES!!

He chuckled, the sound so surprising he looked around the room, worried someone might have heard him. That Kelly might have heard him.

There was that feeling again, a lightness of spirit. He couldn’t trust it, especially with that crush of guilt nipping at its heels.

Gunnar: Anyway, sorry to bother you, he typed in, needing to end it before … he wasn’t sure what.

Kelly: No bother. Just chilling.

Gunnar: Bye … and thanks.

Nothing, then dots. Gone, then dots again.

Finally, from the ether: Take care.

He decided to do just that. On a deep inhale, he left the phone on the dresser, pulled