Page 38 of The Quiet After The Fall

I shake my head and hold in a laugh. He’s such a pain in my ass.

He comes back two more times as the afternoon drags on. The first time, he tries to make conversation again, but thankfully a high-maintenance guest disrupts him. The second time, he doesn’t say anything, just sets down an iced latte from my favorite coffee shop across the street and walks back outside. I try to tell him I don’t want it, but he leaves before I can.

I drink the whole delicious thing.

It’s finally thirty minutes until I can go home and hope that I never have to listen to the high-pitched squeals of teenage girls again. I rub my temples and take a lap around the lobby, picking up trash and straightening the coffee station.

The moment I make it back behind the desk, my manager, Percy, pushes through the doors from the back offices, face red and brows scrunched.

It’s been a day for everyone apparently.

He stops in front of me, typing on his phone while he speaks. “Thorne. East parking lot, section B. There’s a guest complaint—someone got sick near the handicapped spaces. Housekeeping’s tied up on four and maintenance is running the shuttle. I need you to handle it.”

He sets the key card to the supply closet on the desk.

“Got sick?” I ask, staring at the card like it’ll erupt. “You want me to clean vomit?”

“The housekeeping cart’s already stocked. Should take you ten minutes.”

“But I’m working the desk.”

“I’ll cover.” He’s already logging into the computer next to me. “You’re the most competent person I have right now, Thorne. I need you to step up.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I grab the keycard and curse under my breath.

Ten minutes later, I’m wheeling a housekeeping cart loaded with a yellow mop bucket, as much disinfectant as I could find, a push brush, and an old mop.

I can’t believe Percy has me doing this. Rock meet bottom.

At least the east lot is quiet. Look at me, trying to find a silver lining. The lighting sucks, and it smells like asphalt that spent the day baking in the sun mixed with the faint smell of cigarettes out here. I stand there for a moment, inspecting the puddle in front of me and wonder how my series of life choices led me here.

I put on rubber gloves that come up to my elbows and grab the push broom. My plan is to contain it into one pile, then mop it up. I can’t say I’ve ever mopped up someone else’s vomit before, so hopefully my plan is sound.

I’m finishing one pass, suppressing gags, when I hear footsteps behind me.

I don’t turn around. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Knox, just⁠—”

“I was going to say the stars look really nice tonight.”

I look up. There are no stars because it’s overcast now. As much as I don’t want to, I turn toward him.

He’s standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered by the fact that he followed me into a parking lot while I’m holding a broom. Something about that is so deeply, specifically him that I almost laugh.

“Go away,” I say.

“I’ll do it.” He gestures to the broom.

“Absolutely not.”

“Sawyer—”

“Knox, I swear to God, if you try to take this broom from me, I will use it on you next.”