breathlessly.
“You’re paying my taxes and vouching for me with my PO and a pizza is supposed to make us even?”
Caleb’s stomach grumbled loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Not just pizza, but a pie from Nick’s.” He smiled wistfully, likely remembering a past greasy encounter. “My uncle refuses to pick one up for me. Says I have to leave to get it.”
That comment gave Logan pause. He didn’t want to do anything to get in the way of Caleb getting better. Especially since he’s only doing it to help me. Klass might have the right idea, seeing how much Caleb seemed to love the food at Nick’s. “Then maybe I shouldn’t either.”
“Oh,” Caleb said, his whole body slumping.
“Here.” Logan held out the envelope.
Caleb pushed the envelope toward Logan. “Keep it.”
Logan opened his mouth to object, but Caleb beat him to it. “I’m sure there’s something else you can help me with….” Logan could hear the wheels squealing in Caleb’s head as he struggled to find a way to soothe his wounded pride. It was painful to watch. Even more so because Caleb had so obviously abandoned his own disappointment, seeming to care more about figuring out a way to help Logan. He was pretty sure a puppy kicker would be giving him reproachful looks right about now. He didn’t know how the hell Klass had resisted.
“Couldn’t hurt to get pizza this one time.”
Caleb gave him a dazzling smile, leaving Logan feeling breathless.
Logan cleared his throat. “Nick’s, you said?” The name sounded familiar. “That the place where the pizza makers’ shirts are covered in sauce?”
Caleb bounced in his seat like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s the one!”
Logan remembered going there years ago. He’d been vaguely disturbed by the place. He recalled the food being good, but the flamboyant pizza makers were a little freaky. They looked like they were murdering the pizzas instead of baking them. Of course, he had been smashed at the time, so that might have been it. “Plenty of places around here that deliver.” He wasn’t surprised when Caleb scoffed at the idea. Caleb knew his food and wouldn’t settle for what he’d deemed mediocre pizza. He pulled an advertisement from a drawer on the coffee table and Logan punched in the number.
“What do you want?”
“A large—no, make that an extra-large pepperoni pizza.” He tugged Logan’s arm. “Do you like pepperoni?”
Logan grinned in response. The restaurant answered the call, and he placed Caleb’s order. He snapped the phone closed. “It’ll be ready in half an hour.”
“Thank you.” Caleb looked at his lap. “I know my uncle means well, but he acts like I can just flip a switch and turn the panic off.” He removed a piece of lint off his sweatpants. “Like I’m just being stubborn or something. I know I’m not doing as much as I should to get better, but I can’t just snap my fingers and make the fear disappear.”
“Do they really have agoraphobic group meetings?”
Caleb looked puzzled for a moment and then gave a sad smile. “I don’t actually know, but I’m guessing they do. Most people with the phobia have trouble going out or to certain places alone, but refusing to go out at all is pretty rare.”
Logan sometimes forgot Caleb never went out. Stupid, considering it was why he had a job. Caleb acted normal for the most part, but staying inside for three years wasn’t normal. The glassy-eyed head cases that lived in Logan’s complex seemed to have more obvious problems, but he wondered if that was true. They, at least, were trying to recover as a condition of living at the halfway house.
“Can I ask what an AA meeting is like?”
“There’s different formats, but the one I go to is about twenty people, all guys except for my sponsor, Stacy, and this perky soccer mom I never woulda pegged as an alky. We sit in a big circle and the leader has us go through the AA literature. Then people take turns talking
“You’re paying my taxes and vouching for me with my PO and a pizza is supposed to make us even?”
Caleb’s stomach grumbled loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Not just pizza, but a pie from Nick’s.” He smiled wistfully, likely remembering a past greasy encounter. “My uncle refuses to pick one up for me. Says I have to leave to get it.”
That comment gave Logan pause. He didn’t want to do anything to get in the way of Caleb getting better. Especially since he’s only doing it to help me. Klass might have the right idea, seeing how much Caleb seemed to love the food at Nick’s. “Then maybe I shouldn’t either.”
“Oh,” Caleb said, his whole body slumping.
“Here.” Logan held out the envelope.
Caleb pushed the envelope toward Logan. “Keep it.”
Logan opened his mouth to object, but Caleb beat him to it. “I’m sure there’s something else you can help me with….” Logan could hear the wheels squealing in Caleb’s head as he struggled to find a way to soothe his wounded pride. It was painful to watch. Even more so because Caleb had so obviously abandoned his own disappointment, seeming to care more about figuring out a way to help Logan. He was pretty sure a puppy kicker would be giving him reproachful looks right about now. He didn’t know how the hell Klass had resisted.
“Couldn’t hurt to get pizza this one time.”
Caleb gave him a dazzling smile, leaving Logan feeling breathless.
Logan cleared his throat. “Nick’s, you said?” The name sounded familiar. “That the place where the pizza makers’ shirts are covered in sauce?”
Caleb bounced in his seat like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s the one!”
Logan remembered going there years ago. He’d been vaguely disturbed by the place. He recalled the food being good, but the flamboyant pizza makers were a little freaky. They looked like they were murdering the pizzas instead of baking them. Of course, he had been smashed at the time, so that might have been it. “Plenty of places around here that deliver.” He wasn’t surprised when Caleb scoffed at the idea. Caleb knew his food and wouldn’t settle for what he’d deemed mediocre pizza. He pulled an advertisement from a drawer on the coffee table and Logan punched in the number.
“What do you want?”
“A large—no, make that an extra-large pepperoni pizza.” He tugged Logan’s arm. “Do you like pepperoni?”
Logan grinned in response. The restaurant answered the call, and he placed Caleb’s order. He snapped the phone closed. “It’ll be ready in half an hour.”
“Thank you.” Caleb looked at his lap. “I know my uncle means well, but he acts like I can just flip a switch and turn the panic off.” He removed a piece of lint off his sweatpants. “Like I’m just being stubborn or something. I know I’m not doing as much as I should to get better, but I can’t just snap my fingers and make the fear disappear.”
“Do they really have agoraphobic group meetings?”
Caleb looked puzzled for a moment and then gave a sad smile. “I don’t actually know, but I’m guessing they do. Most people with the phobia have trouble going out or to certain places alone, but refusing to go out at all is pretty rare.”
Logan sometimes forgot Caleb never went out. Stupid, considering it was why he had a job. Caleb acted normal for the most part, but staying inside for three years wasn’t normal. The glassy-eyed head cases that lived in Logan’s complex seemed to have more obvious problems, but he wondered if that was true. They, at least, were trying to recover as a condition of living at the halfway house.
“Can I ask what an AA meeting is like?”
“There’s different formats, but the one I go to is about twenty people, all guys except for my sponsor, Stacy, and this perky soccer mom I never woulda pegged as an alky. We sit in a big circle and the leader has us go through the AA literature. Then people take turns talking
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