Wait ‘til the afternoon’s dead quiet before hitting the bookstore. Timing’s everything—too early, Alex is buried in customers; too late, Jamie’s moping around, dragging the air down. Got his notebook stuffed in my bag, those sketches and scrawls burning holes in my head, but I’m holding off. Won’t flash it unless I need to. Today’s about talking, nudging Alex where I want him. Tug my jacket tight against the cold bite and step in, bell jangling sharp in the hush. Smells like old paper and stale coffee, warm and familiar. Alex is behind the counter, sorting a messy stack of paperbacks, head down. Doesn’t clock me at first—gives me a beat to size him up. Tired eyes, hair a wreck, shoulders sagging. He’s beat, and that’s my in.
“Hey, Alex,” I say, keeping it soft, like I’m just a pal swinging by. He looks up, blinks slow, like he wasn’t expecting company. Nods once, stiff.
“Riley,” he says, dropping a book with a dull thud. “What’s up?” Voice flat, cautious, but he’s not shoving me out. Good enough.
Step closer, hands resting easy on the counter. “Just checking on you,” I say, tossing a small, worried smile. “Heard about Jamie—cops, college crap. Heavy stuff. You holding up?”
He sighs, long and rough, hand scrubbing the back of his neck. “Been better,” he mutters, eyes falling to the books. “It’s a damn mess.”
“Bet it is,” I say, nodding like I’m right there with him. Let the quiet stretch, just enough to settle, then tilt my head, all innocent. “Jamie swears he didn’t do it, but don’t you think it’s kinda off?” Keep it light, curious—no accusations, just a seed.
He frowns, hands stalling on the stack. “Off how?” Voice low, gravelly, but he’s biting. That’s what I need.
Shrug, casual as hell. “Dunno—just the way it’s piling up. Emails, cash in his name. Tough to brush off, right?” Watch his face, hunting for a flinch, a crack. He goes quiet, stares at the counter, fingers tapping slow on a cover. Push a bit more, soft but steady. “I’d wanna believe him too, if it was me… but what if we’re missing something?”
Jaw twitches, just a flicker—I catch it. He’s not talking, but he’s chewing on it, eyes narrowing, weight shifting. Doubt’s already there, simmering from the cops and suspension—I’m just stoking it, letting it spread. Chest hums with a kick, like I’m winning a slow game. “Not saying he did it,” I toss in quick, smoothing the edge. “Not at all. Just… you’re tight with him, Alex. Maybe too tight to see clear.”
He crosses his arms, leans back a hair. “I know him,” he says, but it’s thin, shaky—not the rock it should be. Sounds like he’s convincing himself more than me. Eyes flick up to mine, then dart away fast, like he’s ashamed to even think it. There it is—doubt rooting deep, quiet and dark, right where I want it. Sharp little thrill hits me, knowing I’m digging in.
“Yeah, you do,” I say, nodding slow, all warm and soft. “You’ve been solid for him, Alex. Better than most, taking him in like that.” Let it hang, let him stew. He’s been Jamie’s lifeline—friend, whatever else—and now that’s fraying. Want him to feel it, lean on me instead, see me as the steady one while Jamie crumbles. “Hate watching you deal with this,” I say, voice dropping low. “You don’t deserve the mess.”
Picks up a book, flips it open, slams it shut—hard. “Thanks for dropping by,” he says, short, clipped, like he’s done. Hands move quick, stacking again, but I’ve got what I came for. He’s doubting Jamie—see it in his tight mouth, the way he won’t meet my eyes. Did my part for now.
“Anytime,” I say, flashing one last smile, small and warm. “Seriously, Alex—if you need to talk, I’m here.” Turn to leave, bell jingling as I push out. Glance back—he’s staring at the counter, lost in his head, turning it all over. Exactly where I want him. Step into the cold, wind biting my face, and grin to myself. Jamie’s slipping, and Alex is mine to snag.
Don’t go far—just down the street, grab a coffee to kill time. Town’s humming low, whispers about Jamie floating, but that’s background noise. Got Alex hooked, and that’s the prize. His trust in Jamie’s cracking, slow and steady—I’m the one cracking it. Notebook’s my trump card—if he needs more, I’ll play it. But this is cleaner, letting him doubt on his own, letting it chew him up without me shoving too hard.
Swing back by the bookstore that night. Not to step in—just to watch. Closing time, and I’m across the street, leaning on the corner store wall, half in the shadows. Blinds are down, but light seeps through the slits, warm and yellow. Jamie’s inside, sweeping slow, like he’s dragging a weight. Hunched, beat—good. Alex is at the counter, stacking books in a box, moves sharp and fast.
Wait, watch, and there it is—Alex stops, mid-stack, looks up at Jamie. Leans on the counter, arms crossed tight, staring. Ain’t the Alex I know—not the easy grin or the back-slap guy. This look’s cold, hard, like he’s eyeing a stranger. Heart skips—I made that happen. Jamie’s bent over, brushing dust into a pan, doesn’t see it at first. Then he straightens, turns, catches it. Freezes, broom in hand, staring back. Air’s thick, even from out here—feels wrong, heavy. Alex’s face doesn’t budge, stays locked, distant. Jamie’s shoulders sag, just a bit, like he took a hit.
Smirk to myself, hands sliding into my pockets. It’s working—better than I figured. Alex doesn’t trust him, not down deep, and Jamie’s feeling it now. Turn away, melt down the street, cold night swallowing me whole. Jamie’s tumbling, and I’m the one giving him the shove.