Cement Heart(24)

“Mr. Finkle?”

Startled at the sound of my name, I stood and turned as a camera flashed in my eyes. Squinting and holding my hand up, I tried to block out another flash. “What the fuck?” I growled.

“Hi, Mr. Finkle. I’m Warren Sanders with the Star Tribune here in Minneapolis.” He held his hand out for me to shake. I glared down at it and then back up at him without saying a word. He quickly pulled his hand back and continued, “We heard about what happened yesterday with Mike Asher, and we were just wondering if we could ask you a few questions. Like, maybe what exactly happened? What’s his current condition? Anything you’re willing to give us.” He held a microphone in my face as the cameraman lifted a different camera onto his shoulder to film me.

Rage shot through me like a bullet shoots out of a gun.

“You want anything I’m willing to give you?” I asked coldly. “Well, I’m going to give you ten seconds to get that motherfucking camera out of my face before I shove that mic up your ass.”

“Uh…” he stammered. “We won’t keep you for long. We just want a quick statement.”

Without hesitation, I took three steps and grabbed the camera from the guy behind him, lifted it above my head, and smashed it on the concrete. They both jumped back, their mouths hanging open as they stared at the ground.

“There!” I pointed to the shattered camera as I walked away. “There’s your fucking statement.”





MY HANDS ENCASED the hot cup of disgusting coffee as I sat in the back corner of the cafeteria by the window. It had only been fifteen minutes since I smashed that dickhead’s camera outside, and I already had three text messages sitting on my phone from Andy, unopened.

Brody rushed around the corner and peeked his head into the cafeteria, quickly scanning the room. He did a double take when he saw me and closed his eyes in relief before walking over.

“There you are.” He sighed as he dropped down into the seat across from me.

“Where else would I be?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know… out front smashing cameras?” he said sarcastically.

I frowned at him. “How did you know about that already?”

He took his phone out of his pocket and set it on the table. “Andy texted me to hurry up and find you. Apparently some reporter from the Star Tribune tweeted that you knocked his camera out of his hand or something. There was a picture of it shattered on the ground.”

“Yeah, I knocked it out of his hand. Whoops,” I said dryly, taking a sip of the tar-like coffee. “Why did I buy this?” I stared down at the cup. “I don’t even like coffee.”

“Finkle,”—Brody leaned forward on the table and folded his hands in front of him—“are you okay? I mean, I know this whole thing has moved faster than lightning, and it’s not exactly a pleasant experience, but… how are you holding up?”

I couldn’t believe he was asking me how I was. Our friend was lying upstairs with a hole in his head and tubes going into God knows where in his body, and Brody was worried about me.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not, but I will be.”

He narrowed his eyes and studied me for a minute, trying to decide if he should push me further. Thankfully, he decided against it. “All right,” he finally said, “let’s head back upstairs. Would you text Andy and let him know you’re under control, please?” Grabbing my coffee cup, he stood and took it over to the garbage can.

I picked up my phone and, without reading any of Andy’s messages, wrote back.



I’ll pay for whatever it cost, but I won’t apologize. That asshole deserved it.



We weaved through the crowded hallway and made our way back to the elevator. “Did you go in yet?” I asked once we were alone.

“For a minute.” He swallowed and stared at the drop ceiling tiles in the elevator, clearly avoiding my eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, it was tough to see. He’s pretty jacked up.”

I closed my eyes and nodded, not saying another word.

The elevator came to a stop on the third floor, and we were barely two steps from it when we heard loud crying. Brody’s eyes flashed to mine quickly. “Oh shit!”

We started walking faster toward the waiting room, but just before we were about to round the last corner, Kacie ran right into Brody.

“Kacie!” Brody gently grabbed her shoulders and leaned back, looking straight into her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I was just coming to find you guys.” She was out of breath and trying desperately not to cry. “You need to come back. It’s bad.”