Raising Riven

Declan

Declan Scott liked rain, but not as he slid across the slick sidewalk towards a familiar café, blankets of rain draping the bustling, high-rise streets of Downtown Manhattan. His cheap suit clung to his skin. His hair curtained his forehead in a fringe. He was a sodden mess, fumbling between his briefcase and the door handle as he tripped over the threshold of the Bottled Bean.

″Rough day?″ Jada, the barista whose midlife crisis he′d resolved the previous Fall, hollered.

″Slippery, actually.″ Declan sniffled, collapsing onto a barstool. Instantly, a puddle collected at its base. He flung his briefcase onto the countertop, face in his palms as he exhaled; be it from rage or exhaustion, he couldn′t tell.

″Quit sulking,″ grunted the apron-clad lady. ″I run a café, not a bar.″

She slid a steaming mug across the mahogany surface. Declan chuckled dryly, pulling his laptop from its case. It chimed with a notification as the monitor blinked to life.

Hayden
Hey, where you at?
5:48 PM

Declan felt a tug at the corner of his lips whilst his latte wafted into his system. He cracked a small grin at his best friend′s text, setting his latte on a coaster as he typed a response.

Declan
guess
6.18 PM

Hayden
I′ll be there in five.
6.19 PM

Declan flipped the screen, lacing his fingers together on the smooth counter. Jada set her kettle to boil, shooting him a look. ″Girlfriend?″ She gave him a once-over. ″Boyfriend?″

″Hilarious.″ He scoffed. ″It′s just Hayden. I′m a single pringle, remember?″

She snorted. ″Look, I don′t care who you′re texting. Just go get laid.″

Declan choked, spluttering coffee. Instead of offering him a napkin, Jada publicly dissected his love life for all the patrons of the Bottled Bean to hear. ″I′m just saying. If you don′t use the little guy, he ain′t gonna stand up when you finally tell him to,″ she concluded, minutes into his incessant coughing.

″I′m nineteen, not ninety.″ He sucked in a shaky breath, latte still churning in his lungs.

She shrugged. ″I just figured you′d be making an effort with all that talk about having kids someday.″

He fell silent. Sure, Declan wanted a kid more than anything. But a jobless high school dropout with a mortgaged apartment, no one to turn to for support and a stack of unpaid bills kicked into the corner of his living room didn′t exactly spell out ″dad material″.

Just an hour ago, he′d left his raincoat on the metro. What if his baby had been wearing it? No, absolutely not. Declan Scott; broke and broken. Fatherhood would have to wait. Jolting him from his self-deprecating thoughts, a gust of air blew through the café as the door swivelled, followed by, ″Dude, you′re wet.″

″About damn time,″ Declan replied, sipping his lukewarm coffee as the man leant his folded umbrella against the wall. Declan stood, crushing him in a hug.

Hayden pulled away. ″Great, you ruined my suit.″

″On purpose,″ Declan added, smirking.

″I hate you.″

″Get a room.″ Jada rolled her eyes, killing the ignition on the stovetop as her kettle′s whistle rose to a scream. ″Hay, the usual?″ She smiled at the blond as he slid onto a barstool. He nodded, grinning as he faced Declan.

″So, what′s my Dec been up to?″ He smiled an awful lot for someone with a desk job.

Declan raised an eyebrow, setting aside his briefcase. ″Since yesterday? Got fired. How′s the office, Hei-Hei?″

Hayden bit his lip, piecing together the reference. ″Dude, I thought you hated Moana. I′m sorry you lost your job,″ he added, as an afterthought. Declan didn′t blame him; he′d been fired four times this month.

″Meh. It was almost as boring as yours,″ he retorted, grinning smugly at his comeback.

″Touché,″ chuckled the intern.

His forehead wrinkled as his eyes scanned Declan′s features; the dark circles around his eyes, the gaunt creases in his cheeks whose dimples were lost, his five o′clock shadow gone unshaven. Declan could sense his concern.

″Hey, Jada?″ Hayden called, tone laced in worry. ″I′ll pass. Dec and I are going for a walk.″

Declan′s brows shot to his hairline, fringe dripping. ″It′s raining.″

His best friend left a tip on the counter for Declan′s latte, chugging the leftover coffee in his mug as only Hayden would. He leapt to his feet and held his hand out to Declan, whose take on spontaneity was about as enthusiastic as his reaction Moana.

″I hate you,″ he grumbled.

″I love you too,″ Hayden countered, lacing his fingers through Declan′s. Classic Hayden. He only ever gave notice, not ask for permission. Declan stood, hooking his arm through the handle of his briefcase, almost certain he′d regret it.

He left the café alongside his friend of fifteen years, setting out on a leisurely stroll in the midst of a thunderstorm.