Chapter 14 #2
Betty and George were old timers, in every Thursday for their day-date.
Nick came in Monday through Friday and sat in a corner booth.
He’d nurse a cola for an hour while he worked on his laptop, then order the spicy bacon cheeseburger, but with no fries.
When he was finished eating, he’d work an hour more before he capped his meal with a vanilla milkshake. Always vanilla.
He was a sports podcaster. It wasn’t my thing, but apparently it paid the bills.
I went to grab Nick’s coke right away, giving the others time to think about what they wanted. I didn’t bother offering any of them a menu, sure they didn’t need it.
By the time I collected their orders, a few more guests entered the diner, and I fell into a comfortable, familiar groove.
I was at the bar, putting in a new ticket, when Viv came out onto the floor. She spotted me and headed straight my way.
“Hey, you doin’ okay? Laura called. She’s runnin’ late, but she should be here in about a half hour or so.”
“Yeah,” I replied, glancing out over the floor. “I’m good for now.”
“Good. And how are you?”
“Honestly?” I asked, turning to face her directly.
She lifted an eyebrow, and I got the message.
“I’m getting by—but I feel a little in the dark.”
“I hear you.” She glanced behind the bar then shifted to stand beside me, so I’d hear her when she lowered her voice. “Nothin’ much to report. Except…”
“Except what?”
“Your brother came by yesterday. When I told him you had the day off, he wanted to know where you were. Said he’d been to your place and found it empty. To say he was pissed is an understatement.”
“Was he—?”
“I handled it,” she assured me, lifting a placating hand. “But we both know he’ll be back.”
“He called me a dozen times yesterday. I ignored him. I’m sorry if—”
“No. Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for him.” She reached up and gave my shoulder a squeeze before she continued, “When he comes in, if you need backup, you got it. Understand?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Thanks, Viv.”
She signaled toward the kitchen. “I’ll check to see what orders are up and lend a hand.”
By noon, business was in full swing. Laura showed up and jumped right in, helping ease the whirlwind of the lunch rush.
It was after one-thirty when things started to slow down.
I was coming from the back, my arms laden with three plates, when he walked in.
My feet slowed instantly—my brain communicating to the rest of my body I only had a couple seconds to get a read on him.
It didn’t take a telepath to see he wasn’t happy. It was also quite obvious he walked in on a mission. But it was when he found me—his eyes locking in on mine—that I understood we needed to step outside.
Breaking eye contact with him, I forced a smile and delivered the food I carried to its destination. When I was sure everyone had what they needed, I went straight for the door. Glancing up at Carmine as I passed, I murmured, “Not in here.”
The bell above the door chimed as I made my exit, and I walked a few paces away from the entrance, careful to keep myself in view of the windows. It was true, Carmy would never hurt me. Not physically, anyway. Still, I wanted Viv to be able to see where I was.
I barely come to a stop before he grabbed my left hand and whipped me around.
“What the fuck is this?”
I yanked my hand back, folding my arms across my chest as I willed myself to stand my ground. I still didn’t know what I was going to tell him, but I wouldn’t cower.
“I told you. I got married.”
“That son-of-a-bitch has been behind bars for three years and everyone knows it. You don’t know him. He’s not even on your radar.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We met his first night back. Guess it’s true what they say. When you know, you know.”
His face contorted into an expression that was a mix of disbelief and disgust.
“Bull-fuckin’-shit,” he spat.
I narrowed my eyes at him, now more irritated than anything else.
“What? You think I’m just some idiot? Like I don’t know who I am or what I want? News flash, Carmy, I know myself a hell of a lot better than you do.”
He spoke through gritted teeth when he replied, “I think it’s you who thinks I’m dumb. Some fucked up shit is stirrin’, and the timing of all this is no coincidence. Can’t be.”
I opened my mouth to speak instinctively, but my words got caught in my throat.
He was right. Of course, he was right. But I couldn’t let him know that.
Fortunately, the silence between us didn’t last but a breath.
“Is there a problem here?”
My head snapped in the direction of his voice.
Pistol.
My eyes devoured him in an instant. It was all the time I had, his gait bringing him toward me with a quickness.
He still had two black eyes, but the bruising was starting to turn yellow around the edges. The cut above his brow was scabbed over, and the one on his lip was still there but definitely healing. His swelling was completely gone, and he looked like him—just a little banged up.
The second I was in reaching distance, he draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. Then he did something I never saw coming.
He pressed his lips against my temple and mumbled, “Hey, angel. You good?”
It took every bit of brain power I had to prevent my jaw from falling wide open.
If he wasn’t holding me, I might have stumbled.
Fortunately, when I leaned into him, unfolding my arms in order to grab hold of his kutte and steady myself, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for two people in love to do.
And that’s what we were—what we were pretending to be—two people in love.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I blinked, forcing myself to nod.
Then, to my great relief, Carmy spoke.
“I’m havin’ a conversation with my sister. You weren’t invited.”
“Perception is a funny thing,” Pistol replied. “In your mind, you think you’re havin’ a conversation with your sister. In mine, I’m sure you’re havin’ a conversation with my wife—a conversation she doesn’t look to be enjoyin’.”
While part of me was still trying to locate my motor skills, another part of me was content to let the men have it out. Especially when Carmine’s demeanor shifted into something that scared me a little.
He raised his hands, curling his fingers into fists before he brought his fists back down to his sides in a show of barely contained anger.
His jaw locked, he looked right at me and muttered, “You don’t have any idea what you’ve done.
Not a fuckin’ clue.” He then pointed a finger at me and yelled, “Damnit, Lyla!”
I jumped, and Pistol’s arm tightened around me as Carmine turned and walked away.
Pistol didn’t let me go, not until the rumble of Carmy’s hog began to dissipate.
“You sure you’re okay?”
I looked up at him, still trying to shake off the effects of my complete mind lapse.
“Uhm, yeah. I’m—I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said before he strode inside.
This time, I couldn’t keep my mouth from falling open.
What was that?
On some level, I knew the answer.
It was a show.
That’s what our marriage was—a show.
Except…he called me angel.
It was one thing for him to call me birthday girl.
The first time he did it, it was actually my birthday.
A couple of days later, it wasn’t so much endearing as it was my clue he hadn’t remembered my name.
Now, he definitely knew my name and yet he chose angel instead.
I wanted to know why. I clung to the question, afraid if I didn’t, I’d dwell on the feeling I got when he said it.
A feeling I wasn’t ready to have. No—figuring out why was way safer.
Aware I wasn’t going to find any answers standing stunned in front of the diner, I managed to put one foot in front of the other as I walked back inside.
The first thing I noticed was Pistol didn’t come to dine alone.
He’d taken one of the end seats in a horseshoe booth where he now sat with four other Stallions.
Laura was standing table side, scribbling down their orders on her notepad.
I couldn’t say whether I was relieved or disappointed at having missed the chance to wait on the group, but as I started to cross the room to check on a table in my section, I caught Pistol’s eye.
Rather than give me a passing glance, he watched me as I walked by, and I felt myself begin to blush.
Fucking blush.
I looked away, but it didn’t do me much good—the last couple of minutes playing on a loop in my head. This was the second interaction we had with my brother. Only this time, it was Pistol coming to my rescue. In a way, he evened the score.
Except…he called me angel.
I tried shaking my head clear as I approached one of my tables. Words were spoken, but it felt like I was straining to hear them through a tunnel, my real focus on the other side. I managed to pick up on the request for a couple drink refills, and I was quick to head for the bar.
I needed to get a grip.
Fast.