Chapter 17
Justice
Ahalf-hour later, we have a window seat at a twenty-four-hour diner. It frames the smoggy nocturnal sky and a major boulevard. At three a.m., this part of the city is still breathing the excitement of nightlife.
On the food and oil splattered wall is an award for the diner’s donuts, French fries, and sandwiches. We place our order and wait. The silence between us is permeated only by the after-hours revelers from time to time.
“I can’t sleep,” I tell him. Our order has been delivered, and we’re seated before a spread of food.
“Ye still fall asleep after four?”
“How would you know?” I quip, thinking out loud. “Oh, hmmm, those few nights at your parents.” You care. Say it.
“Sitting. Thinking.” He sips a coffee.
“Which means you’re unable to sleep as well?”
“I drive a truck overnight, Justice. Wit’s yer excuse?”
With a tentative palm running over my forearm, I sigh. “No excuse, here. Just reminiscing. I got my life back, and while I’m a creature of habit, I need to catch up with that revelation.” Dammit, I’m sharing all of my business. I could’ve just reminded him how I’m a bartender, accustomed to the late shift.
I want to be excited about the bar manager position Chevelle has offered me. But she hasn’t found a place, and ages have faded away since my dreams were a reality. Shit, she’s clearly dealing with some ride-or-die issues with Leith.
Playing with my maple-glazed donut, I try another approach. “I might move back home.”
“Ye wanna visit? Shite, of course,” he says more so to himself, pulling another plate in front of him with crispy, golden fries. “Take a ride with me. I head out in a couple of days. I’ll drop ye off while passing through. Then Knox or one of my people’ll pick ye up a few days later.”
I pinch off another piece of donut. Food once was my security blanket, comforting me when Lance went off on a rant about his brand. Now, I’m taking tiny bites, not tasting a thing.
I clear my throat. “Once I purchase the necessary parts for my car, and you fix it, I’m moving.”
“Ya give the impression that ye’ll leave, I’ll not fix it.” He conceals a smile, pulling his mug to his lips. At least, I imagine so. I’m content being neurotic and optimistic.
“Last week, Leith was a big-time tech guru. This week, he’s not. He and Chevelle have their own issues. I’m imposing. Why stay?”
Brody settles back in his chair. “Let me ask ye a question. Did Leith look happy last time ya saw ‘em?”
“This morning? Yeah.” I nod.
“Feck yeah. He’s got a bonny lassie. I pray for a bairn half as pretty—”
“You want children?” You aren’t one of those soulless men.
“Let me finish. Half as pretty as Mia, sure, in about a hunner years when I’m ready to settle down. Why do ya hesitate to stay?”
Because in five years not one single man stirred my soul until . . . I lift my shoulders, focus on another excuse. Like I’m halfway out of my twenties. No, that’s too personal. “Nan’s been extremely nice.”
“Bad thing?”
“I sort of heard Big Brody is the nice one out of the bunch. If she’s being nice, and he’s unapproachable right now, that makes me wonder. I heard that he’s angry with you, Leith, Camdyn. Angrier than he’s ever been in his entire life.”
Brody’s large hand forms into a fist around his fork. He sighs. “Who told ya that? Twigs?”
“No, and you didn’t just call Chevelle Twigs!”
“How ya know I’m referring to her?”
I find myself laughing. This should be my life. Happy and laughing with friends.