“You heard him,” I say, keeping my voice low. Steady. “He’s done. No more jokes. No more comments. You don’t want Marlowe or your mom in our mouths again? Fine. Line’s drawn. You got my word. But you’re not going to break Diego’s back over a bad joke. We clear?”
Silence.
The whole table is holding its breath. Dom stares at me for a second. Two, then three, until his jaw finally unclenches. He drags in a long breath through his nose and shuts his eyes for half a second.
“Fucking shithead,” he finally grumbles as if that explains everything.
Diego sighs with relief, one hand flying automatically to his lower back.
“Fuck, man,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-wincing. “You’re built like a bulldozer.”
Dom doesn’t answer.
He just scrubs both hands over his face, then falls back into the booth and reaches for his coffee as if nothing had happened. Holli shoves away from my chest, palms braced on the table. He’s still breathing hard, but some of the wildness has drained out of his eyes.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he tells Em, pointing a fork at him, voice shaking more than he wants it to. “You know that? Your brother’s always saving your ass. One day, he won’t, and you’ll get murdered. So grow the fuck up.”
Em nods. He doesn’t try to joke it off this time.
“Charlene? I’m still throwing their asses out, right?”
All heads turn to the waitress, sizing each one of us up in the longest minute possible.
“No, Hal, we’ll give them one more chance.” She grabs the cig from her mouth, flicks the ashes to the floor, and then stabs each one of us with her finger. Dom’s staring at the cig still burning in between two fingers. He looks like an addict wanting a hit before he drags out his vape and sucks heavily from it. “‘Cuz they owe me a heavy tip and better pay up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” three of us answer, except Em and Dom, who continue staring.
Em salutes with a fry.
She snatches it out of his hand, eats it, and walks away.
“You punks got lucky. Good thing Charlene likes you.” No idea the waitress even cared we had been back here before. Honestly, why didn’t I even think she had a name? Doesn’t matter. “Try that stunt again and you’re out. Let the cops deal with you rich pricks.”
The tension leaks out of the moldy restaurant. Conversations resume around us except our booth. It’s all weird and raw, thanks again to Em’s idiotic ways. I shove my plate a little to the side. Appetites took a hit all around, except maybe Diego’s. He’s already back to working through his burger like the diner fight burned calories he needs.
“Fuck this, I’m out. Move, Diego.” Dom’s a ticking time bomb about to burst. Diego’s mouth is stuffed, mid-bite, when he side eyes Dom. “Dickhead always has to fuck shit up with that fucking running mouth. Fucking moron.”
Dom’s pushing against Diego so hard that he almost falls out of the booth. Usually, Holli begs him to stay, but not this time.
“Yeah, I’m gone too. I’m glad you’re doing better, Emilio, but talking shit about those we care about is bullshit, and you know it. You already did it at the hospital, and now, all this time later, youare saying the same shit. Dom’s right. Do better.”
Em’s eyes are wide, so are Diego’s.
All of us are surprised as they stomp out of here together. They were enemies the night of the crash. Frenemies in Em’s ICU room that Sofia had to handle. Now friends again, having each other’s backs. I’d say I’m offended they stormed out when I needed their advice with Sofia, but honestly, I’m happy.
I begin to laugh.
Loosening something in my chest. Some weight lifting, because if Dom can forgive Holli’s ass for banging his mom, then there’s still hope for Sofia and me to work out after all.
“What the fuck?” Em stares at me like I have lost my mind. The air that got sucked out with the three of them fighting is walking out the door. I roll my shoulders and spread out more in the booth with them gone. “Why are you laughing?”
I shake my head. Diego’s back to sitting, burger in hand, and cautiously watching the exchange.
“I don’t know, but it feels good.”
I drag my plate in front of me, ignoring the spilled drinks. My appetite creeps back in, slow and stubborn. I reach out and take a bite of the golden onion rings. They actually taste like something this time.
“That’s fucking weird,” Em mutters, shoving all the food plates away from him.
