“I meanlunch.”
“But it’s only just noon! I’m not hungry yet.” I normally didn’t eat lunch for another hour or two, maybe grabbing a sandwich if I remembered.
“You’re in training, now. You need protein.” He turned to look at me. “We need to get some meat on those”—he stared at my arms, then at my legs, which took longer—”bones.”
He showed me into a diner that was practically next door to the gym. The walls were covered in photos, many of them black and white. Every one of them showed a boxer.
“Aedan?” A waitress in her fifties bustled over to us. “Aedan, my sweet Irish boy.” She gave him a hug. “We don’t see you in here enough. And who’sthis?”She gave me an appraising look, which was roughly comparable to being inside an MRI scanner for an hour.
“Just someone I’m helping,” Aedan told her. “Could you do us a couple of your boxer’s breakfasts?”
She showed us over to a booth, grinning the whole time. When she’d left, I asked, “Your mother?”
“No. She just thinks she is.”
“What’s aboxer’s breakfast?”
“You’ll find out.”
I looked at him across the blue and white tablecloth. “Whereisyour mom?” Then I paused. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
He looked at me. “I do.”
“You do mind me asking?”
He nodded.
I felt crushed. “Oh. Sorry.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I’msorry. It’s just something I don’t talk about.” He looked at me and then around at the room. “And I’m not good at...this.”
“Lunch?”
“Talking.” He rubbed his face and then gave a wry smile. “I’ve got a brother, Carrick.He’sthe talker. He’d talk your knickers right off.”
“He wouldn’t,” I said quickly. Because, weirdly, just the idea of it felt like cheating.
“He would.” And then he looked uncomfortable, as if he’d said too much. We descended into an uneasy silence.Great, now I’ve pissed him off. He hates me.
17
AEDAN
Great,now I’ve pissed her off. She hates me.I hadn’t meant to shut down the conversation. But my family was one thing I couldn’t talk about. I should never have mentioned my brother.
And then it got worse.
A hand slapped down on my shoulder. There’s a certain way that cops do that, to let you know who’s boss. And there was only one cop who’d have the guts to walk up and do it to me.
“Hi, Charlie,” I said tiredly.
He stepped around to the side so that I could see him. He was barely taller than Sylvie—barely taller thanme,sitting down. I’d never understood how he got past the academy’s height requirements. Maybe he’d stood on a box the entire time. “How you doing?” he asked, which is cop-speak forare you keeping your nose clean?
“Good,” I said. “Sylvie, Charlie. Charlie, Sylvie.”
Charlie eyed our clothes. “You training again?” His jaw tightened. “Back at The Pit?”
“No. Teaching.” I looked at Sylvie.
