Coward.
“With Brian?”
Sure. Let her assume that. Who knew what would happen? Oliver the movie star might take one look at poor Nick in his rusty car and decide he wasn’t worth the time. If it turned out to be more than that, Nick would tell her then.
Angelo’s was an old-school Italian place with the usual flair. Checkered tablecloths. Candles in bottles covered in wax from all the candles that came before. The smell of garlic clung to everything, and, on weekends, they had a guy who played the mandolin.
Nick scanned the restaurant as he arrived. No sign of anyone who remotely looked like a movie star, or even anyone close to Nick’s age for that matter. He’d always thought of Angelo’s as a popular spot, but he hadn’t been in a while, and the Thursday night crowd was more of the fifty-plus set than anything.
He let the hostess seat him at a table toward the back. Nick took the chair facing the door and stared at it with all the intensity and nervous energy of a man waiting for a firing squad.
What was he doing? He was too old for this shit, on the dark side of his thirties. Now he was sitting in the only shirt he’d been able to find with buttons down the front, waiting for a guy who liked to pose on sunny beaches while he showed off his six-pack and his designer sunglasses.
Nick’s phone rang. Startled, he fumbled it out of his khakis.
“We have a problem. Where are you?” Anya said, skipping greetings completely.
“I told you, I went to get a bite to eat.”
“When will you be back?”
A few seconds ago, Nick would have said he was on his way. He’d have gotten up, sent a short apology to Oliver, and grabbed a burger on the way home. But the tension in Anya’s voice said things were not any better at the house than when Nick had left. He closed his eyes, emotions warring between guilt and obligation. He should go home. She needed him, and he’d promised to be there for her, but the idea of it made his stomach knot with anxiety. He didn’t want to go home. He needed a break.
“I don’t know, an hour maybe? Everything okay?”
“He won’t plug in the charger.”
Nick growled softly. Hayden’s tracking bracelet needed to be charged daily. If the battery died, a signal went to the police station, and then there would be a phone call or, worse, a visit to see what the issue was.
“Let me talk to him.”
The only indication Hayden had picked up the phone was the change from household static to sullen silence.
“Hey, buddy. Your mom says you won’t plug in your bracelet.”
“No! I totally will. I’ve just got some stuff to do first.”
“What kind of stuff?” A teenager on house arrest could only have so many obligations on a Thursday night.
“Just...stuff.”
“Stuff you can’t do while you’re sitting on the couch where your mom might see you?”
“No! It’s...it’s so boring. I can’t do anything but watch TV.”
For any other teenager, mandatory TV would have sounded like a dream, but doing it on a schedule wasn’t fun for any of them. Hayden had to sit in the living room every night for two hours while the damn bracelet charged. Binge-watching was the only thing making it bearable for any of them. Nick wouldn’t be surprised if the TV options were getting thin, but that didn’t make any difference.
“Buddy. You already screwed up by not coming home on time.”
“I told you, my teacher asked me to stay late!”
“Go charge up. Do a crossword or something.”
“A what?”
A shadow fell over his table, and Nick’s heart squeezed. “I gotta go. Listen to your mom.”
“Excuse me.” The new voice was low as Nick hung up his phone, and it made the hair on his arms prickle. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket as he glanced up.
