Jesus fucking Christ…
For a brief millisecond, I had hope that when he and Connor walked in, I might not have the confrontation I now know is coming. But the moment Lucky set down a plate instead of a bowl and I saw what was in my glass, that hope vanished as quickly as she did into the back.
I scowl at him and pick up my fork and knife and begin to cut into the slab of minced meat smashed together on my plate. “Maybe I’ve developed a taste for it.”
Even saying those words makes me almost gag.
Killian snorts, then reaches out and snags the glass in front of me that’s clearly filled with something that’s not Coca-Cola. He takes a sip of it. “And a Sprite! My, oh my, your tastes sure have changed significantly since we last sat at this diner only a week or so ago.”
I stab a piece of meatloaf, my stomach already regretting the fact that I’m about to actually attempt to ingest it. But I refuse to give Killian—or Connor, who watches with a smirk—the satisfaction of admitting Lucky gave me the wrong order and I didn’t tell her.
“You know what else has changed around here?” Killian leans forward, placing his elbows on the table with a grin. “The new waitress with the pretty blue hair.”
He inclines his head in the direction that Lucky just disappeared, and Connor snort-laughs, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “You’ve got it bad for her, don’t you, bro?”
I kick Connor under the table, and he winces.
“What was that for?”
“For being you.”
For being an asshole goes without saying since they both know exactly what they’re doing right now.
It is very intentional—their way of giving me brotherly love.
I shove the bite in my mouth and force myself to chew and swallow despite how badly I want to spit it back out.
God, I’ve always hated meatloaf.
Killian isn’t wrong about that.
I would much rather have the bowl of chicken soup I actually ordered, but after the day I can see Lucky is having, I wasn’t about to tell her she messed up my order—again—when I can scarf this down quickly—and hopefully without really having to taste it—and make things easier on her.
At least, a little bit.
It won’t help her keep food and drinks on the trays or stop mixing up orders, but it could get her through the end of this shift without more almost tears.
I didn’t miss the way she tried to rapidly blink them away before they fell earlier. Despite her attempts to keep her head down and hide her distress from me, it rolled off her in waves I couldn’t help but feel.
So, if eating this can make her day easier in any way, I’ll do it.
Killian laughs at Connor’s pain and my response. “Is this why we haven’t seen you at home for dinner all week?” He raises a brow. “Willow was actually starting to get worried. She thinks you’ve been avoiding us.”
Well, she isn’t wrong.
I have been after our conversation at the yard last week, but the way he’s watching me, I know he’s not only talking about the past several days.
Is it better to let him think I’ve been avoiding his wife and the memories that seeing her bring up, or is it better to just admit that there’s something about Lucky that keeps bringing me back to the diner every night, even if I don’t have Giz to return to her?
It’s a Catch-22 really.
Either way, I’m going to face the often relentless assault of the McBride brothers and their opinions.
“She’s new in town. She doesn’t know anyone, and she’s struggling a bit, so I’m trying to support her.”
Killian snorts and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Uh huh. As a friend, right?”
I shove another bite in my mouth and chew a little more violently than necessary. “Of course, just as a friend.”
