“They’ll hold him for seventy-two hours, at least, since he tried to kill himself. That might be the jumpstart your family needs to put a plan in place. He needs serious therapy. I’ll talk to him again if he wants me to, but he needs real intervention with a team of professionals. What Rowdy and I do works, but only if someone is ready to listen, and he isn’t there yet.”
Hua closed her eyes, and I felt for her on every level. I shook the water off my hands and opened my arms in her direction. She slowly slid across the counter until she was leaning her weight against me. I smoothed down her soft hair along her back, and she rested her head against my chest. There were no tears, but her breath caught. She shook her head as she stared through the archway toward the open front door in the living room and the flashing ambulance lights that painted the early morning darkness red and white. “I should go with them.”
“Go on. Take your coat. Get your phone and purse. You’ll need them.” She startled, then scrutinized me as if none of that had occurred to her. She raced off to try to gather her things and catch the ambulance.
Rowdy strode back into the kitchen and grimaced. “That just fucking happened.”
“Yep.” My stress was near the breaking point. Would Peter be like this if we dug into what had happened with him at the AS? Of course he was scared of Beast, but did he still harbor some love for him, too, out of fucked-up devotion to the organization? There was no telling. I didn’t think he still had feelings for Tatum Black, but then again, I’d just watched a boy try to slit his own throat for a scion that fucked him on a schedule, along with who knew how many other people.
Rowdy scrubbed his hands over his face, and I almost gagged when he went to the table and downed his coffee and then mine. “Want to go to Hattie’s? The diner is close by. I could use some oatmeal pie. They always have the best.”
I glanced down, and my coat and white T-shirt were spotted with blood that hadn’t even begun to turn brown yet. “Like this?”
He snorted. “As if they care.”
Half an hour later, I found myself parked across a faded gold Formica tabletop from Rowdy in a cracked booth at Hattie’s while he stuffed his face with admittedly delicious-looking pie and I waited for pancakes. The large windows next to us that looked out over the lake—the greasy spoon’s only selling point, aside from the pie—were still black with early morning darkness. I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass and wasn’t too surprised to see I still appeared stunned.
Rowdy paused long enough to mumble around a bite, “What’s eating you?”
“Other than the kid we just lost?”
He shook his head. At a booth nearby, a couple of old women laughed together, their snow-white heads bent over a phone. I glared at them, but my bad mood wasn’t their fault. “We’ll talk to him again, without the sister.”
“That’s not really my problem.” Sighing, I picked up my mug of coffee and sipped at it. “I mean, I care about Zihan, and yes, we can try again, but…. So, there’s this guy I met who was in the AS.”
Rowdy’s face went an alarming shade of purple, and he picked up his napkin, coughing into it. I tried not to look at the chunk of pie as he wrapped the thin paper around it. “Jesus, warn a guy.”
Sitting back, I fought off a smile. “I happen to like this man. He’s got problems, but he’s attractive, and something about him pulled me in. He needs help,” I said quietly.
“Where did you meet him?” Rowdy frowned at me, suspicion already drawing down the corners of his mouth.
“Trident Falls.”
“Another guard?” Rowdy asked hopefully.
“Con.”
He tossed the gross napkin down near his plate. “Bad news.”
“Yep.”
Rowdy picked up his fork, took a huge bite—obviously not having learned his lesson—and then pointed the fork at me. “You better let that shit go.”
“I can’t. He’s in trouble.”
We had a stare-off that ended the same way it’d begun, with Rowdy thinking I was stupid and me wanting him to tell me different.
“Then you better help him.” He lifted a shoulder and dug into another bite of his pie. He let out a happy hum as the waitress came by and slid another slice onto the table near him with a giggle and a wink.
“Thanks,” I grumbled, fully embracing the sarcasm in my soul. The waitress sent a frown at me over her shoulder, and Rowdy laughed.
“Can I do anything?” he asked, but only after he was done being an asshole.
“Not now. Maybe sometime. Tatum Black is gunning for him. I’m….” My hand shook as I picked up my coffee cup. I cleared my suddenly stuffy throat. “I’m scared for him.”
Rowdy frowned at me. “What’s your new friend’s name?”
“Peter Gaffin.”
