“I love a skinful too. Don’t remember you having one anytime recently, though, so what the fuck are you doing in here?”
“Hiding.”
“Standard. From who?”
Lenny shook his head and finally looked up. “I don’t even know anymore. That man . . . I thought . . . But it wasn’t, but I was in here before I realised, and then . . . shit, I couldn’t come out.”
It took Nero a few beats to process Lenny’s convoluted stammer and match it with what little he knew about him. He was hiding from someone, that much was obvious. A dealer? A pimp? Nah, he ain’t the type, but what?
Nero had enough demons of his own to keep his questions to himself. He laid a hand on Lenny’s chilled arm. “If it’s folk coming back-of-house you’re worried about, it don’t happen often.”
“It’s not just that. Being here, indoors all the time . . . it sounded like bliss when Cass offered it to me, but it’s doing my head in. I can’t breathe.”
Cell walls Nero would never forget flashed into his mind, as stark and real as they’d ever been. And then the thick, choking smoke that had led him there. He took a deep, shaky breath. “The way I see it, you’ve got two options: fuck it and go outside anyway, or if you really can’t—”
“I can’t.”
“Then you have to live the life you’re stuck with. Me and Cass, we’ll stand between you and any fucker comes near you, but we can’t protect you from the gremlins in your brain. You gotta fight them on your own.”
Nero stood, but Lenny’s hand closed around his wrist. “Why are you nice to me?”
I have no idea. Nero pulled his arm from Lenny’s grasp and retrieved the tray of pavlovas. “’Cause you’re good at all the shit I can’t be arsed with. See you back on the line.”
Nero left Lenny in the fridge and dumped the pavlovas on Debs. Then, ignoring her glare, he stormed out to the bar and called Steph over. “No more guests in the kitchen.”
“That bloke earlier was the local MP.”
“Don’t give a fuck. No one comes in the kitchen.”
Steph raised an eyebrow. “We always let guests in the kitchen if they want to talk to the chef. Jimbo likes it.”
“He’s Australian. He likes people. I ain’t, and I don’t, so it’s banned. Got it?”
He strode away without waiting for a reply. Steph was bound to grass him up to Tom—again—but who cared? Not Nero. Cass would back him on this. Always had, even without Lenny hiding in the fridge.
Nero returned to the dessert section and served up the last few tables. It crossed his mind that Lenny might retreat upstairs, but he was cleaning out the blast chiller when he smelled the curious, sweet scent he’d recognise anywhere. “All right?”
“Yeah.” Lenny offered up a watery smile. “What do you need me to do?”
“Take the dirty shit to the pot wash. Clean the fridges down. Don’t forget the door seals and the handles.”
Lenny nodded and got to work. He didn’t seem to want conversation, and that suited Nero just fine. Lenny’s demons echoed his own, and he needed the quiet, subdued buzz of a closing-down kitchen to keep him sane. Fire, smoke, blood. Fire, smoke, blood.
Stop it.
Nero scrubbed the countertops hard enough to rattle his bones, but phantom pain in his hand remained.
Fuck this.
He abandoned his psychotic cleaning and retreated to the test area to check on his dough experiments. All seemed well. He was poking at a rye base when Lenny came to find him.
“I’m done.”
“Good. You having a beer?”
Lenny chewed his bottom lip. “Are you?”
“Nah. Got shit to do.”
