“Don’t.” I rush, rubbing my thumb over hers. “He wasn't a good person. His death was a celebration.”
“Oh,” she breathes. Her head dips as her voice lowers. “What did he do? If you don't mind me asking…”
You could ask for my last fucking breath, and I would give it to you.
“He was abusive,” I answer. “Please don't ask.”
Because I would tell you every gory detail until you begged me to stop.
“Okay,” she says quietly. Her fingers tap my wrist. “My mom won’t tell me anything about my dad. It’s like once he died, she forgot he existed. I know they cared for one another, but she can't just erase the memory of him.”
“Hmm, sounds like she misses him,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“It could be how she copes. We all have our own ways to grieve. Maybe she's living in a reality where he still exists, and acknowledging he’s gone would destroy that.” I shrug.
She stares at me unblinkingly. “I never thought of it that way…” She takes her hand back, and I miss the contact as she cuts into her omelet. “Sounds like she needs more therapy.”
“Don’t we all?” I mutter.
Addison smiles at her plate, and my chest warms at the sight. “You’re not so bad when you aren't angry with me.”
“You’re not so bad when you aren't being a brat.”
That earns me a chuckle. “Old habits die hard.”
We enjoy the rest of our meal in a comfortable silence. When the waitress returns with our check, I’m quick to take it before Addison can reach for her purse.
“Don’t you dare,” she seethes.
I stare her dead in the eyes as I hand my card to the waitress, who glances between us with amusement.
“You two are the cutest couple,” she muses before walking to the register.
Addison hangs her head. “I’m getting the next meal.”
I snort. “As if I wouldletyou pay.”
“What are you? Sixty? This isn't the seventies anymore, grandpa.” She rolls her eyes.
Do men not pay for her?
Well, that changes today.
I let her gather her things before she steps out in front of me. She waves to the waitress as I take one more look around. A beat-up pick-up truck pulls in next to mine, and my eyes narrow. A tall, slender man jumps down from the driver’s seat, and another from the passenger side. The driver glances at my truck before his friend points to the diner.
The senses I developed over years of meticulous training blare an alarm. I place a hand on Addison’s shoulder, causing her to peer over at me. “What?”
“Hold on.”
She stops, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie as the glass door opens and the bell chimes. Both men walk in and peer around at the booths. I step around Addison, blocking her as I take her hand and drag her after me.
“Excuse us,” I push past them, squeezing her out the door. Only the driver acknowledges me with a nod before returning to his scouting.
His friend walks up to the counter, catching the waitress’s attention. “Good mornin’, beautiful. We have some questions…”
