I shook my head mutely. I hadn’t realized the spread wasn’t all that was on offer. No way would I be able to eat all this and eggs or whatever. Tomorrow I’d plan better. “No, thank you.”
Mal cleared his throat. “How about you add on an order of crispy bacon?”
Jone hesitated then nodded before leaving us alone at the table.
I focused on my plate and continued with my silent treatment. While the croissant was amazing, the company was awkward. Not that I was going to do anything about it.
Mal sighed heavily, and I knew without looking up that he was staring at me. I could feel the weight of his gaze, and it made me so uncomfortable. I wasn’t ready to share what had happened. I didn’t want tothinkabout it, so I definitely didn’t want to talk about it.
Mal sighed again. “Just…please tell me that you’re not going back to that situation. I won’t ask any questions, just…I really need to know that you’ll be safe when you go home.”
“In the poetic words of Taylor Swift, we are never ever, ever getting back together.” I finally looked up to show Mal just how serious I was about that statement.
He smiled. “So you’re a Swiftie?”
“Is this where you sneer at my taste in music?” I viciously stabbed at a piece of honeydew melon with my fork.
“Nah, she’s awesome. I admire someone who lives their life out loud and in the open. Not to mention she’s a fucking billionaire. Anyone who can take the shitty hand she was dealt by her label and turn it into the empire she’s built has my respect. Plus, I really love ‘Love Story.’”
I rolled my eyes. Like hell did this guy love her gooey love song. “Yeah, sure.”
“I do.” He then proceeded to recite the lyrics to the first verse in a smooth, rich baritone.
I blinked. “That’s…you sound amazing. And I totally take it back. You’re clearly a Swiftie too.”
“Thank you.” He sat back with a genuine smile. “I did miss seeing her last tour, though. Still heartbroken over it, actually.”
“I saw her in Vegas.” I gloated.
He winced then clutched at his chest in feigned pain. “Please tell me you at least got a shirt.”
I laughed and nodded.
And the rest of breakfast was just easy. We talked and laughed about our favorite artists and concerts. It was fun. Comfortable. Peaceful.
And exactly what I needed.
Chapter 4
Mal
I craved distraction in the same way I craved alcohol.
I needed something—anything—to occupy my mind and keep me from obsessing about my bleak future. And Saylor’s bruise was the thing my addict brain latched onto. I knew,I knew, I should call my sponsor to keep me from spiraling. But that would mean admitting that I was out of control.
And I wasn’t. Not really.
I hadn’t felt the need for a drink or a hit since we’d left the tour behind.
And I’d turned down Samu’s invitation to meet up and drink cava. Not that it was alcohol, but it could be a trigger, with its numbing affects and social drinking aspect.
I wasn’t going to relapse. I was just a nosy asshole.
Or at least, that was what I told myself.
And it was killing me that Saylor wasn’t spilling about her situation. Was she safe? Would that asshole come for her?
I hated seeing women abused. It brought back long buried childhood trauma I thought I was over. But apparently not.
