“He didn't.”
“No shit. That liver shot was brutal.” Rafael accepted the coffee from the waitress with a nod of thanks. “You always did have good timing.”
I took a drink of my own coffee. “You came all the way out here to tell me that?”
“I was in the area. Saw your truck in the lot.” He shrugged and added sugar to his cup. “Figured I'd say hey. Make sure you weren't sitting here bleeding into your dinner.”
The explanation came smooth, but the timing felt off. Rafael showing up at the exact diner I'd chosen, at the exact time, knowing where my truck was parked. Too convenient. Too precise for coincidence.
“Burger,” I said. “And I'm fine.”
“Yeah, you look fine. Real pretty.” He gestured at the cut above my eye. “That's gonna leave a mark.”
“Add it to the collection.”
Rafael laughed, the sound easy and genuine. “Fair enough.” He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. “Fuck, that's terrible. How do you drink this shit?”
“It's coffee. You drink it for the caffeine, not the flavor.”
“Spoken like a man with no standards.” He set the cup down and leaned back in the booth. “So how's the stepson settling in? Everything good on that front?”
“He's dealing with some shit. Nothing I can't handle.”
“You always say that.” Rafael's tone was light, no judgment in it. “Even when you're handling about fifteen things at once and running on three hours of sleep.”
“I'm fine.”
“Right. And I'm the queen of England.” He grinned and took another sip of the terrible coffee. “You know what your problem is, Declan?”
“I'm sure you're about to tell me.”
“You're too goddamn stubborn to ask for help when you need it. You'd rather grind yourself into the ground than admit you might be in over your head.”
“I'm not in over my head.”
“Okay.” Rafael raised his hands in mock surrender. “If you say so.”
We sat in silence for a minute. The waitress came by to refill our cups. One of the truckers paid his bill and left, the bell chiming as the door swung shut behind him.
“You want some advice?” Rafael asked.
“Not particularly.”
“I'm giving it anyway.” He leaned forward, forearms on the table. “Whatever's going on with your stepson, don't let it eat you alive. You're allowed to have your own life, Declan. You're allowed to set boundaries. You don't owe anyone martyrdom.”
I looked at him. “That it?”
“That's it.” He sat back, that easy grin returning. “Take it or leave it. I'm just a guy drinking shitty diner coffee and making unsolicited observations.”
“Noted.”
“Good.” Rafael drained the rest of his cup and winced again. “Fuck. I don't know how you do it.”
“Practice.”
He laughed again and shook his head. “Alright. I'm heading out. You good to drive, or do I need to call you a cab?”
“I'm good.”
