“Maybe we’ll see you around,” Cheyenne says to her.
As they start walking away, Colt looks back. For the first time ever, he taps his finger against the side of his head like I do, like I’ve done to him a hundred times, especially where Cheyenne is concerned, before turning around.
There’s nothing to know…
“Please.” Delaney’s plea pulls my attention back to her.
“You don’t have to beg,” I tell her.
“That’s not what I mean. Please don’t say anything. Maddox will want me to quit and without a job, we can’t keep this apartment and I don’t… I can’t go home.”
That’s what does it. The heartbreak in her voice and how it dances on her words and calls to something inside me that I don’t understand. Dance with me, it says, but I don’t do that and I won’t, so I take a step backward, knowing what I’m going to do and wanting to set the thought on fire.
Wanting to burn or bury this need in me to know why she can’t go home.
“I don’t even know your brother. Why in the hell would I tell him?”
“Thank you… Adrian. I appreciate that.”
I don’t let her finish before I’m walking away. I get in my car and drive. When I can’t drive anymore, I pull over. Grab my notebook and a pen.
Maybe nothing.
Playing
Front yard
Fine
Screeching
Maybe everything.
Forgotten phone.
Maybe nothing.
Gun in her face.
Maybe everything.
She can’t go home.
Maybe nothing.
I can’t go either.
Maybe everything.
Ignoring my phone, I drive again. Go until it’s late at night and my car’s coasting along on fumes again. Ironic that I’m doing the same, but I can’t just pull into a gas station and fill up. Can’t find a quick stop to make my worries go away.
When I’m not able to drive anymore, I pull into the diner.
Chapter Eight
~Delaney~
We’ve been crazy busy and I’m thankful for it. Usually it’s nice to have a slow night, but being around people is somehow comforting. Actually, there’s no somehow about it. I know exactly what it is. It makes no sense that I didn’t think it would be scary to be back at work so soon, but it is. It’s not often a girl has a gun pointed at her. The whole time all I could think about was Maddox and Mom. What it would do to my brother to lose me and wonder who would help take care of our mother.
I’m not sure he would.
Leaning over the counter, I reach for more napkins for table three. My back is to the restaurant when a loud crash sounds from behind me. I jump, my heart taking the plummet to my feet as I whip around. When I do, I come face-to-face with Adrian.
My hand flies to my chest as I let out a heavy breath.
“It was just a plate,” he leans toward me and whispers in my ear. “A little harder to come back than you thought?”
“Yes,” I say, not even considering lying. Why fight the truth? It’s always there no matter what.
Adrian doesn’t look like he’s taking the pleasure in it that I thought he would. Instead he sighs and asks, “Are you going to seat me?”
“That’s what the hostess is for,” is my reply when really what I’m wondering is why he’s back. I doubt he usually spends his evenings in diners, yet he’s been here numerous nights now.
“I’d rather have you.”
The way he says it shows he doesn’t mean being seated. I know what it is—that he’s trying to make me uncomfortable or to play some kind of sexual game with me. I’m not interested in games. He wouldn’t be either if he knew the truth.
“Excuse me, miss?” a customer asks, and I realize I’m clutching her napkins in my hand.
“I have work to do.” Before the last word leaves my mouth, I’m already walking away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Adrian get seated. He’s in Lisa’s section, which makes some of the tension ease from my muscles. I won’t have to deal with him for at least two hours. What am I thinking? It’s not like he’s going to be here for that long anyway.
I stay busy for the next couple of hours. The whole time I’m distinctly aware of Adrian. That he’s still here, that he’s eating pancakes again. The way his finger plays on the top of the table as though he’s writing something with an invisible pen. I think about his poem and if he wishes he was writing one. If that’s something he does to deal with life. If he’s always written or only since my father took away that little boy.
An anchor lands on my chest, weighing me down with a million tons of guilt—for what my father did and the fact that Adrian doesn’t know.
We’ve slowed down slightly and I’m leaning against the counter, as though that will take the weight away. Lisa steps up beside me, nudging me with a smile and having no clue the storm of emotions twisting inside my head.
“He a friend of yours?” she asks.
“No,” pops out of my mouth. How can we be friends with so much between us? “I don’t really know him.”
“It’s a shame. He’s gorgeous.”
And he really is. All his features are dark—dark hair and eyes and even a bronze shade to his skin. Darkness lingers in those eyes and the set of his jaw. One look at him and you can tell he walks around with a bruised soul.
“Looks like he’d be a good time.”
Her words make me wonder if she doesn’t see what I do when I look at him. Maybe it’s like those ghosts he said he sees in my eyes. We’re bound together by this tragedy and even though he doesn’t know it, he still sees that thread tying us together.
“Hello? Earth to Delaney?” She snaps her fingers and I look at her.
“Sorry. I guess I’m still a little shaken up from last night.”
“I know, right? I can’t believe you guys got robbed. What’s worse is that we’re open the very next day and there’s not even any security here.” At least Hugo’s the cook tonight. It feels good having a guy around.
“Are you out of here?” I ask her.
We keep a second waitress until 1:00 a.m. tonight. After that, it’s just me.
“I am. Have a good night!” she says, and then Lisa is gone, the hostess, too, leaving Hugo and me.
Glancing at Adrian’s table, I decide I should check on him. It’s my job, after all. My feet feel like they’re made of lead as I make my way to the table.
His plate is cleared away by now, leaving only a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Need a refill?” I ask, and then realize I’m an idiot and left the carafe behind the counter.
“From your invisible pot?” A small smile tugs at his lips.
I cross my arms. “I didn’t plan to come over here and stopped on my way.”
“Sure.” He shrugs, surprising me. I expected something more, so I’m a little taken off guard.
“Oh… okay. I’ll be right back.”
I grab the carafe and then head back to his table, filling his empty cup. I’m about to walk away when the question I try to bite back climbs from my mouth. “What are you doing here, Adrian?”
His name strikes me for a second. This is Adrian. I’ve known his name for four years. My father killed a member of his family and now he’s sitting in front of me and his name is rolling off my lips. It’s strange and confusing and something I thought was a good thing, but then… why haven’t I told him? Why are we playing this back-and-forth game while I’m wearing this façade he knows nothing about?
“Now? I’m drinking coffee. Earlier I was eating pancakes. Have you ever had the pancakes here?”
I don’t know why his words make me smile. “I’m serious.”
He takes a drink of his coffee and I cringe. Yuck. He drinks it black with no sugar. Finally, he replies, “Trying to get in your pants.”
I know that’s partially true. He’s a guy and I’m a girl and he’s made it obvious what he wants, but there’s more to it. It turns me inside out, amps up the guilt until I feel like it’s frying my heart—I know he’s also here because in his way, he’s keeping me safe. I’m not stupid enough to believe it’s me specifically. I’m just a girl he tried to hit on, who he ran into again and later happened to be in the right place at the right time.
And now… well, maybe he’s a good guy. My brother would do something like this. He’d never admit it, but I could see him sitting in a restaurant keeping vigil for a girl. Thinking that it was somehow his job to keep her safe. Or to make her feel safe, even if she didn’t want to admit her fear.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
And when he studies me, looks at me like he’s working out a puzzle in his mind, I know that he understands what I’m saying. That he realizes I know what he’s doing too.
“You better get back to work.” Adrian nods and I look over my shoulder to see Hugo standing in the kitchen doorway watching.
Without another word, I top off his cup again and walk away.
* * *
All night my eyes find him. As I’m helping customers or serving food or filling up saltshakers. As people come and go, I’m always aware of Adrian. He pulls out his notebook and writes sometimes. Pulls out his book and reads. Every time I walk to the table, he’ll cover whatever he’s doing. I wonder if it’s the same book or if he moved on to something else. If reading is something he does often or if he’s passing hour after hour with whatever he can find.
He stopped drinking coffee for a while and ordered a piece of apple pie. Around four he asked for another cup and I wonder if he’s getting tired again. I should probably tell him he can go. The words play on my tongue, but I never let them free. I like watching him, trying to figure out who he is, because I’ve wondered for so long.
Hugo asked who he was and I lied and said a friend of my brother’s. That Maddox was nervous because of what happened last night, and he seemed to take that as a good excuse.