We talk about how he never met his grandpa and how he wishes he’d had one. The conversation then turns to the group home I endured for nearly a year, and then I actually admit to running away with my brother. I leave out the part about us stealing and then fudge the truth about how we lived for the next couple of years.
“Where’s your brother now?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “We got split up, and I haven’t been able to track him down.”
“Do you think you’ll ever find him one day?”
“I hope so.” My words come out as a husky whisper, and it’s not until then that I realize I’ve been staring at nothing for the last few minutes.
I blink, bringing my eyes back into focus and catching the heartbroken look on Annie’s face. Glancing away from it, I rub my mouth and sit up a little straighter. My side burns, and I grit my teeth against the pain.
“Is that your gut ache again?” Jackson points at my stomach. “Annie said you’ve been sick.”
I nod, grateful for her lie.
We share a quick look, but then her watch starts beeping.
“We better go. I can’t be late gettin’ back.” She brushes her fingers over the high collar of her waitress uniform. I don’t remember it being buttoned up like that before. Or maybe she’s in a different uniform today.
I gaze at it, trying to figure out why I didn’t notice earlier, until I’m distracted by the quick way Jackson bolts off his stool.
My gaze narrows as he jitters beside Annie while she lowers the stairs back down.
It makes me wonder again what kind of life these two are living. Is it Annie’s boss? How does he fit into this picture?
Unless he’s more than her boss… Are they related somehow?
She gives me a fleeting smile, then disappears down the stairs. Jackson lingers, hovering until his sister’s out of sight. Before he turns to leave, he gives me a steely look and softly says, “I can tell you like my sister. But don’t go there, okay?”
My eyebrows dip together, silently asking why.
“She has enough to deal with already. She doesn’t need anyone else hurtin’ her.”
I frown and lean forward. “Who’s hurt her before?”
“Jackson, let’s go!” Annie calls from the bottom of the stairs.
He doesn’t answer my question with words, but the look he gives me tells me that the hurting might not be past tense.
I’ve seen that look before.
I know it.
I used to stare at it in the mirror sometimes.
Jackson’s shoes thump away from me, and the stairs ping back into place with a snap. I keep gazing at the spot where Jackson just stood.
Maybe leaving tonight isn’t in the best interests of everybody.
Maybe I’ve been brought to this town the same way Grandpa was brought to Florida.
He knew what he was walking into, but I’ve got a gut feeling that maybe I do too. That one look, that whispered warning… how can I turn my back on that?
20
The Lunch Rush from Hell
I sneeze into my elbow, then snatch a tissue out of the box. After blowing my nose for the hundredth time today, I wash my hands yet again.
I’m not sure what the hell is irritating my sinuses, but it’s the worst timing ever. Trying to work with an itchy throat and streaming nose is freaking impossible. I’ve taken an antihistamine, which will hopefully kick in soon. Until then, it’s going to be a hideous lunch rush.
Thank God Dean is out of town today. I have Jackson upstairs. He’s “sick.” Not really, but I forgot to check on him and he slept through his alarm, so he missed the bus. I didn’t have time to drive him to school, so I just called him in sick. The fact that I sounded like I was sick probably helped my cause.
Maybe something in the attic has set me off. I don’t know. I was up there hanging out with Michael—my usual breakfast delivery routine that went on longer than it needed to. It’s hard to get away when he’s sitting up there looking all gorgeous. He’s so easy to be around.
Jackson and I spent most of Sunday with him, and it was one of the best days I’ve ever had. We played cards—Go Fish and Last Card. They’re about the only games I know. But then Michael started teaching us Canasta, which he’d learned from his grandpa. It was hard to get my head around at first, but then I won a round and I didn’t want to stop. I cleaned the boys out. Michael laughed, calling it beginner’s luck, but then he winked at me, and I swear I nearly melted on the spot. He’s becoming more gorgeous every day, and it kills me to think he’ll probably be leaving soon.
We managed to sneak Mirren up to the attic on Sunday afternoon. She checked Michael out, while I stood behind her checking him out in a whole different way. I couldn’t help it! He was shirtless and about the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
Franks stood next to me, nudging me with her elbow and making me blush. Or maybe it was him making me blush. Whatever. He was wearing a shirt this morning—Franks and Billy kindly brought him some clothes, which Michael was so grateful for. It was real sweet. He snuck down for a shower and cleaned up. Mirren told me the wound was healing up nicely and she was pretty sure he didn’t have any internal damage.
“I can take the stitches out in a few days, and then he’s good to go, Miss Annie.” Her friendly tone didn’t hide her pointed look. She wanted him gone.
But she hasn’t spent the last week getting to know him.
When he returned from his shower in fresh clothes and smelling all great, it was impossible not to notice every little thing about him. I couldn’t stop staring at his chin dimple while he talked to Jackson about football and how his brothers used to play a rough version of it on the ranch.
“We called it Kill the Carrier, and basically you just jumped on whoever had the ball and tried to rip it out of their hands.”
Jackson laughed, thinking that was hilarious.
I just sat there soaking it all in. Watching my kid brother relax completely, seeing his smile. It warmed my heart.
I know I shouldn’t go getting all mushy over Michael, even when he says my name in that soft, husky way, or when his eyes smile at me before his mouth does. All those long, slow looks he gives me when I’m talking, like he’s actually interested in every word coming out of my mouth.
I’ve lost track of everything I’ve told him, and I’m sure if I had some of it read back to me, I’d be crimson with embarrassment. But something about Michael has unhinged my tongue, and I’ve happily told him all about growing up with a single mother and then what it felt like to have her fall in love with Dean. Then the joy of getting a kid brother. I’ve glossed over all the parts about Dean being an asshole. Michael doesn’t need to hear that. But he now knows all about Franks and how much I miss school.
He told me I could always get my diploma online.
“That’s the plan. Once I find myself some time.”
His dark eyebrows flickered with a frown. “Maybe you should tell your boss you need to cut back your hours.”
I wrapped up the conversation pretty quickly after that.
If only I could.
If only Dean had half a heart.
I sniff and walk out to the diner, delivering a plate of fried chicken that I can only hope is cooked through. As I place the plate on the table, I almost want to warn them to check before eating any of it, but how unprofessional is that?