Page 24 of Thorns and Ashes
Damn it.
Not here. Not now.
“Levi, are you okay?” Chief asks, formalities forgotten.
“Yeah,” I force out, unconvincingly even to my own ears, but before he can question me further, the door swings open.
“Chief!” Billy hollers walking through the door.
“You ever heard of knocking, Billy?” Chief scolds, taking his attention off me and onto the bulldozer at the door.
I use the distraction to get my shit together. I’m not about to have a panic attack in the middle of my superior’s office and get sent to some psychiatrist who’ll have to clear me to work. Not a chance.
“Whoopsies,” Billy says with a smile. “We’re heading out for lunch. Wanted to know if you want to join us at the Cozy Pines Cafe?”
I internally groan and roll my eyes. I’ve gone back for myfreecoffee a few times these last four weeks, but only on the days when I have Ellie with me, because apparently I’m a pushover when it comes to my dog and her obsession with those stupid biscuits. Other than that, I’ve avoided the place and Tris entirely. Each time, without fail, she has made some type of snide remark, locked and loaded, like she gets off on the idea of getting under my skin. Too bad for her, she’s never ready for what I dish right back out.
Last time I was there, I half expected Ainsley to kick me out. After going back and forth a bit, I finally had enough of Tris’s attitude and told her that she’s proof that caffeine doesn’t fix everything. I almost felt bad, but I can’t say I didn’t love watching her face turn three shades of red. Honestly, it made my day. Even Tom noticed I wasn’t in as bad a mood. Of course, the realizationthat I was smiling because of something related to Tris set me right back where I started.
The real pisser is that I still haven’t had a cup of coffee there that I’ve enjoyed. Seriously, how hard is it to make a decent cup? Everyone else around here salivates over all their flavors. Tourists mark it on their “must stop here” lists, but each time I’ve had a cup, it’s either been too sweet, bitter, or tastes more like some brand-name candle than coffee.
“Not today, Billy,” Chief replies, turning to me with a slick ‘gotch’ya’ expression before glancing back at Billy. “But the Captain was just saying how impressed he was today with everyone’s hard work. Even mentioned wanting to treat everyone to lunch, so the timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
“Oh, wow, that’s awesome.” Billy turns back toward the hallway. “Guys! Lunch is on Captain King today.”
The crew sounds off with words of appreciation as they all head toward their vehicles.
“Better get a move on,” Chief says with a smirk, shuffling through some papers on his desk.
“Real clever,” I say flatly, standing up and walking to the door. “How do you know I won’t just go home?”
He evens out the papers once, then twice, before he peeks up above them and at me. “Because Captain Levi King, I know something that you don’t.”
His answer catches me off guard. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
He laughs, a deep rumble from within his chest. “Sorry, Captain. You’ll have to figure it out.”
With thatenlighteningrevelation, I leave the chief’s office and make my way to my new truck feeling more aggravated than I did when we were running the drills. I shut the door and grip the wheel, the panic from earlier fading but leaving its stubborn weight pressing down on my chest. I watch one by one as my crew peelsout of the parking lot. And despite this being the last damn place I want to be, I throw it in gear and follow them, heading straight for the Cozy Pines Cafe.
Screw it.
The second I walk into the Cozy Pines Cafe, something feels different, off. Like the air is charged somehow, instantly setting me on edge. The rest of the crew doesn’t seem to notice, but it’s my job to be vigilant, so I take everything in, looking for something that’s not how it should be. I look around, but everything looks like it always does. Vines are hanging, and patrons are laughing. It’s busier than usual, filled with the regulars along with the tourists here early for the Memorial Day weekend. The place smells like there’s a fresh batch of something delicious ready to be enjoyed, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Nothing seems off until my attention catches on Ainsley and Tris behind the counter.
Ainsley looks distraught, like something has upset her, and usually I wouldn’t really care, but that’s not the unsettling part. She reaches her hand out and comforts Tris. Against my will, my own pulse spikes at the interaction. My fists curl at my sides as I wonder what’s wrong. Before I can tell myself to leave it alone and look away, Tris’s eyes find mine, as if they’ve been pulled by some invisible string. The look of pain and sympathy etched into her expression punches through my chest. It’s harder to swallow than any I’ve seen from her before. The rawness of it catches me off guard, like I’ve caught a glimpse of the woman beneath the cold exterior.
But all at once I realize what’s happening. When she sees me and her expression doesn’t shift to disgust, annoyance, or utterdisapproval of my presence, the reaction I didn’t realize until now I’d grown used to, I understand what Ainsley must have told her. She’s the only one who’s never once looked at me the way she is right now.
She knows.
The longer we stay in this locked gaze, the tighter my fists squeeze, and my jaw clenches.
Finally, she looks away, and I find my seat with the rest of the crew.
She comes over and takes the table’s order. Billy and Mark look like they’ve folded in on themselves at the sheer sight of her. This is a woman who demands a room and brings men to their knees, but suddenly will no longer look at me. In my seat, I’m stewing, and when it’s my turn to order, I spew nothing but digs to get her to turn her expression back to the one I’m used to.
I don’t want her sympathy. I don’t want her looking at me the way everyone else does. But the part that really gets under my skin, the part I don’t want to examine too closely, is why it bothers me at all. Whyherlooking at me like this is sending me into a spiral of devastating rage. That’s where the anger settles. Not at her. At myself.
God, I hate her.
