Page 46 of Reckless Devotion

“The rat? No. But Gerry, yes.” She nods.

I hide my snort at her response in my hand and try to play it off as a cough. When I look up, I catch the end of a piercing glare from Mr. Clay, which gives me the same feeling as a high-school kid admonished by the teacher.

We manage to get off the subway at East Broadway station, and up to street level without a hitch. For someone who had his hip replaced just days ago, Mr. Clay charges onward at a formidable speed, seemingly urged on by his desire to reach our destination. Which appears to be a hole-in-the wall diner with white tile coating the walls and metal tables.

“Are you sure they do Earl Grey tea here?” I ask skeptically as we all take a booth, Chase and Sunny on one side and me seated next to Mr. Clay.

“I friggin’ love this song!” Sunny begins humming along to the teen rock song that plays faintly in the background.

Chase looks astoundingly out of place here, even though he’s casually dressed. Even jeans, a white T-shirt, and a tan suede jacket can’t dull his socialite shine. I find myself distractedly trying to find just one hair out of place in his curated stubble and effortlessly windswept curls. Irritatingly, none exist.

“Terrence!”

I jump at the high-pitched squeal, my attention drawn to the young server who walks toward us with a pen stuffed into her peppy little ponytail. She greets the grizzled man next to me with all the enthusiasm of a kid who's just been told they are getting an inflatable obstacle course for their birthday party.

Surely she can’t have the right person, because no one looks at Mr. Clay this way. She stoops over to kiss his whiskered cheek, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. “We missed you around here! Where have you been?”

“He pushed me over and broke my hip.” Mr. Clay points a crooked finger at Chase, who looks hilariously horrified.

“That’s not true,” he clarifies quickly for the server, snatching up a laminated menu.

“Would I have fallen if it weren’t for you?” Mr. Clay chews out.

The server finds this highly comical all of a sudden, letting out a long stream of giggles and patting his shoulder. “Oh Terrence, you’re so funny!”

I exchange a stunned look with Sunny.

“What do you want for breakfast, Mr. Clay?” Chase asks through teeth that sound ever-so-slightly clenched.

“My usual please, Isabelle.”

Excuse me while I pick my jaw up from the floor, because not only did this man just say please, but he alsosmilesat the woman. It’s not a creepy type that some older men give women, either. It could almost be considered grandfatherly, with genuine warmth creasing his grey eyes.

“Right away, and for the rest of you?” Isabelle plucks the pen from her hair and the pad from her belt, and waits eagerly for the rest of us.

I glance down at my black nail varnish, spotting the chip in my pinkie and hiding them beneath the table. Isabelle here is a positive ray of sunshine, but my style tends to be more thunderclouds and typhoons—not that I mean to be that way. It’s hard to be any other way when you’ve seen the worst of humanity over and over again. The scent of copper fills my nostrils, threatening to suck me back in time.

“Pepper?”

I blink up, noticing four sets of eyes staring expectantly at me. “Erm…” I drop my head to the menu, my cheeks filling with warmth. “I’ll just take some coffee, please.”

All of a sudden, my appetite is gone.

“Oka—”

Chase cuts off the server, that X-ray scrutiny he sometimes uses focusing on me. “Are you sure?”

I nod, finding my throat too tight to reliably speak, and although he looks reluctant, he lets the topic lie. Mr. Clay grumbles something I don’t catch as our server retreats, but apparently Sunny does and takes umbrage. “Oh, do you ever stop being a grumpy old grouch?”

“Sunny!” I reprimand just as she finishes rolling her eyes.

I see Chase lift his fist to cover his mouth out of the corner of my eye, and try to wipe it from memory. This is one ofthose moments where I can’t do what I really want and high-five her. Instead, I have to try and walk the delicate line of big sister/guardian. If I acknowledge to myself the way Chase’s shoulders shake, I’ll ruin this parenting moment and get the giggles.

“I’ve outlived better insults,” Mr. Clay drawls back, folding his arms and staring out of the large windows at the front of the diner.

I give Sunny a pointed look and she dips her head on a sigh and mutters, “Sorry, Mr. Clay.”

The old man looks at her, his large nose scrunched as if contemplating his next move. “You can call me Terrence,” he says finally.