Page 21 of Hard Rain
Whip stood near the waffle iron in a dark Henley and jeans, blond hair still damp from the shower.
Normal.
Too damn normal.
Axel grabbed his coffee and leaned against the counter automatically, waiting for something that used to come easy between them. A smartass comment. A shoulder check. Whip talking shit. Anything except this odd careful silence.
Instead, Whip slid a plate onto the table.
“Storm’s supposed to get worse tonight.”
The fucking weather?
“That’s your big conversation starter?”
Whip shrugged and moved past him toward the sink without touching him.
Axel clenched his jaw.
Whip never used to do that. He usually crowded the space without thinking about it. Reaching across him for coffee mugs. Bumping shoulders. Standing too close.
Hell, he’d been doing that since high school.
Hallways. Football sidelines. Locker rooms.
Same shit. Different decade.
Now, Whip moved around him politely.
Like he was a guest instead of somebody who lived there.
Like Whip was already making room for him to leave again.
Morning rain hammered the Jeep’s windshield hard enough to blur half of Lakeview into gray smears and brake lights.
Whip killed the engine outside the Marshals office.
Axel climbed out into cold drizzle.
Whip came around the front of the truck, tugging his jacket higher against the weather.
Neither of them spoke as they headed inside.
The office smelled like cinnamon rolls and stale coffee instead of rain for once. Phones rang somewhere deeper in the building beneath the steady hiss of weather against the windows.
Beth stood near the copier in a too-short skirt and boots, blond ponytail bouncing while she shoved a pastry box away from Knox’s reach.
“Touch another one and lose a hand.”
Knox grinned. “Your cinnamon rolls are worth the risk.”
Beth snorted and gathered her papers against her chest.
Then she spotted Whip and Axel walking in.
“Help yourselves. I baked.”
“Thanks, Beth,” Whip said, dropping his keys onto his desk before moving toward the coffeepot on autopilot.
