Page 28 of After We Fall

In between the salt and pepper shakers on our table stands a vertical wooden holder stocked with thin, brown paper towels. Luke rips one off and wipes the bottom half of his face. “What does ‘back a trailer’ mean? You used that term yesterday when talking to the girls about who I am.”

I exhale a sigh of relief. Good. The girls. A topic of neutral territory.

“At the halfway house, we discuss that there are two kinds of people in the world. One group can metaphorically back a trailer. Backing a trailer takes skill, moving valued belongings from one place to another without fuss. They are solid, dependable, and trustworthy. The second group of people fakes it. They tell you they can back a trailer, but in reality, they scratch the vehicles, sometimes damage the contents inside. At the very least, they’re dishonest, not worth our time. At the worst . . .”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Yesterday you told Bianca I could back a trailer.”

I nod. “It’s our safety phrase. Bianca has a hard time trusting people. If one of us tells her the person in question can back a trailer, she knows she doesn’t need to vet them. Or fear them. She can trust our analysis of the person in question. Trust that they are safe.”

“So if I’m a safe person”—he rests his forearms on the table and leans toward me—“why are you avoiding my questions?”

“I’m not. I provide the necessary information as warranted, Mr. Granger.”

His head jerks. “Mr. Granger, again?” He draws his words out while leaning back.

Grasping the top of the paper towel holder, I pull off another piece, allowing it to rip one tiny perforated section at a time. I avoid eye contact while briskly wiping my fingertips. One at a time.

When I gather the courage to glance at him, his stare travels to something over my shoulder, and his face hardens.

I freeze, not understanding what’s happening.

From behind me, a sinister voice laced with curses says, “Who do you think you are?”

Luke shoves to his feet so fast, his chair falls backward and lands with a resounding crash. “Can I help you?”

Twisting in my seat, I catch a view of a seething man, his chest rising and falling, a feral expression darkening his eyes.

Marcus.

With stringy hair, gravity-defying baggy jeans, a ratty T-shirt, and clenched fists, Finley’s ex-boyfriend is intimidating. A dragon tattoo runs up Marcus’s neck, its mouth open, releasing red, orange, and yellow licks of blaze around his right ear. By the scorch in Marcus’s eyes, I’m positive he would unleash that dragon on me if he could.

He points to Luke but doesn’t move his fiery glare from me. “I’m not talking to you, man.”

“Careful,” Luke warns.

The hairs on my body stand on end, and pricks of awareness skitter from my scalp to the ends of my limbs. He’s less than two yards away from me. I’m trapped between the chairs of neighboring tables.

Luke maneuvers in front of me with a wide stance, body wound tight, hands ready at his sides.

I push my chair out and stand, half my body concealed from Marcus by my personal panther. Luke brushes his knuckles against my thigh. A warning? A touch of support?

I clear my throat. “May I help you, Marcus?”

The only encounter I’ve had with him was when I helped Finley move out of her apartment. As I recall, his eyes were just as fierce. However, today they have a glassy effect that doesn’t bode well for our conversation.

“Yeah.” Marcus scoffs, body swaying forward. “You can stop filling my girlfriend’s head with lies and tell her to get herself back home.”

“I’m not sure to what you’re referring,” I say.

“It’s always ‘Miss Penelope this’ and ‘Miss Penelope that.’ You two seem pretty tight. And now she won’t even take my calls anymore. And I know it’s your fault.” Spit flies from his mouth with the sneered words.

Fear courses through me, and I clutch the back of Luke’s shirt. I promise myself that if he needs to move, I’ll release my hold. But it’s becoming evident that Marcus is under the influence of a substance.

“You need to back off, man,” Luke says in a lethal tone.

Marcus’s explosive cursing sears the placid restaurant chattering, leaving silence in its charred wake. An evil grin crosses his face, causing the dragon at his neck to move, its breathing fire somehow coming to life. “You think you’re some kind of fancy hero here to save everyone? You’d better get ready. ’Cause I’m comin’ for my woman.”

I offer a placating hand. “Think about this, Marcus. Finley is doing well at the ranch. She’s using this time to improve her life. Don’t you want her to be somewhere she can flourish?”