Page 81 of Tormented

Everything is fine.

I’m doing good now.

Totally okay.

I’ve got more confidence than I could shake a stick at.

Liar.

“Picked us a booth by the window. Thought you might like some sun now that it’s out, to dry yourself a bit.”

Sure enough, the clouds have parted and the warm afternoon rays reflect off the puddles in the parking lot. Weather never did have a habit of matching my mood.

“What did you get?” I ask, eyes wide as I slide into the side of the booth that has my cinnamon roll. His plate must be at maximum weight tolerance with the amount of food on it.

“Grilled special.” He smirks. “I eat it all and the meals are free.”

I snort.

“What?”

I pick up the fork and use the side to rip into my roll. “I mean, you’re a big guy and all, but . . . .”

“But . . . .”

“That’s a lot of food.”

“Three sausages, three eggs, eight rashers of bacon, two buttermilk biscuits, fried mushrooms, and two waffles, to be exact.” He leans back, smug, as though proud of himself.

“Your heartburn, not mine.”

In the time it takes me to eat half my roll, he’s devoured two-thirds of the food on his plate. I swirl a bite of cinnamon goodness in the syrup that covers the base of my plate, watching him eat the biscuits like some animal in a zoo. His eyes lift, finding mine, and the blue intensifies as he smiles around his mouthful.

“Consider me wrong,” I say, watching as he shoves half the biscuit in his mouth in one bite.

“Told you I’d pay for the meals,” he mumbles with a hand covering his mouth.

I chuckle. “You won’t be paying a thing.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Exactly, Abbey-girl.”

Clever bastard. “You come here a bit then?”

“Yeah, I’ve stopped before on my way through to visit Mack.”

His son. “You miss him?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says as though it’s the stupidest question in the world. I guess it could be.

“Why did you leave him?”

He eyes me intently as his jaw works. I watch his throat again as he downs the food, and then shrink a little under the intensity of his stare.

“Just tell me, girl. What happened to you before Apex found you?”

He polishes off the last of his meal while I look everywhere around the diner but at him. The scrape of his plate as he slides it across the table draws my focus back to him. Sawyer props both hands on the table, fingers knitted, and waits on me to answer.

“I’ve already told you,” I whisper.