Page 83 of Rules to Love By

This was his fault. He had let the place come to this. If he hadn’t run away from the difficult feelings, Johnathan wouldn’t have been able to let it get to this point. But Marcus had let Johnathan chase him out. Aunt Iris would be ashamed of him.

As he straightened up again, he avoided looking back at the building. He didn’t like the accusatory glare from the upper windows. Instead, he turned his face towards the park across the street. Eli was still sitting on a planter, glaring at Marcus’s building like the building itself had done something wrong.

His first instinct was to approach him, find out what he was doing there.

Then the shattering of glass tore his attention back to the diner. The corner window over the round four-seater—best table in the house—rained down, a cascade of icy shards shattering over the sill.

When he looked back to see what Eli would do, it was to find the planter empty. Sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer. He was about to step out to greet the police when they arrived, but movement caught his attention, and there was Johnathan, standing across the street, watching the building. His uncle let the police roll up and get out of their cars, mill for a moment, and then he hurried over to them, declaring his arrival was from getting the alarm alert.

Marcus narrowed his eyes, listening. “Alarm alert, my ass.” He’d been standing just out of sight, waiting for the police to arrive. And now he went on about how his jealous nephew, angry for not being included in their aunt’s will, must be escalating from graffiti to vandalism.

“Seriously?” He knew he hadn’t spray painted the walls of his aunt’s beloved business, let alone thrown the rock through the window. So if Johnathan was lying about that, about coming when he got the alert, he was probably lying about the will too.

Marcus reached into his pocket to feel for the business card. Still there. “We’ll see,” he whispered, and spun to slide down the wall and sit, back against the brick, breathing through his mouth to avoid another panic attack, as well as the stench of the overflowing NIM bins.

In the dim pre-dawn, he finally did the thing everyone had been pushing him to do and made a decision. If not to keep the diner himself, at least to do his best to make sure Johnathan didn’t get it either.

He didn’t keep track of time while he sat there, other than to track the chill that spread up from his ass against the pavement to permeate his body down to the bones. He was shivering when people arrived to put yet more plywood over the broken widow.

Once the window had been boarded back up and everyone, including Johnathan, had gone, Marcus got up. He rounded the building to study it. The fresh plywood only made it look more derelict than ever, and his shiver deepened.

Back on the scooter, stiff fingers wrapped around the handlebars, he tried not to think how uncomfortable the ride back was going to be. Still, it was a relief to turn towards Griffon’s Elbow. He wasn’t sure if there was anything for him here. If there was, it wouldn’t be tonight, and he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own.

Griffon’s Elbow might not be his place either, but right now, it was where his people were. So that’s where he headed.

As he pulled the scooter into the back lot of the B and B, he realized the sun would spill over the horizon any minute. The kitchen would probably be buzzing with activity as the staff got ready for the Monday morning coffee rush. Knowing that, it shouldn’t have surprised him when heads rose and faces turned his way the minute he let himself in the kitchen door.

Silence and stillness greeted him for half a heartbeat.

Kreed, Lucky, Jake, even Lucy, all stared at him, mute.

Tris glared and clenched his fists, then broke through the frozen silence, stalking over to him. “Where the hell were you?” He smacked Marcus’s chest. “Thefuckis the matter with you?” Then he threw his arms around Marcus’s neck and clung. That lasted barely long enough for Marcus to get his own arms around Tris’s waist before Tris was backing off enough to smack him again. “Asshole! All night! I gave you a phone. Ever think of using it?”

“I—” Truth was, he hadn’t. He fished it out and pressed the button. Nothing happened. “Charge cord?” he said, turning the phone so Tris could see it was dead.

“Oh, I’ll give you the charge cord,” Tris replied, stalking a step closer, fists once more clenched.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus blurted.

“Damn right you are. What the hell?”

“I went into the city.”

“On the scooter?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and shrugged.

“In the fucking dark.”

Again, was there much point in saying anything?

“Are you an idiot?”

“Apparently.” For so many reasons.

“Tris.” Lucky intervened then, pulling Tris back by the shoulders. “Give him a bit of space.”

Tris gave him the whole room, stomping off to the far side, where he fiddled with already full sugar bowls.

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