Page 20 of The Hang Up

CHAPTER7

Joshua

I’d beengood and followed Brock’s rules. Which was why we were eating at Main Street Diner instead of Shultie’s. They only had one cook, and she looked about seventy, but the pancakes were light and fluffy.

Mitch spooned strawberries on his and added a touch of syrup. “Not that it matters much,” he said when he caught me watching. “Sugar is sugar. I just have to correct for it.” Which meant he’d take extra insulin. Having been around Mitch for the last ten years, I knew that wasn’t necessarily true. Some foods messed with his blood sugar levels more than others, but he could take care of himself. He’d been doing it since he was seven. So Mitch didn’t need me to order his food or butt into his life. If only he would follow that rule. “Have you talked to him?”

I tilted my head to the side. “How did you know? Sean just texted this morning asking if we could meet.”

A smile took over his face. “Joshua, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for—”

“Who were you talking about?”

“No one,” he said with a quick shake of his head as he stuffed a strawberry into his mouth.

I rolled my eyes. “I haven’t talked to him.” It had been a month since I’d last seen Brock. Heard his voice. Kissed his lips. It was torture. But there was one positive thing that had come out of that night. My phone buzzed, and I checked the screen.

Brock

What are you eating?

I laughed. Did he have spies in the diner? I asked him that question and got an immediate response.

Brock

You and Mitch are always eating. Stop stalling and tell me.

When I glanced up at my assistant, he was watching me with a self-satisfied smile.

“What?” I asked.

“You said you haven’t talked to him, and we both know I’m referring to Brock.”

“We’re not talking. We’re texting. All the kids are doing it.”

“Jesus.”

Joshua

Blueberry pancakes. Mitch is having strawberry.

I sent a follow-up text before I could chicken out.

Joshua

They’re not as good as yours.

He didn’t respond, and I hoped it was because he was busy. And not because the last time he’d made me pancakes was right after I’d been released from the hospital. I’d begged him to make something that didn’t involve egg whites.

“Did you fuck it up?” Mitch asked, scraping his fork against the plate to get every bite.

“Whose side are you on?”

He sipped his tea as he thought about it. “Do I have to take a side? Just kidding. I’m always on your side, boss. But you’re frowning. Which means you think you messed it up.”

I rolled the blueberries around on my plate and shrugged. “When are we meeting with the hospitals again?”

“All next week. When are you meeting with your son?”

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