Page 9 of The Hang Up

The server was removing my half-eaten plate of food when my phone rang. Mitch. Who else would call me? Only those I paid to talk to me.

God, I was in a mood tonight and needed to cut it out. I answered my phone and was immediately drawn into a conversation with Mitch on which hospitals still needed contacting for our mentoring program when I heard Brock’s voice. My head jerked up. He was several tables away, chatting with a group of twentysomething socialites. He threw his head back and laughed, and everything tightened inside me. Hearing his laugh brought back memories of the last time I was here and other times I’d heard it. It was confusing as fuck, but I couldn’t look away.

The other thing tightening was more embarrassing and physically painful. I shifted, spreading my legs and hoping like hell no one noticed.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Mitch. I need to go.”

“Wait,” he said and then paused. “You should talk to him.”

“Who?”

“You stopped mid-sentence, and you’re probably drooling all over your phone. Who do you think?”

“You’re exaggerating,” I said, wiping my mouth with my napkin just in case. I darted a quick glance at Brock. “I shouldn’t bother him at work.”

“Oh my God. Who are you right now?”

“Mitch—” A movement caught my eye, and I looked up. Brock. Standing at my table and watching me.

“What’s going on?” Mitch asked.

“Sorry. Gotta go.” I hung up and stared at Brock. My heart galloped. How long had it been since I was this nervous about anything?

“Sorry,” he said, his voice clipped, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His manner was stilted, but his blue eyes were alive with so many emotions. Anger being the most prominent.

“Brock—”

“I only have a few minutes,” he said, cutting me off. Then he smiled, but I knew it wasn’t intended for me. He lowered his voice. “This has to stop.”

“Can we talk?”

I could see the struggle on his face. “Fine. But then you go.” He glanced at something over my head, and when he turned back to me, his fake smile was back in place. “I hope you enjoyed your meal, sir.”

“It was wonderful,” l said. “Thank you.”

One of the chefs walked by us, giving Brock a quick look. God, no wonder he still hated me. When the man was out of earshot, Brock said, without looking at me, “Pay for your meal and meet me in the alley in ten minutes.”

When I left the restaurant, the humidity made it hard to breathe. Not unusual for August in Missouri. I found Brock pacing in the alley next to the restaurant. Music from the club down the street drifted over, punctuated every so often by horns honking. Enticing smells from the restaurant mixed with the stink of garbage from the dumpster and cigarette smoke. Was this the spot where employees took their breaks?

“I’d like to explain,” I said, spreading my hands and trying to keep my voice even. I never begged, but I wondered if it was too soon for that if it became necessary.

“Explain what? Why you’re here? At my restaurant? Again?” he asked, choking on his anger. He sucked in a breath. “Why you’ve been here every night for God knows how long—”

“A month.”

He stared at me. “Unbelievable. This is just like you. Always playing games. Using whoever you can—” He shook his head. “I’m done, Mr. Miller—”

“Joshua,” I said, my voice tight with emotion. “If you’re going to yell at me, at least call me Joshua.”

He rubbed his eyes, and with his mask lowered, I could see his exhaustion. His worry. And it wasn’t because of me, or not just because of me. Without thinking, I stepped closer, stuffing my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for him. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to tell that lie or because I didn’t deserve the truth. “I can’t lose my internship.”

“Congratulations on that. I’m—” I clamped my mouth shut. What the hell was wrong with me? Brock didn’t care if I was proud of him.Say what you need to say, Joshua.And that voice in my head sounded a lot like Mitch. But did I listen? “You look tired.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “I’m in classes during the day and working several nights a week and most weekends.”

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