Page 29 of Riot Reunion
“Coffee. Black.Irish,” Pax grits out.
The woman laughs. “We’re a café, handsome. We don’t have a liquor license.”
I refrain from looking at the woman; my attention remains solely fixed on Pax, who trembles like the tiniest thing might cause him to blow, Mount Saint Helens style, any second. “I’m sure you can find something to throw in a coffee for him.”
“Even if I could, I can’t serve alcohol to minors. I’m sor—”
Now I look at her. “Ma’am?”
“Mmm?” She smiles warmly at me.
“If you want your day to continue in a relatively peaceful manner, you’ll go away now. When you come back, you’ll have a black coffee with a shot of whiskey in it for my friend. Wait, I’ll take one, too, I guess.”
Her smile falters. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I suggest you call a glazier.”
“Aglazier?”
“To replace the windows he’ll smash if he doesn’t get what he wants. But only after you’ve had to call for an ambulance.And the police.” I offer up a beatific smile. “Give him what he wants, and I’ll keep him calm. You have my word.”
Pax snorts at this. His jaw working, eyes all flint and steel, his body is rigid, muscles tensed and ready to explode. The state he’s in, I don’t even know if Icankeep the promise I just made to this woman if something sets him off.
The redhead looks at both of us, registering the tension radiating from Davis, and then grunts, hurrying away from the table.
“Pax—”
“Don’t say a fucking word.”
Shit. This is worse than the time that guy scratched his car in Cosgroves’ parking lot. Worse than when Meredith, his mother, burned a year’s worth of his undeveloped film. Another comment out of me, and the both of us will end up in an Alaskan jail cell, consequences be damned. He’ll tear me limb from limb.
The woman returns with our coffees. Sets them down. When I lift the steaming tar-black liquid to my mouth, the smell of whiskey slaps me square in the face. “Order some food,” the waitress demands. “You’re not getting juiced on caffeine in here and drunk at the same time if you’re not putting anything into your stomachs.”
A reasonable request. “Two double cheeseburgers. Extra fries,” I say.
Pax shoots me a vile look, growling like a dog. He can gripe all he wants, though. Eating might be the last thing on his mind right now, but this woman will find a way to have us kicked out if we don’t meet her halfway. And itisa terrible idea for Pax to be slinging back coffee and alcohol on an empty stomach, after what he’s just learned.
Once the waitress leaves, Pax shows me his teeth. “Get the fuck out of here, Jacobi. Go and find E.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? I don’t want you here. Just fuckingleave.”
This guy is a raw, exposed nerve. He’s freaking out, and he’s scared, and he’s responding the only way he knows how: with threats of violence.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I level out my voice, hoping that my tone will serve as a balm to his temper, but it only seems to incense him further.
“This has nothing to do with you, Wren. Mind your fucking business. You need to fucking leave before I—”
“You just found out that you’re going to be a father—”
He cuts me off, his voice rising with each strained word. “I’mnotfucking kidding! If you don’t back off—”
“—and you arenottaking it well,” I continue. “This town’s a shit hole. I hate it here more than I can articulate, but the unfortunate people who live here already have it hard enough. They don’t need a psychotic asshole showing up at their one and only café and causing mayhem. Drink the coffee.”
“Fuck you, man.”
“Drink. The. Fucking. Coffee.”Pax isn’t the only one who can be scary. He knows what the hard, unreadable expression I’ve plastered across my face means; it gives him pause for a second. That second is enough to take the wind out of his sails a little. I watch, relief coursing through my veins, as the fight ebbs away, an air of defeat overcoming his fury. Pax slumps back against the booth, his throat bobbing as he swallows again, and again, and again.
