Page 34 of Close Quarter
A longer pause this time. "I'm not Italian."
Rhys faced Silas while the coffee brewed.
"No. You're Roman."
Silas huffed a breath. "Well, aren't you clever?"
"Not really. You dropped enough hints."
A faint smile, the first Rhys had seen that morning, pulled Silas's lips upward. No doubt about it; he looked better. Fuller somehow, even with the myriad scabs, scars, and bruises.
Rhys rubbed his forehead and leaned back against the counter. He would be happy enough to sit for a while.
Silas's good humor fled. "Rhys, you should go."
No anger this time, only concern laced with that ever-present hint of fear.
"Why?"
"Because I'm hurting you."
The coffee machine behind Rhys beeped, and he turned as he tried to make sense of Silas's words. He retrieved the cup and set the next one brewing. "I'm going to put this on the table. Can you make it there yourself?"
The table sat perhaps six feet from Silas.
"I believe so, yes."
Rhys crossed the room, set the cup down, and then retreated to the bar. His legs buckled, and he grabbed the counter to keep from falling. Good thing there was coffee. The events of the evening were catching up fast.
"Rhys?"
"I'm fine. I'm just tired."
"I know." Guilt laced Silas's words. "I'm sorry."
The coffee machine beeped again. "It's not your fault." Rhys took his cup and turned.
Silas stood, took the few steps he needed to reach the table, and sat. "But it is." Silas pointed to a couch against the far wall. "Sit. I'll explain."
Rhys walked to the couch and sat. Sipped his coffee.
"What flavor?"
"Hazelnut."
Silas grunted. "I would have thought mocha."
"I guess you don't know me as well as you think." Rhys took another taste. "After a day." Let Silas taste a bit of his own caustic medicine.
Silas finally took a mouthful of coffee.
"You're a constant surprise to me." Warmth in those words. "Will you let me tell my tale without interruption?"
Rhys squirmed. Perhaps Silas did know him.
"May I ask questions?"
"A few. I'll only answer if I care to."
