Page 14 of Same Difference
“Get it together,” he growled at himself.
His phone vibrated, and he pulled it from his back pocket, prepared for a message from Decker, or Delta’s Dad, Mr. Harrington, but it was from Bridger.
Simply, the text read,Lunch tomorrow. 12. Copper’s Brewery.
He double-checked the number. Bridger barely even talked to him. Why would he want to do lunch with him? They weren’t friends.
No thanks.Send.
It wasn’t a question. See you there.
Asshole. Nate laid back and stared at a crack in the ceiling his hand resting on his mangled stomach. His injuries would all be healed by morning. He was just adding more scars to the canvas of his fuckin’ skin. War artist.
Delta hadn’t asked if he was okay.
Wincing, he sat back up, uncomfortable. God, he wished he could escape his head. He hated being him right now.
He shoved his phone into his back pocket and yanked the door open, left his duffel bag in the middle of the floor as he jogged down the stairs and headed to a burger place next door. He’d never been there, but he’d been able to smell it from the parking lot. Smelled good.
He pushed open the door and nearly ran into a man. “Watch it!” the guy said.
Nate growled but kept walking. He was riled up today, but he didn’t need to go off on a human. They were fragile.
“Hey, pal! What’s your problem?” the guy yelled behind him.
There was power in patience right now.
“Hey!” the guy said, coming closer.
“Stop,” Nate snarled, rounding on him. Oh, he knew what his face looked like right now. He looked like a demon.
The guy stopped in his tracks and held out his hands. “My bad.”
Nate rolled his eyes closed and counted to three and then continued to the burger joint.
Inside, he had to wait on a hostess to seat him, but he asked if he could have a booth away from other people.
She led him past a pool table no one was using and sat him down in a corner booth with a bunch of old license plates decorating the wall beside him.
Fried pickle spears were on the menu. Delta loved fried pickles, but not the sliced kind. She liked the big spears in particular. She’d ordered them once in front of him, and then he’d gotten them for her at every place they offered them. Fuck, was Delta just going to be everywhere now?
Nate blew out a breath and, feeling agitated, sank back into the chair to scan the restaurant. She’d said she was bad at pool once. He could’ve taught her. He’d grown up with a pool table in his house, and he and his brothers had been competitive with the game. He could’ve shown her tonight. He stared at the unused pool table, the balls all racked and waiting.
He shook his head and swallowed down a snarl as he rested his elbows on the table and cracked his knuckles. Food would make him feel better. He was hurt and healing, and he would be able to get back to himself faster if he ate a lot.
The server greeted him, and he ordered a beer and three hamburger baskets. And then right as she was leaving, he said, “Can I add the fried pickle spears?”
He didn’t know why he’d done that. He didn’t even like them.
It just made him feel closer to Delta, he guessed.
God, he was a mess.
He was supposed to be relieved right now, not pining over her. She’d said he was free, and he was clinging to her. It was weak. It had to just be the guilt. She’d told him she didn’t feel like enough, and that wasn’t right. He hadn’t intended for her to feel that way, but it made sense the way she’d said it.
He checked his phone, but she hadn’t texted or called. She wouldn’t. She’d said her goodbye, and that was that.
Everything hurt.
