Page 137 of Best Served Cold

He didn’t look up from the open truck bed as I approached. “Sorry I’m late,” he said gruffly.

“Come on.”

“What?” He flicked his gaze to me but quickly dropped it back down.

“Give me your keys.”

“Why?” He tugged them out of his pocket and handed them to me.

“Because we’re leaving.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re in no shape to work right now.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “I can do my job.”

I slipped my hand into his.

He jerked but didn’t pull away.

“Please,” I said softly.

He met my eyes, and the pain and turmoil in them was staggering.

He looked like he’d just come off a bender. His normally pale skin was chalky, his eyes bloodshot. His shoulders were stooped, like they were too heavy to hold up, and I’d bet money he hadn’t brushed his hair. His clothes were a rumpled mess. But the part that worried me the most was his blank expression. He looked like a shell, like a robot running a human simulation.

“What about work?”

“Riv and Gray are getting someone to cover us.”

“We can’t leave everyone hanging.”

“We’re almost done and we’re on time. Being down a guy isn’t going to make things harder for anyone.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said morosely. “I’ll just go.”

I tightened my grip on his hand so he couldn’t pull free. “Please come with me.”

He paused, his eyes searching mine. “Okay,” he whispered.

I squeezed his hand and nodded to the passenger’s side of his truck. “Get in.”

He dropped my hand and trudged around the truck, his feet dragging like he was on his way to the principal’s office after getting caught pulling the fire alarm.

I closed the truck bed and got in with him.

He looked out the window. “Where are we going?”

“My place. Did you eat this morning?”

He shook his head.

“Have you had any water today?”

“No,” he mumbled.

“Do you want to stop for something? We can hit a drive-thru.”

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