Page 8 of Never Fall for an Angel

She points her fork at me, and for once, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who doesn’t know who I am or what I’m running from. Like having brunch with an old friend.

If I had any of those.

“You know, my first husband, Francis, was an alcoholic. Used to beat me black and blue.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I grimace, biting into the toast.

Everything here must be laced with cocaine because it’s fucking delicious.

I guess it could also be the fact that I haven’t had a real meal in weeks.

“No use being sorry,” she shrugs. “I shot the bastard. Didn’t kill him, of course.” She rolls her eyes, stabbing at a potato. “Did divorce him, though. Then, I met a real nice man named Steve and had my two kids with him.”

“I’m glad it all worked out in the end.”

“It didn’t. Steve up and died. Asshole was a gambler. Got in with some bad people,” she grumbles. “Died when my kids were only ten and twelve.”

“God, I’m sorry.”

“Nope, then I was stupid enough to get back with Francis,” she waves. “That’s the first husband. Thenhedied, and I started to think I had a voodoo cooch.”

“Voodoo cooch?” I pause, and she nods.

“It’s where all your sexual partners start dropping like flies,” she explains. “Butthen I met Robby—the one who can’t cookeggs—and I realized I just needed a strong man.” She waves, and I follow her gaze to where a tall man is watching us out the kitchen window. He grins when she smiles and waves back at her. “He’s dumber than a box of rocks, but he’s sweet. And the kids love him. And he’d probably survive a nuclear blast with all the grease he’s been around his whole life.”

“You’ve lived quite the life, June.”

“I’m telling you all this because I want you to understand life doesn’t have to be over just because a man hit you. I know shit probably seems bleak right now, but sooner or later, everything’s got to work out.” She pushes her empty plate away from her. “It’s the law of physics or some shit. I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention in school.”

“I don’t know,” I breathe, finishing the last of my food. I look out the window beside us to see the sun slipping behind the trees north of us. It’ll be dark soon. “Sometimes, I wonder if it would be better to just stop running.”

“Give yourself up, you mean?”

I nod because I can’t say the words out loud.

I’ve been running for six. Fucking. Months. I’m no further away now than I was three months ago or even the month before that.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Fuck that. A man who hits you isn’t a man,” she waves her hand. “I’ve been trying to teach my daughter the same thing. She’s your age and well . . .” she shrugs. “No, that ain’t a man. A man is willing to die for you. Willing to break his back to keep his family safe. But . . . you’ve got to be willing to do the same for him. It’s how it works.”

“What about Robby?” I can’t help but smile when she does, looking back to see him whistling away at the kitchen stove, completely oblivious.

“Robby’s a good boy. He’d do whatever he had to do to protect our little slice of Wichita heaven.”

The door opens behind us, and the bell above chimes. For once, the sudden noise doesn’t cause me to nearly jump out of my skin.

“Thank you . . . for this,” I gesture to the table in front of us. “Can I at least leave you a tip?”

“No,” she rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m just happy I didn’t have to throw it away. You know, Robby’s fuck-up, and all.”

“Right,” I chuckle, sliding from the booth. June moves to grab our plates, but something in me tells me I need to show her how much she saved me. Even if not for the food, but for the normal human conversation. It’s been a long freaking time.

Against everything in my head, screaming at the thought, I pull her into a hug.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and she tenses for a second before she finally concedes and hugs me back.

“Sweetheart,” she whispers in my ear, patting my back. “I hope whatever you’re running from, you kick it in the balls and get your life back.” She pulls back to look at me, and for a moment, something else flickers in her eyes. Something that has my heart beating a little faster and my skin growing clammy. “Trust your gut.”

Awareness trickles down my spine, and the distinct awareness of being watched slides over me. I look around the small diner, but there’s no one else here besides the people that were here when I arrived. Whoever came in a moment ago is nowhere to be found.

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