Page 77 of Rules to Love By

Marcus slammed his fork into the bowl with a clang. “What do you want from me?”

Behind him, Emma flattened herself against the wooden plank, tail swishing.

He hadn’t meant to shout and regretted it when Tris jumped up and took a half dozen steps away from him, face pale. He knew better. As happy as Tris was here, he still had his triggers.

“Tris, I’m sorry.”

Tris stuffed his hands into his back pockets. “It’s fine.” But he kept the distance between them. “I don’t want anything from you, Marc, except the same thing you always wanted from me, back in the day. I want you to remember that you are not what Johnathan tried to make you. You’re better—stronger—than that.”

“I didn’t mean to yell.”

“I know. I’m not mad. But I’m going to go now.”

Marcus nodded and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re alright,” Tris assured him. “We’re good. Just…” He sighed. “Just remember that Iris is the one who raised you, not him, and he doesn’t get to dictate your life now. Don’t give him that power.” He flashed a ghost of his usual crooked grin. “I think Eli deserves it more.”

Then he bolted.

“Fucking hell.” He slammed a palm onto the swing arm, rocking the whole thing alarmingly.

From her spot, now next to the salad bowl, Emma studied him.

“Why is everyone so annoying, Em?”

She meowed softly.

Even if Tris was annoying, he still had a point. Johnathan didn’t deserve the power to drive him out of his own life. Letting him have it was dangerous. But wasn’t it just as dangerous to let Eli have that much of him?

“No. I am not doing this. I’m not second-guessing every little thing. I made my decision about the diner.” Which was probably true. “And about Eli.” Which was decidedly not even a little bit true.

Marcus shook his head. “You are such a good girl, aren’t you?” He picked the bits of fish out to feed her.

“It’s not that I’m not into it,” he told her. “Eli’s got… something, right?” He sighed. “Because a cat is really the best source of relationship advice.” He held out the last bit of fish, and she took it from his fingers, dropped it on the wood, then delicately nipped it up and it was gone.

“That’s it, pretty.” He ran a hand from the top of her head to the tip of her tail while she sniffed around the edge of the bowl.

Apparently satisfied that he’d paid her the full tribute of leftover salmon, she jumped down and sauntered down the walkway, tail held high.

“Good talk,” he called after her.

After leaving the bowl on a table inside the door, he followed her around the building to the sidewalk and down it to the barbershop. Benson had given him a key to the front door so he could come and go after hours, and he unlocked the door now and slipped inside, Emma on his heels.

“Should you be in here?”

She jumped onto one of the couches, sat, and proceeded to lick a paw, which she drew over her face.

“Fine, but you leave when I do.”

She yawned at him, then resumed her bath.

He spent some time with the display boxes he’d built and some fine-grit sandpaper, but couldn’t find much solace in the meticulous task while images of the diner kept scrolling through his head.

He remembered the shiny chrome stools Tris was talking about and wondered if they still shone. Had his patch of the vinyl seats in the back booth held up? Had they continued to use the homemade concoction he’d discovered that kept the Formica bar counter looking polished and glowing? Or had the cloudy patina of age returned as soon as he’d left?

He didn’t need the answers to those questions.

And yet…

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