Page 3 of The Arrogant's Redemption

My throat tightens. “Yeah. I know.”

“Sorry for bringing it up, Alexis. It’s just . . . It pisses me off that there are so many sons of bit—uh, bad people walking free out there while someone like her is behind bars. But I’m sure she’ll be out soon and living her best life with us again.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Tonight’s gonna be wild!” One of the servers walks in, balancing two trays stacked with an absurd number of glasses. “The line outside keeps getting longer.”

Badger tries to hide a smile, but I catch it before he can mask it. I know he’s proud—his restaurant was just featured in a major magazine as the best in Cape Cod.

“Any chance we still have lobster for the next hour?” the guy asks.

“No,” Badger says, clearly disappointed. “What I’ve got left is only enough for two more servings.”

Once the guy walks off, I ask, “Still having trouble locking in a new supplier?”

Badger shakes his head—yeah, no luck.

He always bought seafood directly from my mom. Since she was arrested, he’s already switched suppliers three times.

“You really going to sell her fishing boat?”

“I have to. Partly to help cover the legal fees, partly because I couldn’t catch a sardine to save my life. Right now, it’s just sitting there.”

“I could loan you some money so you can keep the boat.”

“Thanks, Badger, but my mom’s proud—she’d never want to interfere with your plans to expand the restaurant. She’s the one who suggested selling it.”

“Because she plans to sue the jerks who falsely accused her?”

“I think so.”

“If there’s any justice in this world, she’s gonna take them for everything they’ve got.”

I give a weak smile. I’m an optimist, but I don’t have much faith in earthly justice. Only the divine kind. And I know that one tends to take its time.

I hear a commotion in the dining area, and when I glance back, two of the four servers working with me seem to be in a near-argument with a customer.

Sometimes, serving spoiled rich people from neighboring towns really sucks—but the tips are good.

“I better go before someone starts throwing shrimp at that guy,” I say, heading for the table.

Six hours later, I’m drying the last glass. Technically, cleaning up isn’t my job, but I always stay a little longer becauseBadger has a hernia in his neck and by the end of the day, he’s in serious pain.

The cleaning isn’t really his responsibility either, but he’s proud that his restaurant’s never scored lower than a ninety-nine on a health inspection, and he wants to keep it that way.

“Wait, I’ll give you a ride,” he says as I’m getting ready to leave.

“No need. Your place is in the opposite direction.”

“I don’t do things because Ihaveto—I do them because Iwantto. I’m not letting you bike across town on that rusty old thing at this hour.”

I wish I had the willpower to insist, because I know he's also very tired, but the truth is, my whole body aches.

“I’ll just grab my bag, then,” I say as he heads toward the men’s locker room to shower.

Everyone else is already gone, and it’s not unusual for it to be just the two of us. If it were any other guy, I wouldn’t take the risk—but Badger is like a father to me.

A few minutes later, I step onto the property where I live. Instead of running to the shower, which my entire body is begging for, I drop my bag on the couch and head outside to pray under the sky.

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