Page 85 of Wayward
Sam, Easton, and Nolan sit facing the window, and I’m across from them, looking out at the room. Nolan’s gone over the plan so many times I can’t listen to it again. And thankfully, he must know it. He stares over my head. His part of the plan is simple—keep us safe until the action starts. He’s going to vanish into the ether again to go searching for his sister as soon as it starts. He knows what a lot of Ed’s guys look like, so he’s keeping watch. Nolan’s not going back to the Zambranos; he’s going to need to protect himself from retribution if what he says is true.
My stomach’s in a twist, so I’m playing a game to keep myself from losing it. I glance at each table and decide which of the categories they belong in. The table right behind us, it’s four women, two with pink hair, and T-shirts that read, “Down with the one percenters.” Not much of a question there. Protesters. The group beside them is a little more difficult: business attire but nothing too fancy, two of them on their phones. A dark-haired man puts his briefcase on the chair next to him. It’s worn from years of use. He’s writing on a yellow pad, but when a younger man comes along, he’s got two phones and a tray of coffee and sweet bites. He arranges them on the table. The guy with the yellow pad is the boss.
I do this for three more tables, scanning between Little Bird in the queue and back at the scowling trio on the other side of the table from me.
On the far edge of the café, there’s a couple. They’re not in one of my three categories: boss, protestor or admin to a boss. I’m about to skip over them when I pause. There’s a blonde with her back to me, but the guy looks familiar. Really familiar. And I’m wracking my brain as to where I know him from. School? The club? But the guy doesn’t look like a football player. He’s American. Was he on a yacht with me? Not a bosun for sure. He’s got that I-don’t-do-work look about him. The guy leans across the table and kisses the blonde. It’s quick, then he goes back to slouching and drinking his coffee. I’m staring, but I don’t fucking care.
“You good, Zane?” Sam asks.
“Behind you by the window on the far side of the café, there’s a guy with a blonde. I know him from somewhere, but I can’t remember where.”
“Don’t all go looking at once,” Nolan says under his breath while still staring out the window. Sam and Easton turn together. “For fuck’s sake,” Nolan growls.
The guy by the window kisses the blonde again, and Easton drops his fist on the table.
“You okay, mate?” I ask.
Easton’s up and charging through the tables. I’m right behind him. When we get to the table, the guy is so focused on the girl in front of him, he doesn’t look up. But the girl does, and I finally see her face.
“Bri?” I don’t mean to say it so loudly, but the occupants of the tables around us turn and look. It’s Bri, the stew Sam had to fire for cutting Shayla’s hair. Bri, the girl Easton had a restraining order against. I take a longer look at the guy. It’s easier because Easton has pulled him out of his chair. It’s Brick—Emily’s fiancé.
“What the hell are you doing, kissing her?” Easton doesn’t glance down at Bri.
But the whole coffee shop is looking now. And the old guard is weaving his way through the tables.
I glance back to where Nolan was, but he’s gone. Fuck, I don’t blame him. That was the plan the whole time, that he’d get clear of us when we started the show. And the show has started. Not how we thought, and this might just be a preview. But it’s a darn entertaining one.
“Sit down,” Calvin growls at Brick.
“It’s a little hard to do when Easton’s holding me up. How the hell did you get so big? When did you get back? How did you get back?” Brick’s jabbering, while Bri’s mouth is hanging open.
There are two empty seats at their table, but the table jammed up next to theirs cleared out when Calvin marched across the café—giving us ample space to sit. And when we sit, the security guard inclines his head at me.
“We’re sound, mate. Just having a laugh.”
The man grunts, but I can tell he doesn’t want to have to kick us out.
“Let him down, Easton,” I say, and like I’m a horse whisperer, he does.
Easton sits on one side of Brick, and Sam takes the other. When they’re sitting, Calvin plops down next to Easton. I wave at Dante and Haley to stay in line. The last thing we need is to be kicked out. The guard continues to give us sideways glances.
I’m in the chair next to Bri. She still hasn’t said a word, and when I look over at her, she looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. “You good?” I don’t care, but my mother raised me correctly. And it’s always been one of my rules—care for those in need, even if they don’t deserve it.
My rules. Huh, I haven’t thought of them in a hell of a long time.
Bri shakes her head.
“Why are you kissing her?” Easton spits out at Brick. “Where’s Emily?”
“Emily? Right, you really haven’t been around, have you? Emily and I broke up . . .”
“And you’re dating Bri?” Sam leans in.
“Yeah, listen I . . . I came here to come clean, do the right thing, and move on with my life. I’ve been living with . . . I know you don’t care, but my life has been hell for the last year.”
“You were rescued after what, ten days?” There’s a chill in Easton’s voice.
“That’s not?—”
