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She whirls around, and her face falls. “I’m… shit, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s fine,” I tell her, sensing her guilt. “But know this… I’m intimately familiar with what it’s like to lose people I give a damn about. Not only did that sonofabitch take Tamara from me, but I served in the military, and I’m a patched member of a one-percenter MC. Death is a normal part of my existence.”
“I-I’m sorry,” she stutters. “I didn’t mean to be so snippy.”
“Look, it’s been a long few days. Why don’t we take the night off?”
Her eyes widen. “What are you suggesting?”
“Well, we both have to eat. And I’m not in the mood for pizza.” When she hesitates, I continue. “When was the last time you took a break from the Phantom?”
She snorts. “I haven’t. I can’t because who else will fight for Daphne if I do?”
“Me,” I say simply, and her expression softens. “The club and Jez, too. You’re not alone in this anymore.”
“And if he strikes while we’re taking a break?”
“I can’t answer that, Delaney,” I reply honestly. “But I really don’t think anything is gonna happen tonight.”
“And if it does?”
“Then we’ll have another crime scene and victim to evaluate and gain info from.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, but there’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “Yeah, okay.”
When she shoves her hands in her pockets, I grin. “Let’s get outta here for a while. We’ll eat, talk, ride my Harley, and forget the rest of the world for a while.”
Delaney nods. “O-okay.”
Two hours later, I park my bike at a local diner and help her off. She hands me the helmet, and I hang it on the handlebar.
“This is your idea of a night out?” she asks, nodding at the run-down exterior of the building.
“Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”
Without thinking, I take her hand and lead her inside. I guide her toward a booth in the back where I can see every window and exit. Delaney slides in across from me and grabs a menu.
“What do you recommend?” she asks while looking over the laminated pages.
“They’ve got a little of everything.”
“But what’s your favorite?”
“It’s a toss-up between the bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake and a medium ribeye, loaded baked potato, and a Dr. Pepper.”
Delaney groans. “They both sound good.”
“Then we’ll order both.”
And that’s exactly what I do when the waitress returns. I’m aware of Delaney’s confused stare when I instruct the waitress to bring us both meals and two extra plates.
“This way we can each get the best of both worlds,” I tell her when we’re alone again.
“Anyone ever told you that you’re a control freak?”