Page 86

It’s not that sweet on this end of the social ladder.
Awkwardly, I point to a plate on the table. “Did someone forget to come for their food? Can I buy it?”
“This one’s mine.” The homeless man who’d been hovering around snatches the plate from the table and holds it protectively, twisting around as if he thinks I’ll tackle him to the ground for it.
I don’t know what part of me screams ‘will wrestle food from hobos’. But I guess you can’t be too careful these days.
Josiah shrugs. “You should have told us ahead of time. Nardi saves a plate for people who ask.”
“I don’t do that for just anyone,” Nardi snaps.
Jenna sticks her head out from behind my back, a frown etched into her pale face. “There’s no need to be so rude. We’re paying customers.”
“Jenna,” I warn in a low voice.
“Lady, I haven’t taken your money, so you’re not a customer of mine.”
Jenna laughs, but the sound is cutting and sharp. “How do you get any sales with that kind of attitude?”
“Mr. Cullen, please get your girlfriendout of my facebefore I drop kick her into the freeway.”
I frown. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Did you just threaten me?” Jenna’s bottom lip trembles and her face turns pink.
“Come over here with your ‘I’ll call the manager’ crap and find out,” Nardi threatens, dangling on the edge of the chair.
“Nardi, be careful on that chair,” I snap. “And Jenna. Go. Home.”
“But she just?—”
“Ah!” Nardi’s scream cuts through the air.
I spin around to find her mid-fall, one of the corner pole connectors clutched in her hand. The entire tent collapses, metal poles clanging noisily.
“Nardi!” It’s my first time trying to yell since my surgery and my voice croaks instead of bellows.
My entire chest erupts with flames from the attempt to raise my voice. My lungs protest, throbbing intensely. But I don’t care. I’m on the move. My first instinct is to vault over the table, but I don’t trust that I can make the leap. I sprint around the table to get to Nardi instead.
Josiah’s already there, yanking the tent canvas up and off his sister.
The homeless man even abandons his meal on the table to help out.
I stoop beside Nardi, a lump in my throat and my heart squeezed tight. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says shakily.
I curve my hands around her back so I can help her sit. She tries to push me away, but moving her hand causes her to bawl in pain.
“What is it?” I check her over urgently. “Is it your arm?”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’renotfine,” I growl. Bracing my fingers against her wrist as if she’s a diamond that can shatter, I apply a gentle pressure.
Nardi grimaces in pain.
“I think you might have sprained your wrist,” I inform her. “We need to get you to the emergency room.”