Page 16 of Reasons We Break

Not just anybody. It’s that auntie he spoke to in the elevator a few days ago. The one he told about his arrest.

He winks at her, and she instantly turns away.

By the time he’s set his last bag of flour down, cooking is well underway and patrons are lining up at the door. He spots Simran wiping down tables in the seating area, stiff-backed. Wait. Wasn’t she in the management office earlier, too?

It all clicks. That auntietoldher.

Of course she did; really, he’d counted on her to tell people. It was satisfying at the time, but now, with Simran ignoring him...his stomach sinks. The same way it did when he was fourteen and his best friends admitted their parents told them to stop hanging out with him. Or when he was sixteen and his mom stopped reading Northridge’s shit-talking letters. Or when he was seventeen, at her funeral, and his dad suggested it would be better for his brothers if he didn’t come back home.

He should be used to it by now, but he’s not. He swallows and turns away, to join the serving line.

His task is easy—just slapping a ladleful of oatmeal into each bowl that slides by. It’s uneventful for several minutes. He’s starting to think this whole volunteering thing might be a breeze when a familiar hand puts a pristine bowl on the counter. A vintage watch on the wrist. Leather jacket.

Rajan looks up.

At Nick’s smirking face.

“I want some food,” Nick says loudly.

A couple other volunteers glance his way. Fantastic. Rajan matches Nick’s grin and speaks through gritted teeth.

“I still have two days.”

“Not even. I’m here to remind you not to...procrastinate.” Nick raises his voice. “I just want some help. That’s what you do here, right? Selfless service?” He points to the slogan on the wall.

Rajan pours steaming-hot oatmeal onto Nick’s hand. “Whoops.”

Nick’s only sign of discomfort is a twitch of his jaw. His hand slides off the counter. “You’re not safe, Rajan. Not if you keep doing shit like this.”

“That a threat?”

“Of course it’s a threat.” Nick glares, apparently done with games now that he’s got a first-degree burn developing. “Andnotfrom me. This is serious. The godfathers—”

That’s thelastword Rajan wants said here. Next thing he knows Nick will be mentioning the LS by name. “Shut the fuck up.”

Unfortunately, there’s a lull in the surrounding conversation at the exact time he says that. His words echo, and instantly, someone calls from behind him. “Step away from the counter!”

Rajan turns. One of the admin people is approaching with an accusatory finger pointed at him. And everyone’s watching, that elderly Punjabi auntie included.

Rajan holds his hands up. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You spoke rudely to our guest. I think it’s time for you to go.”

“What?”That seems a slight overreaction.

“You heard me. We have a zero-tolerance policy toward misbehaviour.”

Damn, he’s actually serious. The other volunteers’ expressions mirror his shock. It dawns on Rajan that he’s being made into an example.

Which is fucking unfair. His desperation pushes him to look back at Nick, who’s smirking again. “I’m sorry, okay? Want me to grovel?”

The admin person is unmoved. “You can leave, or you can be escorted.”

Rajan eyes the security guys now pushing off the wall. He backs away from the counter. “Is this—Is this going to mess with my probation?”

“That’s between you and your probation officer when they get the report.”

Great. He’s already on thin ice, due to the many times he failed to follow restrictions for community sentences in high school. The judge had warned him this meant that now, even one breach would land his ass in hot water.