Page 8 of Cruz

“Want a taster before you commit?”

“Do you think it’s good?”

“I love it.”

“Hmm.” Henry rakes a hand through his thick beard. “That’s probably why it’s up there, then. You wouldn’t put something gross on the board. Not like blue cheese and cabbage.”

I laugh, my regular throaty laugh, not the hysterical high-pitched sound that’s been waiting to escape. “Well, now you mention it, that sounds pretty good,” I joke.

“You’d probably have too many takers,” John says. He’s normally the quiet, polite, serious one.

I gape at him and he offers me a shy smile.

That makes me laugh harder. “Oh god, you’re so right. Between that and if we had a flavor for feet, I’d probably have hipsters coming all the way from Seattle.”

“If you ever make it, best keep in a secret then. Something only customers know about, like they do at restaurants where if you’ve worked there, you know all the recipes, and can ask for them later.”

“Foodie inside jokes,” Henry adds. He clears his throat and stands a little straighter. Business mode activated. “Seriously though, I’ll give the butter pecan a try. Are you having one too, John?”

I never thought I’d see the day where John changes it up from regular black coffee, but he nods too. “Sure. Why not?”

“Well, if they’re gross, they’re on me.” All the drinks today should probably be comped. I can’t say that I’ve done my best work while my mind has been constantly churning over Liam.

I’ve questioned everything. Do I know my own son? Is it possible to know anyone? Is it even possible to know yourself? I’ve read enough books and done enough journaling, that I’m pretty confident in that answer, but just because it’s no, doesn’t excuse anything, and it doesn’t make me feel better. People make mistakes. Liam wanted something inexplicable, and what he’s wanted, he’s always worked hard to get. He’s always been that way.

I don’t know if it was the brotherhood aspect of that biker club that attracted him. Was he looking for a father figure? He has so many good friends already. He has me. Does he need more?

This whole thing is so messed up.

I get busy making two butter pecan lattes. To pull myself out of my head, I try and chat some more with Henry and John over the grinding, hissing, steaming of the machines.

“How was work today?”

“Well, you know, it’s a Wednesday,” Henry says. “I never find them to be good or bad. They’re very mid, just like their status would indicate.”

“I never did hate Wednesdays either,” John agrees. “It’s always Mondays and Fridays that have the most chaos. If something bad is going down, it’s going to happen then, especially if it’s a Friday of a long weekend and everything and everyone is closed.”

“I had that happen once. With my cat,” Henry says. “She got sick and I had to take her to an emergency vet, and it cost a fortune.”

I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to feel the same about a Wednesday again. Liam’s news could change everything. Will we even be here? Will I still have the cafe when this is all over? Liam was so adamant that it was nothing, but I don’t know how he could even attempt to put a brave face on it.

I pass over the two finished lattes in their paper cups. Henry pays for them both and the men thank me and shuffle out.

A loud bang comes from upstairs, causing Mrs. Jenkins to curse under her breath. Shit!” she mutters.

I have to press both hands over my mouth to keep myself from laughing. What am I ever going to do if we end up leaving Hart? And if we leave, would that guarantee that we’d be safe? Was Liam’s leaving Seattle enough? Would trouble follow? Would he gravitate toward the same aspect of found brotherhood and belonging wherever we are?

I ball my hands into fists and glance up at the ceiling. I have no idea what Cruz and Liam are doing up there, in our personal space. My apartment is far from sacred or even nice, but it’s my space, and having a stranger up there just feels wrong. On the fucked up scale of epic fuckery, it shouldn’t be all that bad, but maybe it’s the little things that are the most catastrophic.

Every parent knows about the atrocities, the horrors, all the hurts and aches and pains in the world. I had eighteen years to prepare myself for the day that I’d have to let Liam go. I wanted him to have the world, and instead, we’re back here… and… this.

I don’t know how to get my brain around it.

Any of it.

I should move. Clean something. Prep something else. Start getting the shop ready to shut down in forty minutes. Instead, I stand here. Frozen. I can’t even pretend that I’m not utterly bewildered and feel entirely like shit. I hate being helpless. Hopeless.

No. That isn’t our narrative. I felt hopeless and afraid once, when I was sixteen and found out I was pregnant, and again when I was broke, basically homeless, and staring down bringing a child into that life. I got through all of it. It wasn’t easy, but I did everything I could to create a life of love.