Page 9

The last couple of years, I’ve made the station both my social focus and work focus, and I’m starting to feel like a one-trick pony. In a bad way.

Though I don’t know if there’s a good version of one-trick pony.

“Uh. You okay?”

I blink out of my thoughts and realize the counter guy has been staring at me for a while. I don’t feel bad. He was a complete dickhead, so he deserves to have an awkward moment.

Glancing over, I see London at the register, so I just point at the first item on the menu. Lobster mac and cheese. Not my favorite, but whatever.

“That, please.”

I watch as he slops macaroni into a tin bowl, then a shovel of what is probably very likely imitation crab posing as lobster on top of that. He slides it over, and I decline the extra sauces, and by the time I have my drink cup and I’m paid, London is pushing his tray across the table he’s chosen for us.

London catches my gaze as I walk over, and then he looks to the soda fountain and sighs.

“Will I be a dick if I ask if you need help?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem sure.”

“It’s annoying. I don’t even know you,” London says. “I mean, no offense, but would you ask a stranger to pour you a drink?”

Setting my tray down, I roll my cup between my hands and grimace. “No, but you are asking the wrong man. I’m well known for threatening to set myself on fire and then refuse to let my coworkers put me out rather than ask for help from anyone. For anything.”

He laughs softly. “Okay, okay. I’d like a tea—half sweet, half unsweet.”

It’s too easy a task, and it doesn’t take my mind off anything—and anything happens to be mostly naked Easton in the showers. The edges of my tongue go kind of dry, and I swallow down a mouthful of my own drink before refilling it and making my way back to the table.

London has Teddy’s food off to the side, where it’s going to get cold and congealed, and he’s sliding a strap on his wrist that will hold his fork steady so he can eat.

Elio doesn’t need anything like that yet, but his team of doctors can’t even begin to predict how far his SMA will progress, so I’ve been paying attention to what might help in the future. And maybe stocking up. Especially since Elio isn’t likely to grow a lot more than he is right now. He might get taller, but his bones will always be delicate.

“You’re staring again,” London says as I snap out of it and make my way back to the table.

I let out a small breath. “I keep wondering if I should buy some of those.” I gesture to his wrist. “I thought maybe it would be a waste of money because my kid might be a lot older by the time he needs them. But now I realize he’ll probably have the same size wrists when he’s an adult.”

London makes a face. “Yeah, that kind of happens with spine shit. My legs haven’t grown much since the accident. When was he injured?”

Elio is normally off topic, but London seems safe enough, and frankly, it’s this or end up blurting out that I want to ride my coworker’s dick. The one I hate.

“He wasn’t. He was born with SMA—it’s…”

“I know it,” London says, and then his cheeks go a little pink. “Sorry. I’m not doing the whole, I know everything about everything…thing.” He clears his throat, and I fight off a small laugh. He’s sweet. If only I liked sweet. “I’m on a sled hockey team, and there are two guys on there with SMA.”

My brows go up. “Like…PPHL hockey, or…”

He snorts. “Oh my god, no. Like beer league, and not even really that. We get in our sleds and bash each other around, and sometimes we even hit the puck. But it’s fun.” He hesitates, then says, “Maybe your son would like it.”

I shove my fork into a piece of what’s meant to be lobster and try to think of a polite way of saying what I want to say. “Yeah…I don’t know about the whole beer thing…”

He bursts into laughter. “That’s just what it’s called. I’m not going to invite a…how old?”

“Twelve, going on seventeen with his attitude,” I say flatly.

London grins at me. “There’s plenty of time for him to give you stress attacks over beer. This is just ice and sleds.”

It was thoughtful. And it was distracting. “I’ll talk to him about it.” I shovel a bite of food into my mouth and make a face. It’s…not great.