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“You deserved it. You were an ass that day. Admit it.”
I shrug, relaxing again because this is familiar ground and I know where I stand. “I admit it. As long as you didn’t kiss Kash…”
“Oh. My. God.” She mock-punches my arm, pretending outrage, but smiling. “Will you stop with that? I barely know the guy, and besides, you and me, we’re friends, right?”
“Right,” I mutter, my throat closing up.
“So I know you’re looking out for me, like a brother would, but I’m fine. Been looking out for myself for a long time.”
My brows draw together, and I feel my shoulders tense. “What do you mean, Syd? Your mom—”
“Don’t change the topic. I’m saying you don’t need to go all big protective brother on me, all right? Not over this.”
There’s nothing brotherly about the way I feel about her, but I grit my teeth and nod. “Sure. You got it.”
“Good.” Her eyes brighten again, and she claps her hands together. “Now we need to get West to unwind a bit and clear up this misunderstanding between you.”
The fact Weston hasn’t spoken to me in so long isn’t promising, but God, I hope she’s right. I need my best friends, even if they have no clue about the forces that control my fucked-up life.
Chapter Eight
Kash
“Hurry up, boy, I need to close up.” George, the short, potbellied owner of Greek Delights is rubbing his balding head. “We’re late again. The wife won’t give me the time of day tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?” I mutter, scrubbing a particularly greasy pan in the sink, up to my elbows in dirty soap water and suds.
I mean, it’s the middle of the week, and I’m so tired already my brain has been going in weird circles, round and round.
Nate, and his bruises, and his dad that I only met briefly in passing the other day.
Sydney with her freckles and bright hair, her sexy curves and soothing voice, her interest and her warmth, her freedom to come and go as she pleases, the sadness in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking.
West, his quiet intensity and strength, the brunch he made for us and the strange discussion that followed, the tension, the release afterward and that playfulness and trust they have for each other.
It gutted me. It fucking killed me. I’ve avoided them all since then.
And then there’s more—more loops, more dead-ends.
Family.
Home.
The future.
“Tomorrow is another busy day, that’s what it is. You done? I’m shutting everything down!” George mutters something in Greek that sounds like a curse. “I swea
r you’re slower than a ninja turtle today.”
“You mean slower than a turtle in peanut butter,” I prop the pan against the tiled wall to let it dry, and jump a mile when George pokes his head inside the kitchen and tsks. “My mom used to say that.”
“Peanut butter? Whatever.” His gaze turns thoughtful. “You look tired, boy. You okay?”
I nod, warmth sparking in my chest. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I dunno, you tell me. I don’t know anything about you. Are your folks around?”
I suck in a sharp breath and force it out. I shake my head, dry my hands on my apron and reach back to untie it.
