Rialto (Unbreakable Bonds 8)

Max’s eyes followed where he pointed, and then he looked at Ian in surprise. Ian must not have been able to hide his revulsion as he’d hoped because Max let out an ugly laugh. “Sure. I could use a free breakfast.” His gaze narrowed behind Ian’s shoulder and he took a tentative step backward. “Who’s that?”

Ian looked over to find Snow standing behind him, a hostile look cutting deep lines in his handsome face. Everything about his posture screamed threat, and that was the last thing he wanted. Ian surreptitiously jabbed an elbow in Snow’s stomach as he returned his attention to Max. “This is my old friend, Snow. Snow, this is Max Hodgkins.”

They seemed to grunt at each other, though Max still looked like he was preparing to bolt.

“We were just heading into…there,” Ian said. He glanced at Snow to see the surgeon looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. Yeah, maybe the good doctor didn’t care too much about what he put into his body, but he knew that Ian did. Didn’t matter. Ian could do this for Max.

They walked awkwardly toward the little restaurant. Max made sure that he remained out of arm’s reach over the short distance and led the way to the rear of the restaurant where he selected a small booth that put his back to the wall. Ian slid into the booth opposite of him and briefly glanced out the window to his left at the people walking down the street, oblivious to the tense meeting that was happening inside.

The place smelled of old grease, burnt coffee, and syrup. Everything looked clean, but there was still a dingy quality to it. He was pretty sure the Waffle House on this street had been there for decades, serving thousands upon thousands of tired customers through all hours of the day. An exhausted server wandered over with a nearly full carafe of coffee in her hand. She didn’t even ask if they wanted coffee. Just started filling their white mugs.

“Want anything else?” she asked.

“I’ll take a pecan waffle, two eggs scrambled, bacon, and large hash browns scattered, smothered, and covered. Also, keep the coffee coming,” Max ordered without missing a beat.

Ian blinked at him and then at the server, who didn’t look a bit surprised by the order. He was thrown for another loop when Snow spoke up next.

“I’ll have a fiesta omelet and large hash browns—scattered, covered, chunked, and diced.”

“Seriously?” Ian asked before he could stop himself.

Snow blinked at him, looking completely innocent. “What? I had a light breakfast.”

Ian shook his head, stunned at how quickly Snow had pulled his order together. This was not the type of place he’d expect to see the grumpy surgeon, but then The Awful Waffle could have been part of Snow’s more reckless partying days. Shoving the thought aside for later, he quickly looked down at the two-sided laminated menu, searching for something…lighter. He tried to ignore the something sticky his thumb landed on. Probably syrup. Maybe jelly.

“I’ll have…the grilled chicken biscuit and grits.”

The server gave the barest of nods before she returned to the cook to relay their order.

They were finally alone. Ian looked at Max. The other man took a drink of his coffee and lounged in his seat, his eyes watching the passersby out the window. He didn’t look any better in the harsh light of day. His skin was too pale, and the circles under his eyes were darker. His cheeks were sunken in as if he’d not had a good meal in a very long time. If they accomplished nothing else today, Ian would feel good if he simply fed Max. His arms were covered, hiding away old scars that he’d gotten a glimpse of that night with Hollis.

He wracked his brain, trying to think of some way to get Max talking that wouldn’t instantly upset him. Right now, Ian knew Max was using him for food. If Ian didn’t speak, Max wouldn’t either. He’d just woof down the meal that was served and then bolt.

“How long have you been free?” Ian softly inquired.

Max’s ugly laugh rose above the low murmur of conversation filling the restaurant. There were only about a half dozen other people in the place, but Ian could feel them all stop and look toward their table for a second before returning to their meals and coffee.

“Free? You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Max mocked. “You talking about when I got out of the compound? That’d be two years, four months, and seventeen days after you disappeared.”

A shaft of pain sliced through Ian’s heart at Max’s bitter words. Ian had done nothing to get Max out. He’d been stuck there so much longer than Ian, left to continue suffering. Ian’s only thought was to get away. He just wanted to be away from Jagger and Gratton and all those horrible memories.