Twisted (Steel Brothers Saga 8)
“That could be.” He stroked his cheek thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s probably it.” He made a few notations on my chart. “The nurse will be in to check your vitals in a few minutes. Be sure to keep that door unlocked, Mr. Steel.” He smirked.
No reason to lock it now. Ruby wouldn’t be back.
* * *
Dr. Anderson had given me my walking papers early, during his morning rounds. Talon was due to drive me home in an hour. I didn’t feel like sitting around the hospital, so I walked over to a little dive café.
An old man in a flannel shirt sat a few stools down, nursing a cup of coffee. He turned and looked at me strangely.
“You have a problem?” I said.
He shook his head and took the seat next to me. “No problem. You just look familiar to me. Have we met?”
“I don’t think so.”
He put out his hand. “Name’s Mike.”
“Ryan Steel.”
“Steel. That’s why you look so familiar. You’re one of them Steel brothers, aren’t you?”
“Guilty.” Sort of. We were almost brothers.
“I’ve met your brothers. Nice guys.”
“Yeah.” I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Nice guys.”
A bleached-blond waitress in a pink uniform sidled up. “What’ll it be?”
“What he’s having.” I pointed to Mike’s coffee. “And two eggs over easy, slice of bacon.”
The waitress filled a coffee cup and set it in front of me.
“How are your brothers doing?” Mike asked.
“They’re good. Both married now.”
“You don’t say!” A grin split Mike’s wrinkled face. “That’s great! They deserve happiness.”
Just how much did this guy know about my brothers? I took a swig of coffee—might as well have been water with brown food coloring—and raised my eyebrows. “Do they?”
“I’d think you’d be happy for them.”
I sighed. “I am. And you’re right. They deserve it. They’ve been through a lot.” I took another drink.
“So why don’t you seem all that happy for them?”
I wasn’t about to tell a perfect stranger the details of my DNA. “Just got a lot on my mind.”
Mike rubbed at his chin. “You may not believe this, but I talked to both of your brothers when they were kind of down in the mouth.”
“How the hell is that possible?”
“They both stumbled in to a little dive where I hang out sometimes. Makes this place look like the Ritz.”
I looked around. If it made this shithole look like the Ritz, it must be something akin to an old latrine. “You don’t say.”
“I do say.”