Break Away (The Moore Brothers Book 4) (4 page)

F
uck Mondays
. Fuck mornings. Fuck getting up before the sun even started to think about pulling itself above the horizon line.

Cole Bennett poured himself another cup of coffee and grabbed his keys off the counter. It really wasn’t Monday’s fault that he had stayed out too late last night. He was a big boy and knew that his three thirty alarm was going to go off no matter how late he stayed up and he had been the one who decided to stay out anyway. If this day sucked, it was his own damn fault, Monday or not.

Despite the early hour, the air was already thick with humidity and oppressive heat. Today was going to be a scorcher. Cole patted his chest pocket to check for his sunglasses and then locked the door behind him and ambled towards his truck, coffee in hand.

That rusted up Neon that belonged to his neighbor was parked next to him again. Did she get that battery replaced? She didn’t come across as the kind of girl who knew what to do when her car broke down out in the wild, which was strange because by the looks of it, this particular car had been breaking down on the regular for some time now. It’s not like she didn’t have experience with that particular problem. Who knows? Maybe she was just dumb.

Cole climbed into his truck, slid his coffee into the cup holder, and patted the dash after he shut the door. “Mornin’, Samantha,” he said. “You ready to get this party started?” Cole had bought the truck with his own money the day he turned sixteen and promptly named her. His grandpa had always said that you treat your cars like you treat a woman and they’ll take care of you in return. Cole wasn’t so sure about the woman side of that advice, but he took damn good care of his truck and he would bet a whole week of sleeping in that Samantha ran better than that Lilah’s Neon.

He checked the time as he hit the road. Four fifteen. He had more than enough time to get to the marina and get Victoria—his trawler—set up so she was ready for the day. Tommy and Stan were sure to be late; it was a rare day when they showed up early enough to be of any use before it was time to push off from the dock. It also meant that he had plenty of time to call his mom and check on her before she got to work and was too busy cleaning toilets to check her phone.

“Hey, Ma,” he said when she picked up.

“Hey yourself. You’re up and moving early this morning.”

“The shrimp gods were angry last week. Spent more on fuel and supplies than I earned pulling in the nets.” That was just the honest truth of shrimping nowadays. Cole knew he was the last of a dying breed, holding onto a dying profession with tooth and nail and a stubbornness that had been bred into him and passed down through generations of Bennett men. Well, most Bennett men.

His mom made a noise into the phone, half derision, half affirmation. “Ain’t that the way of it,” she said.

“You good?” asked Cole and braced himself for the answer.

“We had a weekend,” she said, her voice heavy with implication. “Your dad went on a real bender. Been drunk since Thursday and angrier with every passing minute.”

“Did he hit you?” Cole held his breath, waiting for her response.

“Nah. He hasn’t had the strength to hit me in a long time. He’s just mean as…” She trailed off, searching for the right word. “Well, mean as your dad on a four day bender.” She tried to laugh, but there was too much sadness and resignation in it to sound even remotely funny.

Cole clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He wanted to tell her to leave the bastard, but years of experience told him that conversation wouldn’t go well and he wasn’t in the mood to make this morning any harder. “I’ll be swinging by after we get back in, probably sometime late afternoon. Got some money for you.” He paused. “For
you
, Ma. Not for him.”

“He’ll probably be passed out by the time you get here. He won’t even know I have it.”

Cole sniffed. He was not a fan of his mother having to sneak around like that, but that was something else he couldn’t change. “You guys good on food? What else can I bring?”

“It’s bad enough I have to take your money, son. You don’t have to buy us food, too.”

“Okay. Understood. Now, answer the question. Do you have enough to eat?”

She said she did but he was sure that was pride talking. He made a mental note to pick her up a pint of ice cream and a bucket of chicken. He would tell her he was too hungry to wait until he got home and she would see right through it, but at least he would know she had a decent meal.

“So the shrimping was bad last week? Your grandpa would turn in his grave to hear a Bennett man say that.”

“As bad as it was for me, it was worse for everyone else. Grandpa’s luck on the water trickled right on down to me. I think I’m one of the last guys out there making a living off what I bring in.”
If you call living in an apartment, driving the first and only vehicle I ever bought myself making a living
, he thought, but didn’t want to say. As much as it felt like he didn’t have enough, his mom made do on way less.

“Your grandpa always said Bennett’s were made for the water.”

“I think Dad would beg to differ.” Cole’s dad had hated the idea of taking over his dad’s shrimping business so much that he did everything in his power to make sure the company would fail. The only reason Bennett Shrimp still existed was because Cole had made it his life’s work to save his grandfather’s legacy.

“Eh. I think part of the reason your dad drinks is because he’s spent his life avoiding the water. Well, that and he’s just an ornery asshole.”

Cole heard the little crack of emotion in his mom’s voice and his heart stuttered. “You sure he didn’t hit you?”

“I’m fine, son,” she said in that way of hers that meant the matter was closed for discussion.

Cole stayed silent for a moment, fighting the words that were bound to come tumbling out of his mouth the minute he tried to say something. The words he had said a million times. The words his mom never seemed to hear.

“You know you can leave any time you want,” he said, despite the fact that he knew she would just shut down. “You can come stay at my place.”

“I’m not putting you on the couch in your own damn home.”

Cole’s eyebrows hit his hairline. This was the first time she hadn’t instantly shot down the idea. “Who said I was the one gonna sleep on the couch?”

His mom chuckled, a real laugh. “Leave it to the son of Maxwell Bennett to put his own momma on the couch.”

Of course, he wouldn’t put her on the couch. He would clean up his room and maybe even get her a new comforter. Maybe some extra pillows. Women loved pillows, right? He could even move his clothes down to the coat closet. It wouldn’t be permanent, just long enough for her to get her feet back underneath her.

She sighed through the phone and he could hear all the familiar finality he didn’t want to hear. “You can keep on offering and I’ll just keep turning you down. I know you’ll never understand, but I have my reasons.”

Cole could just see the defiant lift of her chin, the little blast of fire in her eyes.

I understand Stockholm Syndrome just fine,
he thought and considered saying it to her. Again. But, he really didn’t want to be one more thing wrong in her day, so he just kept his mouth shut.

“Okay, Ma,” he said instead. “I understand. Well, I mean I don’t understand, but I do understand that I’m never gonna understand.”

His mom laughed, a breathy thing that sounded too close to tears for him to endure. He grimaced and swallowed against the tight little lump in his throat.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you hear that Cole Bennett?” And this time there was no ignoring the crack in his mother’s voice, the rush of emotion she was battling down and probably praying he actually would be good enough to ignore it.

“Geez, Mom,” he said, answering her prayers. “I’m real sorry to hear that.”

F
uck waiting tables
. Lilah tried to wipe a stray lock of hair back off her forehead, using just her forearm. This had to be the hardest way to make a living of all the jobs in the whole damn world. She was constantly forgetting something, constantly getting flagged down by people who needed more to drink, or more ranch, or, you know, silverware. Her feet ached, her clothes stank like grease and food, and she felt close to tears at any given moment of her day.

She had the distinction of being the only waitress at Lou’s Diner who needed more than three days with a trainer. And by more than three days, that meant almost two whole weeks. It’s not that it was hard, it was just … busy. She was constantly running late, running behind, getting interrupted by someone needing something from her. It’s not that she couldn’t understand what she needed to do, that part was simple enough, it was just that she couldn’t keep up. She had never moved this fast and had this many things to do at once in her whole entire life.

And damn if her tips didn’t show it. While the other servers were busy stuffing thick stacks of dollar bills into their aprons, Lilah was most likely to get stiffed. So, not only had she had to buy these ugly black sneakers, and several pairs of black pants and white button up shirts—after the rust bucket broke down on her
again
and she had to pay to have it towed and to put a new battery in the stupid thing—but on top of it all, she wasn’t making much money. Long story short, her bank account was dwindling and she wasn’t putting money in as fast as she was taking it out.

Today had been another day of pure hell. She had thought Lou’s Diner was just some little hole in the wall, a place that served bad food and had more empty tables than full on any given day. Boy, had she ever been wrong. Apparently, Lou’s Diner had some of the best food in this stupid town and people flocked here, filling the tables. They had a waiting list most nights. And the servers here were top notch, biting off witty remarks to familiar customers while they buzzed around the place with an efficient energy that Lilah actually found herself envying.

They
didn’t have bits of hair stuck to their foreheads. They didn’t forget to put silverware down for a new table. They didn’t forget who got what food or leave customers sitting for half an hour waiting for checks.

Lilah stared at the tray filled with way too many drinks that she had filled just a little too full. It looked heavy. She slid it off the counter onto her waiting hand, using her forearm to balance and help distribute the weight. She straightened without spilling even a single drip of liquid and smiled as she turned to head out to the waiting customers.

And ran straight into Christy-Anne, one hell of a bitchy waitress.

Lilah stopped in her tracks and had one moment of terror as she saw the drinks sliding down towards her. There was no way she was going to wear that many layers of Coke, not on her last clean white button up shirt. She purposefully tilted the tray away from herself and managed to unload six full glasses of soda right down Christy-Anne’s front.

“What the fuck!” Christy-Anne screeched as the plastic cups bounced on the hard tile. “God damn it! You clumsy…” Christy-Anne screwed up her face and blew air out her nose.

Lilah imagined her like an angry bull, snorting smoke and pawing at the ground and couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “I’m really sorry,” she said, swallowing her laughter as Christy-Anne’s face turned a violent red.

Christy-Anne pulled her soaked shirt away from her ample chest and blew one more angry breath through her nose before she stomped off towards the manager's office. Lilah wasn’t sure if that little incident had made her night better or worse, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she refilled the drinks and raced back out to her waiting customers. She got stopped twice by people needing things on her way to serve the drinks and once on her way back and by the time she came to a stop at the serving station, she could only remember one of the things she was asked for and didn’t have the foggiest clue as to which table wanted it.

Fuck it, forget it. She ducked into the break room and leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths to clear her mind.

“For Chrissake, Lilah. What’re you doing?” Lilah jumped and spun to find Lou,
the
Lou of Lou’s Diner, a portly woman with a permanently red face. “You’ve got two tables waiting on their checks and a two-top just went down in your section.”

Lilah pushed off the wall and tried to find a way through the door that Lou had thoroughly blocked. “I’m sorry. Just taking a little break.”

“You keep at it, and you’ll get more than just a little break.” Lou stepped aside and gestured for Lilah to exit.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lilah said without thinking, a throwback to being a little girl with an angry mom. She swept from the room, slipping a little in the puddle of spilled soda. Shit. She was the one who was supposed to clean that up. This job was way harder than she had thought it would be. Surely that was the diner’s fault. Working for Lou had to be hard because they were understaffed, or under-organized, or under-something. If she had managed to get a job at one of the higher-end restaurants, it wouldn’t have been this bad.

Lilah scanned the floor for the two tables waiting for their checks. She found the first one easily, the man sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, his foot bouncing away under the table, his eyes like daggers pointed in her direction made it pretty clear he was more than ready to leave. She found the second one empty. They had left without paying.

Well, shit. That would be coming out of her paycheck. Lilah was sure of that.

After dropping off the check and a set of apologies to the man with the dagger eyes, Lilah found the two-top Lou had mentioned. The couple had their menus closed and, thankfully, looked like they were enjoying each other’s company despite having to wait.

“I’m so sorry,” Lilah said as she approached the table, digging in her apron for her pen. And digging. And digging. Damn it! Where was it?

“Well hey there, princess,” said a familiar voice. “Why am I not surprised that you’re a shitty waitress?”

Lilah looked up to find Cole Bennett sitting there, watching her with his oddly perceptive eyes, a shit-eating grin stretching from ear to ear. She stopped digging in her apron for her pen—it wasn’t in there anyway—and sat back on her heel, propping her hand on her hips.

“I am not a bad waitress.”

Cole actually laughed. “Look around, sweetheart. This is not a section filled with happy faces and satisfied customers. And I’d bet a free meal that the crash we heard back there a few minutes ago was you.”

The little brunette sitting next to him giggled, her great big childlike eyes brimming with adoration as she stared all smitten into Cole’s face.

Well, if he was going to be a dick, she had every right to be a bitch in return. She let her eyes rake over the girl with as much caustic judgment as she could muster, which, even she had to admit, was a lot. “I see you’ve found yet another girl who won’t understand that you don’t do girlfriends.”

Cole’s date flipped her hair over her shoulder in a show of nonchalance, but the way she tugged at her shirt told Lilah that she had managed to get under her skin. Lilah felt a little bad, but maybe her comment would be enough to warn the girl off.

“He says he doesn’t do girlfriends, but since I managed to talk him into taking me to my favorite restaurant tonight instead of just taking me home last night makes me think he’s all talk.” The girl grabbed Cole’s arm and leaned into him, practically batting her eyelashes. Cole grimaced and extricated himself from her grasp, his face saying he found her neediness as disgusting as Lilah did.

Of course, the girl didn’t notice, she just kept smiling up at Cole like he was some kind of rock star. Poor stupid thing. Was she ever in for a rude awakening.

“What’s her name? That way I can address her properly when we run into each other on the front walk and she tells me to tell you just exactly where to go.” That got the girl’s attention and Lilah almost felt bad, but still hoped that she would take the hint and ask Cole to take her home after dinner.

“Penny,” Cole said, indicating his date. “I’d like you to meet the bitch from apartment 3B.”

Penny giggled and Lilah schooled her face into something cool and condescending. She would not show him how furious she was. She took their orders, doing her best to remember what they said because she couldn’t find her pen and of course Penny had to ask for all kinds of special things on her meal. Reciting the order in her head as she strode back to the server’s station to put it in, she did her best not to let Cole get to her. He was so not worth it.

When their food came up, she pasted a smile to her face and made it to their table without dropping anything. Even managed to get their order mostly right. Was it her imagination, or was Cole staring at her as she reached across the table to put Penny’s order in front of her. A quick glance to her right verified that yes, he was staring at her. Their eyes locked for just a fraction of a second and for some reason, Lilah blushed. She yanked her attention away from him and asked if she could get them anything else, her voice all business, her eyes detached.

Both Cole and Penny were fine, so she told them she would be back to check on them in a few minutes, knowing full well she would forget, and turned and headed back to the server’s station.

Halfway there, a hand grabbed her arm. Hard. Someone yanked on her and she stumbled backwards, the tray in her hands clattering to the floor. She came face to face with an angry man, all tattoos, bad breath, and buzz cut.

“Hey! Dumbass!” Spittle hit Lilah in the face and she cried out, pulling back on her arm. Panic blossomed in her stomach when she couldn’t pull free. “Are you fucking stupid? How many times do I gotta ask for a goddamn refill?”

Lilah didn’t respond. She was way more distracted with pulling her arm out of his grasp. His fingertips dug into her flesh and it hurt. The diner grew silent and somewhere in the back Christy-Anne was calling for Lou. Lilah didn’t know what to do. The man’s dark eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed and the stink on his breath had to be born of several days of non-stop drinking.

“All I want is a fucking refill!” The drunk tightened his grasp on Lilah’s arm and punctuated his words by yanking her even closer to him as he slurred his words at her. Lilah froze. What was she going to do?

“Hey.” The voice came from behind her. Cold. Controlled. Like steel glinting in the sun. “You let her go, now.” Lilah turned her head and saw Cole striding towards them.

“Yeah?” sneered the drunk. “Or what?”

“Or me, asshole.”

The drunk glared at Cole, but softened the grip on her arm.

“You willing to risk your pretty face for this dumb bitch?”

Cole stepped forward, putting more of himself in between Lilah and the drunk. “I’m not the one at risk here, friend.” He waited for that to sink in before continuing. “Do you really want a trip to the drunk tank over a goddamn refill?”

The man let go of Lilah’s arm and she staggered back, rubbing the tender flesh.

“Good choice,” said Cole. “Now pay your bill, tip your waitress, and get the hell outta here before I decide you haven’t learned your lesson yet.”

“I’m not paying for shit.”

Cole stepped forward, six feet and two inches of him radiating this awesome threatening power that had Lilah breathless. “Pay your bill. Tip your waitress.”

The drunk flinched and yanked a single bill out of his wallet and dropped it on the table, glaring passed Cole at Lilah.

“A real tip,” said Cole.

“I tipped her what she’s worth,” the drunk said.

“Bullshit. She’s worth more than one goddamn dollar simply because she’s a human being.”

The drunk looked like he was going to say something, but one look at Cole’s face had him shutting his mouth. He dug through his wallet and pulled out a five-dollar bill, dropped it on the table, and left the diner in a slew of muttered curse words.