Page 138 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“You want to know what floor? Which table? Who's sitting near me?”

“Stop.”

“Maybe I should send you a picture.”

Ronan straightened. The irritation in Elliot's voice was real. Good. At least that part was.

“You don't need to send me anything.”

“Then stop acting like I do.”

The line went quiet. Ronan rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired. Not physically. Something deeper. Every conversation seemed to have a second conversation buried beneath it now. Police questions. Online rumors. Dylan. Elliot. Ronan couldn't tell which things mattered anymore. That was probably the problem.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Elliot didn't answer.

“I mean it.”

Another pause. Then softer:

“I know.”

Ronan exhaled.

“When are you coming home?”

“Soon.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Mom's?”

A groan. Ronan smiled despite himself.

“That answers that.”

“Tell her I died.”

“Considering current events, maybe don't joke about that.”

Silence. Again. Wrong.

“Sorry.”

“No. You're right.”

Ronan stared at the floor. The call had become strange enough that he wanted it over.

“Drive safe.”

“I will.”

“And Elliot?”

“What?”