Page 16 of Carver’s Craving

“No problem.” I resumed plating the food. “So why do you think you don’t deserve a second chance?” I turned to him, holding our plates in my hand.

He held my gaze. “You know why.”

I did. That wasn’t enough to dissuade me from my mission to get him to admit the truth we both knew—he hadn’t been responsible for Frank’s death.

Chapter Five

Carver

So why do you think you don’t deserve a second chance?

Styx had no idea what he was asking.

Or maybe he does. He was there. Of course, he knows what happened.

I inhaled the scent of the hot food he placed before me and tried to smile.

Judging by his arched eyebrow, the smile was an epic failure.

“Thank you.” I picked up my knife and fork.

“You’re welcome.” He replicated my actions. “My mom’s very much into gender stereotypes and crap. She sure as shit didn’t teach me how to cook. Because I was going to have a wife to do that.”

“Oh.” I cut a slice of chicken from the big piece he’d given me.

“Yeah. I mean, that worked out okay for my brother Barry. He’s married to a nice woman.” He grinned.

“You like her?”

“So much that I wonder why she’s with my grumpy brother. My mom thinks Jenny might be pregnant—or should be, at least.” He put a forkful of mashed potato in his mouth.

My favorite food. I need to tell him how grateful I am. Still, I asked, “Should be?”

He swallowed. “Well, a wife’s job is to warm a man’s bed and give him as many babies as he’d like.” Styx raised his hand. “Pretty much a direct quote. I’m certain you can imagine me being gay didn’t go over so well. Upsetting nature’s plan and all that bullshit.”

“I remember you talking about it some. About the time Baxter got married. Right?”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “I was thinking of that this afternoon. I tried to like Arlene. I really did. But I honestly think she trapped Baxter into marriage by pretending she was pregnant. Then, after they hurried to the altar, she was like oops.”

Slowly, I nodded. “That does, when you put it like that, sound vaguely suspicious. Is she traveling with you?”

“Huh?” Styx’s brow knit. “You knew they broke up, right?”

“Right. Sorry, I forgot. That all happened—” Shit, shit, shit.

“So back to my original question.” Styx pointed his fork at me. “Why do you feel you don’t deserve a second chance?” He cut a slice of chicken. “The cops cleared you, Carver. Like, within a couple of days. As soon as that happened, though, you took off.”

The food I’d consumed threatened to come back up. “That’s a rather simplistic perspective.” I pressed my fork into my mashed potatoes. Then pushed the edges in to hide the tong marks.

“How?” He put his cutlery down and held my gaze. “Yes, when the light first came down, and killed Frank—” He swallowed. Blinked. “—then it looked like it might’ve been negligence on your part—”

“I was crew chief, Styx. The buck stopped with me. Nothing changes that.” I put my cutlery down as well. This isn’t going to end well.

“Okay, I have to call bullshit—because you know what happened next.”

I closed my eyes—as if I could somehow blot out the rest of the story. As if I could obliterate the memory of the sight of Frank with his head bashed in from where the light fixture hit him.

“Carver?” Styx’s voice was gentle. His hand over mine startled me, though.