Defying the Odds (5 page)

She took their order, her heart still beating the hell out of her ribs. Her breathing became rapid without warning because she’d mentioned her ex-husband and just thinking about him was enough to make her anxious. It would be a minor miracle if she got their order right, especially Clay’s, who was frowning at Melody, his dark eyes studying her as he ordered his breakfast.

“Okay,” she rasped once she’d gotten their order, still willing her breathing to be steady and normal as she turned to leave. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Clay grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop her pad to the ground. She winced and, out of instinct, blurted out, “I’m sorry!”

“What’d you got to be sorry ’bout?” Clay asked her softly, letting go of her wrist when she bent to pick up the pad. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s not you,” she said quickly. Wanting to reassure him, she reached out to squeeze his bicep through his long-sleeved black shirt that clung to his massive arms. She could still touch him, and it felt good, better than she thought it would. It helped to clear her head. She took a cleansing breath as she admitted, “It’s me. I’m just a little bit broken.”

“What?” he
asked,
his voice low and concerned.

“Not a lot, just a little. I’m okay.” She squeezed his arm again, more to reassure herself than him. Then she turned to leave but pulled up short, wanting to smack her forehead. “I’m stupid.
The coffeepot.
I got it. We’ll get your order right quick.”

“We’re not worried ’bout it,” Clay said as she picked up the coffeepot. “Just bring it when it’s done. No sense rushing. We know we’re early.”

“You’re sweet.” She sighed, thanking God for handsome fighters named Clay. Even a glimpse of normalcy was better than none at all, and she was so incredibly grateful for it. She couldn’t help but turn and give Clay a long, lingering look, thinking it was probably a good thing he was famous and out of her reach. “Thank you.”

Then she left before he could say something. The coffeepot clutched tightly in her hand, she practically ran into the kitchen, deciding to give the order to Hal personally and use the moment to hide and pull herself together.

Clay watched the pretty waitress leave. Her cheeks flushed pink, her chest heaving underneath her simple blue and white uniform as she disappeared into the back. He tried to sort out the plethora of emotions overwhelming him. Most were feelings he was unaccustomed to, like a wild need to run after her and comfort her until that panicked look left her bright green eyes, now reflecting fear underneath her glasses. Clay was the last person in the world who should be comforting anyone. Instead he searched for stable ground, thumbing through the rush of emotion until he found one he knew how to handle.

“If that ex-husband of hers shows up in Garnet, I’m
gonna
have him installed in the Cellar as my own personal punching bag.” He felt a pulsing fury surge through his bloodstream.
“Fucker.”

He looked back to the front of the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, still battling with the urge to soothe away her fears. He was floundering, and he knew it. A headache and his own set of bruised ribs had him twitchy. He raised his hips, searching in the pocket of his jeans for the pain relievers the doctor had stuffed in his hand before Jules drove them to breakfast.

“Hey, Jules, you got my ibuprofen?” he asked, coming up with nothing but his wallet. He lifted his head to look at her, finding Jules stunned speechless, her jaw actually hanging open. He glanced to Wyatt, sitting next to her, who had a similar look of shock on his handsome face.
“You two running a fly-catching contest or something?
What’re you gawking at?”

Jules’s jaw clicked shut first. Ever poised, she ran fingers through her shiny hair, before she turned back to Clay. “You’re sweet on her.”

“So what if I am?” he barked back, feeling his cheeks heat.

“That’s the worst pairing in the world, you and that jumpy little waitress. What a nightmare,” Wyatt said with a sad shake of his head. “I don’t think it’ll work, Clay. You heard her admit it herself: she’s broken.”

“And I
ain’t
?” Clay countered.

Jules’s blue eyes became soft and concerned in sisterly fashion. “You’re not broken, sweetie.”

“Well,” Wyatt argued, tilting his head as he gave his sister a look, “I wouldn’t exactly put him on the normal scale of human behavior.”

“You
ain’t
on the normal scale.” Jules growled, turning around to punch Wyatt’s shoulder with sharp speed and painful accuracy, because Wyatt and Clay weren’t the only ones with a running collection of black belts. “So you just sit there, shut up, and drink your coffee, because if you say something dumb to that sweet waitress, Clay won’t have to break your ribs. I’ll do it for him!”

“Fine,” Wyatt said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll shut my trap.”

“That’ll be a first.” Jules rolled her eyes and turned back to Clay. She gave him an encouraging smile. “She’s sweet on you too, you know?”

Clay shrugged, now more than uncomfortable. He took a sip of his coffee, deciding to ignore their concern. He loved both of them. They were the only real family he had, but there were days, like today, when he wished he’d stayed in foster homes instead of setting up camp in the bedroom across from Wyatt’s.
Conners
were a nosy, meddling lot. It was the law enforcement mentality bred into them. They had the inexplicable urge to know what was going on with everyone and everything they cared about. If their nosing unearthed something they felt needed their attention, they worked with grim determination to make it right, and both of them couldn’t care less if their help was welcome or not.

“Well, I for one think it’s ’bout time Clay got himself a woman,” Jules announced, making her opinion known as usual. “
Him
liking this girl is a good thing.
Means he’s finally warmed up to dating.”

“He dates,” Wyatt said defensively.

Jules turned, giving her brother a stern look. “Last I checked
,
I had several degrees on my office wall. How dumb do I look?”

“He
sorta
dates,” Wyatt amended, because no one could call Jules dumb.

“You and me both know he
ain’t
dating those girls,” Jules said sharply. “And not a one of ’
em
care anything ’bout him. All they’re interested in is his fine body and his collection of championship belts. They’re just using him. I don’t like those groupies, Clay.”

“No kidding,” he said against the rim of his coffee. “I think I heard mention of that one time…or a million.”

“So you ask the jumpy little waitress on a date, and if it don’t work out”—Jules held up her hands—“at least you broke the ice. You can finally start dating real women.”

“So those girls he spends time with
ain’t
real women?”
Wyatt quirked an eyebrow over the rim of his sunglasses.
“What are they, then? ’Cause they look mighty womanly to me.”

“I meant women with souls,” Jules said sweetly before she narrowed light eyes at her brother. “You’re a pig, by the way.”

Wyatt turned to her, his mirrored glasses reflecting Jules’s image back at her as he grinned.
“Oink.”

Jules pulled a disgusted face, turning back to Clay. “You’re thirty-three years old.
Ya
can’t keep pushing every decent woman away ’cause your mama left like that.”

“So he should date the only person in Garnet with more issues than him?” Wyatt interjected as if considering it. “A man with crippling abandonment issues who makes a living with his fists, and a woman on the run from her abusive ex-husband who obviously used her as a punching bag. That’s a
perfect
pairing.”

“I
gotta
take a leak.” Clay stood up rather than listen to their bickering. He was halfway to the bathroom before something occurred to him. He turned back around, finding Jules and Wyatt still arguing. Before he could catch a word of their debate, he leaned down, looked Jules dead in the eye, and admitted, “I
ain’t
been with one of those groupies in over a year and a half.”

“Really?”
Jules asked, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Yes, really,” he said with grim finality. “Now will you shut up ’bout it?”

“Yeah, I’ll shut up,” Jules said, positively beaming. “I wouldn’t say anything to her ’bout it…even if
ya
had been with ’
em
.”

“I haven’t.”

“Okay,” Jules said, holding up her hands passively. “Glad to hear it.”

Clay hoped that was enough to keep both Jules and Wyatt’s mouths shut while he was gone. He wasn’t more than a few feet away from the table before Wyatt said, “A year and a half? No wonder my ribs are ’bout broke, and this
ain’t
the first time, neither.”

Jules snorted. “You say it like it’s my fault.”

“You’re always harping ’bout the groupies. The man needs some
sorta
stress release besides kicking the shit outta me.”

Clay rolled his eyes, deciding there was nothing to be done. Let them argue. That battle was lost a long time ago. If big Fred Conner couldn’t put a stop to it before he passed on, Clay sure wasn’t going to fix it. He just wished they’d find another topic to argue about.

“It’s official. You’ve got an admirer.”

Melody blushed, turning around to look and see if anyone was listening before she shrugged.
“Nah.
He’s just sweet.”

“Sweet on you,” Judy said teasingly as she leaned against the counter, giving Melody a knowing look. “Every single shift you work, he’s here. If you
ain’t
here, he
ain’t
here. That boy knows your schedule.”

“I think she might be right,” Hal offered, putting her order in the window. “I’d have never believed it, but something ’bout you got Powerhouse’s attention.”

“And he’s a good tipper,” Judy said sullenly. “If I’d known he had a soft spot for waitresses, I’d have bought him pie years ago.”

“I told him to stop with all that.” Melody felt her cheeks heat.
“
Ain’t
fair.
He’s not allowed to tip more than twenty percent.”

“You need the money,” Hal barked at her. “Take it if he’s offering.”

Melody ignored them, not wanting his food to get cold. She grabbed Clay’s plate and walked around the counter. At a quarter to ten, the diner was near empty. He was her last table of the evening. She loved it when he came late, because she could spend actual time with him.

She placed Clay’s plate in front of him and then helped herself to the booth seat across from him. Hidden like he was in the corner, she could sit with him free from prying eyes. That was the thing with Garnet; everyone was in everyone else’s business.

“I think this town needs a movie theater.” Melody pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees as she watched Clay eat his country-fried steak. “All they got to worry ’bout is what we’re doing.”

Clay lifted his gaze to hers and then leaned out of the booth, looking to the counter. When he turned back to his dinner, a smile tugged at his lips.

“They’re watching us?” Melody asked, knowing the answer for herself.

“Yup.”
Clay grunted as he cut his meat. “
Didja
eat?”

“Been snacking.
I’m good.” Melody’s eyes felt heavy, and she was half tempted to fall asleep right there at the booth. “Tell me ’bout your day.”

“It’s not very exciting.”

“I like to hear your voice,” Melody admitted, blinking tiredly at Clay. He was wearing his usual black cap pulled low over his eyes. His bruises had healed, and he was looking very handsome and rugged this evening with a day’s worth of dark beard growth decorating his jaw. She couldn’t help but smile as she admired him. “I think ’bout it at night, your voice, before I go to sleep.
Scares away the nightmares.”

He tilted his head, looking at her from under the brim of his cap. His dark eyes were soulful, penetrating as he studied her curled up in the booth across from him. Instead of saying something to make her feel dumb or weak, he just smiled and started talking.