Tick’s head as surely as if he murmured it aloud.
“Anyway,” Blake went on, “I considered asking him to tutor me when I take physics next semester, but then I thought about how much he hates Uncle Tick and decided maybe not.”
“Hates me?” Tick dropped his hand on a pfft . “Right.”
Tori snorted. “If you treated me the way you do him, I’d hate you.”
“Thanks a lot.” Wry sarcasm laced Tick’s voice. He turned irritated eyes in Mark’s directions. “I suppose this is where you’re going to chime in? Tell me how much the kid and I have in common?”
Mark opened his mouth, but Caitlin’s quiet laugh forestalled him.
“He is a lot like you.” She laid her palm on Tick’s thigh in an easy contact Mark had witnessed dozens of times. The disconnect Mark had been trying to pinpoint all day coalesced in his mind. It was the two of them—
“He is not.” A visible wave of tension moved through Tick’s body, like watching the beginning of tsunami after an underwater quake. He shifted, Caitlin’s hand falling away from his leg.
“You’re right.” Del’s relaxed tone broke the silent vibrating strain. “You’re not that good at math.”
Tick’s tight grin looked more like a grimace. “Just because you can do amortization schedules in your head…”
Del laughed and the conversation turned in another direction, the awkward moment seemingly forgotten. Mark stretched his arm along the back of the glider and watched. That’s what had been niggling at him all day—the differences in their interactions, Caitlin’s unusual reserve, the way Tick kept a certain physical distance between them.
Tori nudged him in the ribs. “I’m going to see if Mama needs help in the kitchen. Come with me.”
No doubt existed in his mind that Lenora Calvert’s kitchen was as spotless as always, but he followed regardless. In the sparkling clean room, Tori turned into his embrace and rested her nose against his shoulder.
“I was afraid of that,” she muttered, muffled by his shirt.
He was such a sucker for her. All he wanted to do was find a way to take the sadness and worry out of her voice. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Afraid of what, honey?”
“That.” She waved a hand toward the patio. “He’s going to pull into himself with the Captain America act—”
“Superman.”
“—and shut her out in the process because he’s had to face his own mortality and he can’t control what happens with Lee.”
He rested his cheek against her hair. “Don’t worry. Falconetti’s pretty good at sizing up a situation and taking control. She’ll reel him in.”
At least he hoped so.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Atlanta.”
At Chris’s surprised voice, Troy Lee looked up from the monthly traffic report he was compiling ahead of time. He shrugged as Chris fed quarters into the soda machine. “I came home early.”
“So why are you here?” Chris slumped into the chair at the vacant desk fronting Cookie’s.
Because he’d needed something to do and the empty squad room had offered both a distraction and quiet, with the only noise the muted squawking from the radio room downstairs. “I could ask you the same question. You’re not on duty, either.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have family anywhere.” Chris popped the soda top and swigged, grimacing.
“I wanted to come home, okay? Sheesh. I needed to kill some time, so I figured I’d start on this.” He entered another ticket number into the spreadsheet. Chris snorted a laugh and Troy Lee looked up, annoyed. “What?”
Chris’s knowing gaze made his skin crawl. “You just referred to Coney as home. You’ve never done that.”
“Slip of the tongue. Big deal.”
“Yeah.” Humor lurked in Chris’s monosyllable and the silence that fell after it.
Aware Chris was studying him like some kind of lab specimen, he entered a couple more tickets—damn, Angel had two warnings this month—and
“Anyway,” Blake went on, “I considered asking him to tutor me when I take physics next semester, but then I thought about how much he hates Uncle Tick and decided maybe not.”
“Hates me?” Tick dropped his hand on a pfft . “Right.”
Tori snorted. “If you treated me the way you do him, I’d hate you.”
“Thanks a lot.” Wry sarcasm laced Tick’s voice. He turned irritated eyes in Mark’s directions. “I suppose this is where you’re going to chime in? Tell me how much the kid and I have in common?”
Mark opened his mouth, but Caitlin’s quiet laugh forestalled him.
“He is a lot like you.” She laid her palm on Tick’s thigh in an easy contact Mark had witnessed dozens of times. The disconnect Mark had been trying to pinpoint all day coalesced in his mind. It was the two of them—
“He is not.” A visible wave of tension moved through Tick’s body, like watching the beginning of tsunami after an underwater quake. He shifted, Caitlin’s hand falling away from his leg.
“You’re right.” Del’s relaxed tone broke the silent vibrating strain. “You’re not that good at math.”
Tick’s tight grin looked more like a grimace. “Just because you can do amortization schedules in your head…”
Del laughed and the conversation turned in another direction, the awkward moment seemingly forgotten. Mark stretched his arm along the back of the glider and watched. That’s what had been niggling at him all day—the differences in their interactions, Caitlin’s unusual reserve, the way Tick kept a certain physical distance between them.
Tori nudged him in the ribs. “I’m going to see if Mama needs help in the kitchen. Come with me.”
No doubt existed in his mind that Lenora Calvert’s kitchen was as spotless as always, but he followed regardless. In the sparkling clean room, Tori turned into his embrace and rested her nose against his shoulder.
“I was afraid of that,” she muttered, muffled by his shirt.
He was such a sucker for her. All he wanted to do was find a way to take the sadness and worry out of her voice. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Afraid of what, honey?”
“That.” She waved a hand toward the patio. “He’s going to pull into himself with the Captain America act—”
“Superman.”
“—and shut her out in the process because he’s had to face his own mortality and he can’t control what happens with Lee.”
He rested his cheek against her hair. “Don’t worry. Falconetti’s pretty good at sizing up a situation and taking control. She’ll reel him in.”
At least he hoped so.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Atlanta.”
At Chris’s surprised voice, Troy Lee looked up from the monthly traffic report he was compiling ahead of time. He shrugged as Chris fed quarters into the soda machine. “I came home early.”
“So why are you here?” Chris slumped into the chair at the vacant desk fronting Cookie’s.
Because he’d needed something to do and the empty squad room had offered both a distraction and quiet, with the only noise the muted squawking from the radio room downstairs. “I could ask you the same question. You’re not on duty, either.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have family anywhere.” Chris popped the soda top and swigged, grimacing.
“I wanted to come home, okay? Sheesh. I needed to kill some time, so I figured I’d start on this.” He entered another ticket number into the spreadsheet. Chris snorted a laugh and Troy Lee looked up, annoyed. “What?”
Chris’s knowing gaze made his skin crawl. “You just referred to Coney as home. You’ve never done that.”
“Slip of the tongue. Big deal.”
“Yeah.” Humor lurked in Chris’s monosyllable and the silence that fell after it.
Aware Chris was studying him like some kind of lab specimen, he entered a couple more tickets—damn, Angel had two warnings this month—and
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