“I ordered a massage.”
“Don’t want it,” Clay mumbled into the comforter. “Cancel it.”
“You’re tense. It’s obvious.”
“Then order me a blowjob.”
“Are you serious?” Wyatt asked as if considering it. “’Cause I’m sure that can be arranged. You wouldn’t even have to pay for it; there’s a whole shitload of groupies who—”
“Fuck off, Conner.” Clay reached up and grabbed a pillow. His feet hung off the bed, but he didn’t care. “How am I supposed to nap with ya yapping at me?”
“Aren’t you gonna talk to Jules?”
“Nope,” Clay said simply, wondering why everything needed to be told twice to Wyatt. “Tell her I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“She’ll be running late. You probably won’t see her till after the fight.”
“So I’ll see her after the fight.”
Wyatt was quiet for a long moment before he whispered into the silence of the room. “I do have a lot riding on this fight, you know? Both of us do.”
Clay huffed in defeat and held out his hand blindly, knowing that was Wyatt’s warning that he was about to get sentimental. When Wyatt put the phone in his open palm, he brought it to his ear. “I ain’t gonna get killed, and I’m sorta insulted you’re believing it.”
“I don’t believe it,” Jules said, sounding honest. “I just wanna make sure your head’s in the fight.”
“It’s not,” he replied because lying wasn’t one of his strong suits. “But I’m sure I’ll hold my own anyhow. I’ll see you tomorrow after the fight.”
“Fine,” Jules grumbled, sounding nervous and exasperated. “And I don’t wanna see you all dented and damaged neither. I wanna see you in good condition.”
“Fine,” Clay agreed and then added, “Bye, Jules. I love you.”
Jules paused for a long moment before she whispered, “I love you too, Clay. You’re the last family we got. You’ll remember it, right? That little waitress ain’t the only one worth surviving for, okay?”
“Okay.” Clay felt a little warmth seep back into his heart. A thread of life tunneled through the pain. He might be surrounded by leeches who used him as a big, mean paycheck, but there were still two people in the world who saw more than dollar signs when they looked at him. “I got it handled. I’ll live to scowl another day.”
Jules laughed. “You better.”
When Clay hung up, he tossed the phone aside and then tilted his head to glance at Wyatt, who stood there looking worried. He winced as he studied Wyatt’s bruised face. He was a yapping, pushy pain in the ass, but he was still Clay’s best friend and he loved Wyatt like a brother.
“I’m sorry ’bout your nose.”
Wyatt raised surprised eyebrows. That was the first injury Clay had ever apologized for, and there had been many. “Are ya getting soft on me, Powers?”
“I dunno.” Clay closed his eyes, remembering Melody naked and sprawled out on her bed wearing nothing but Christmas lights. He found himself missing her with every fiber of his being. “Maybe.”
“That ain’t good.” Wyatt sighed. “That ain’t good at all.”
* * * *
The lunch rush was busier than usual. Melody figured it was Christmas being around the corner. People were starting to panic over their shopping and spending all day out and about. Eating at Hal’s was quicker and easier than eating at home.
“You sure you got my shift on Christmas Eve?” Mary asked her in concern. “It’s just that my mama always does a big thing and—”
“I got it,” Melody assured her as she waited for her tickets to come up. “I wanted to work. I need the money.”
“You’ve been working doubles every day,” Mary said with a look of disbelief. “You can’t be needing money that bad. I feel terrible ’bout Christmas Eve.”
“Don’t feel terrible. It’s good. Works out better for me.” Melody turned to look under the register for the spare box of straws. She grabbed a handful and stuffed them in her apron. “Besides I’d just be sitting in my living room all by my lonesome otherwise.”
“You could spend it with Powerhouse over at the Conners. The three of them are a sad bunch on the holidays. Not a one of ’em seems to know what to do. None of ’em had a mama round growing up and it sure shows—Oh hey, Jules!”