Wyatt stared at the table unseeing, as if considering Jules’s ominous prediction. He reached out and picked up his wine. He downed half the contents and then reached for the bottle on the table to refill his glass. “I think you may have put me off steak for life. Thanks for that.”
“Aw, don’t fret, Wy. Hal could always hire another pretty waitress. Look at Clay. We didn’t think he was ever getting himself a real girl, but lo and behold. Then again you’d done gave away your heart a long time ago, didn’t ya? There ain’t any pretty waitresses in your future.” Jules let out a bitter laugh, giving Wyatt a wide, crystal-eyed stare of pity. “You’re dying old and alone with me.”
“Yeah, that’s real funny.” Wyatt glared. For the first time since Melody met him, he seemed subdued and dispirited from his usual sparkling personality. “Laugh it up. It’s gonna be a real riot when you’re crying ’bout your pathetic love life to the porcelain god in your hotel room.”
“Oh, you’re getting nasty,” Jules said with a wince, not looking too put out by the hostility. “Touched a sensitive spot, I think.”
Wyatt took another long drink of wine, all his usual good humor gone as he narrowed light eyes at his sister. “Fuck you, Jules.”
“Aren’t ya glad we decided to have dinner here instead of order room service?” Clay asked Melody with a false civility. “And I was pissed off at them before the server let them drink.”
“I won you that fight,” Wyatt said defensively. “You’d have lost if it weren’t for Jules dragging Melody here. You needed motivation, and I provided it.”
“That’s just it; it matters more to you,” Clay said sadly. “Maybe you do gotta try and move on. Work and fighting’s all you got. You can’t pine for Tab—”
“You’ve gone soft.” Wyatt cut him off. “It was a fucking miracle Wellings didn’t kill you.”
“Whatever.” Clay shrugged, looking back to his dinner, his jaw clenched for one long moment. Then he lifted his head, glaring at both siblings across the table. “Neither of you won me that fight. I won ’cause I spent most my life working hard at it, and Melody ain’t just some pretty waitress. She’s a lot more than that, and just ’cause she ain’t got a fancy sheriff’s badge or a bunch of diplomas hanging on her wall doesn’t mean you can talk ’bout her like that. She’s got grit and she’s got courage, so until either of you know what it’s like to leave everything behind ’cause you know you deserve better, you need to just shut your traps.”
“I didn’t,” Jules said quickly, looking abashed. “I mean, she is very pretty, but I know she’s more than that. I didn’t mean—”
“It sure sounded like you meant it.” Clay growled, giving both of them a furious glare. “You’re embarrassing me seeing as how you two’s the only folks I got to introduce her to as friends or family. You need to stop drinking and eat your steak.”
“It’s okay, Clay,” Melody whispered, seeing the pity party for what it was.
Wyatt and Jules were both lonely individuals, and until recently Clay had been right there along with them. They felt like they were losing one of their own, and it was magnifying their isolation from a world that took a lot from them and gave very little in return. She reached over, clasped Jules’s hand in hers, and squeezed tightly.
Jules squeezed her hand back, giving Melody a watery smile. “I like you a lot, you know that, right? I’m so happy Clay found someone to love him.”
“I like you too.” Melody smiled back at Jules indulgently. “But don’t be telling people I love him; I ain’t even told him yet.”
She turned and looked to Clay hesitantly, wondering if her words were too bold. Clay met her gaze head-on. The relief in his dark eyes was palatable. The smile tugging at his lips was genuine and pleased. The tension fell out of his shoulders, and he broke eye contact to look back down to his meal. He picked up his fork, stabbing at a cut piece of meat, and Melody got the message loud and clear—he loved her too.
Chapter Eleven
Melody was starting to wish she’d gone to the Clay Powers’s school of social graces. There was a wicked side of her that wanted to know what it was like to slam a door in people’s faces, with a clipped Time to fuck off.
Clay leaned a hand against the door of the suite, looking skyward. “Conners shouldn’t drink. Christ, whatta train wreck.”