Rome sat in the diner at one of those round corner booths, a platonic arm around Elenna, a cautiously hinting arm around Aly, feeling generally very safe, content, and happy. Mainly because there was a plate of three eggs, two sausage, two bacon, hashbrowns, and three pancakes headed his way, and he had a cup of coffee with four sugars and one cream sitting in front of him, and he was warm, and definitely wasn't dreaming.
Having Mom and Dad back had been nice, but...also weird. Rawson was his familial constant, not them--not even when they had been alive--and, hell, not even Raws so much anymore. Which reminded him:
"Hey, I gotta go take a leak, guys, lemme out."
"I ain't movin'," Caleb offered jovially, as Georgie turned up her nose: "Okay, do you have to announce it?"
Rome laughed. "Fine, screw you guys," he said, and crawled under the table.
He locked the door to the single bathroom and pulled out his phone. It rang, once, twice, three times, four, five...
"Sh*t, Raws, answer the fracking phone!"
A mechanized voice answered him: "You have reached--It's R. You know what to do--Please leave a message after the tone."
Rome took a deep breath:
"Dammit, Raws, you better as hell not be dead. In case you decide to care, I just spent last night getting sidelined by a djinni who made me think you were dead, so frack you very much for giving me the time of day. We're in Chicago. If you could pencil in a visit. So I can kick your ass."
He hung up, angry tears stinging his eyes. He was just about to rejoin his friends when his phone beeped. (1) Message Received. It was from Rawson.
Glad you're okay. I'm fine. Got another job lined up, call you when it's over. I sent some money to your account from the last one.
The rush of relief was followed quickly by a rush of rage, and he barely refrained from punching a hole in the wall or throwing his phone. Instead he put the toilet seat down and sat down, checking his bank account online. He had always been well-off, but now there was an extra twenty-five grand riding pretty in there that was frankly embarrassing. So now Rawson was sending him guilt-money? Rome wanted it gone. Maybe he could buy a Ducati and drive it into the Chicago River.
Sure his food was getting cold, and positive he would have more energy to be pissed when he had eaten, Rome put the gameface back on and returned to the table.
"What took you so long?" Aly asked.
Rome shrugged. "Hey, this one doesn't want details," he pointed an accusing finger at Georgie. "And who the hell's been stealing my bacon?"