Reprobate - A River Bend Rebels M/M Romance - Book 1

12. Kyril

"Hey, Kyril?"

I turned from the dishrack I was loading with the last of the metal bins from the steam table. Brandi, one of the waitresses, was standing in the open doorway. "Yeah?" I said, wiping my hands on the towel I always kept slung over my shoulder when doing the dishes.

"Someone's in the dining room asking for you." She tilted her head toward the doorway.

I frowned, wondering who it was. It was almost ten and the restaurant was closing in a few minutes. Only a couple of tables still had diners, and I was anxious for them to finish so I could clear their tables, run a final load of dishes and clean up.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead with my shirt sleeve, I hung my apron and the damp dish towel on a hook and walked out into the dining room, thinking maybe Tate might have stopped by to see how I was doing after that incident outside of Java Jamba and then by the lockers earlier this afternoon. He'd been blowing up my phone since school let out. Even though I'd assured him I was okay, he hadn't seemed convinced. Maybe he'd stopped in to see for himself. Or maybe Sierra had stopped in for the same reason. She'd texted a few times to check on me, too.

It was a little weird having friends in River Bend who cared. Back home, Chris and I and the few other people I'd hung out with had been close, and I missed having people who I could trust and count on, especially on a shitty day when I needed to vent out all that angst.

But it wasn't any of my new friends waiting in the dining room for me. It was one of my new enemies.

Jamie Bridgewater stood by the hostess station, dressed in a red pullover hoodie with the word REBELS printed on it in black letters with white outlining and a pair of fashionably faded and distressed jeans. He was looking at something on his phone and didn't see me come through the double doors and then stand stock-still, glaring at him. What the hell was he doing here?

Just as I was about to whirl around and hurry back into the kitchen, Jamie's head lifted and our eyes met. Something flashed in his. Uncertainty, nerves, maybe something a little like fear? Something that didn't fit on his normally self-assured face.

"Hey," Jamie said, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He slipped his phone in the pocket of his hoodie and kept his hands in there, looking uncharacteristically awkward as he fidgeted under my stinging glare.

"What the hell do you want?" I rasped, taking a few steps closer, keeping my eyes locked on his. "To finish what you and your buddies started?" I glanced around at the two waitresses and the two tables of diners. "Even you aren't stupid enough to pull anything where are witnesses, are you?"

Jamie's eyes widened and he shook his head, pulling his hands from his hoodie pocket and holding them up in a placating gesture. "No, Kyril. That's not why I'm here. God, no." He shifted again. He shoved his hands back in his pockets and said quietly, "I'm here to apologize for all the crap my friends are doing and to let you know I'm gonna make it stop."

I couldn't help it—I laughed. It was harsh and utterly devoid of humor. "Yeah. Sure. I heard your bullshit apology this morning. And again this afternoon in Human Biology. And then less than an hour later, your best buddy Trevor gave me this." I pointed to the bruising on my cheek from being slammed into the locker, an injury I'd brushed off when first my dad, then Ruby, and then all my coworkers had asked me about. "You were standing right there when he did it, so fuck off with your bullshit apologies, PK. They're not accepted."

Jamie winced, whether from my tone, my cursing, or calling him "PK", I wasn't sure. But he didn't back down. Instead he nodded. "I deserve every insult you want to hurl at me. But I mean it, Kyril. I'm sorry. And I'm going to make them leave you alone."