I’m having my salad slowly and quietly, watching him eat every last bite until his plate is wiped clean.

Standing, he pulls a pack of Marlboros from his back pocket. Pulling out a cigarette with two fingers, he drops it between his full lips before bringing up a lone match, lighting it up to a shining amber. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” He sits back down.

“No, I don’t mind.”

With my agreement, he exhales.

I’m not a fan of smoking. I want to live my best and healthiest life. But watching this huge man spreading his long denim-clad legs out in front of him, relaxing with a cigarette, does something to my insides. It’s undeniable. With his huge, muscular arms, tatted so well, and his heavy soldier’s body, I find myself clenching my thighs together. Intensely staring at him in the dim light, I swallow hard.

“You should talk to someone about the shooting.” He takes a napkin from the silver holder and wipes his hands, cigarette dangling between his lips. “Don’t hold it in.” His voice is low and deep.

“Actually, I think I’m doing okay.” My voice comes out surprisingly upbeat. “I had a bit of a breakdown before I came out here, but I feel a lot better already. How about you?” I take another bite of my salad.

“Me? What about me?” He wrings his hands together.

“Well, you were there, too. And I thought I saw you freeze up for a—”

“Of course I’m fine,” he spits out. “Never been better.”

He lets out a dark laugh as he takes a hard pull of his cigarette. His demeanor has my guard moving up, but I tell myself to stop my overreaction.

“Really? Because I noticed, when the shots first went off, you—”

A stone face flashes to mine. “Don’t,” he snaps.

I questioningly tilt my head to the side. “Wait. Why are you getting so upset?”

The chair scrapes against the ground, and he stands to his full, hulking height. My jaw drops at the outburst as my heart lurches in my chest. What the hell is going on here? Maybe he’s the one who hasn’t dealt with his shit. He’s all about being helpful and doling out advice, but when the tables turn, it’s complete shutdown.

I hesitantly stand, unsure if I should run away or wait this out. “I won’t press.” My voice is a whisper as I raise my hands in surrender. Part of me wants to run, but my heart won’t let me move.

His eyes are suddenly dark and so empty. “There’s nothing to fucking press.” He bares his teeth and steps closer, raising the stakes and morphing into someone else entirely.

He wouldn’t hurt me, right? I know Slade would never, but this man isn’t the Slade I know. I shiver, as though my body knows something that my mind refuses to register.

“L-let’s just enjoy our dinner, okay? Let’s not talk about that night anymore. I’m okay. You’re okay. Everything’s great,” I whisper, as though trying to calm a rabid animal.