“Grossier,” Ware said, with a little nod.

“You need something?” He wouldn’t be rude—this was still his lover’s ex, after all, and the father of a child whose history he felt bound to respect. But he wasn’t feeling all that friendly yet.

“Saw your bike out front. Can I have a word?” Ware asked. “Ten minutes, maybe?”

Casey stepped aside, holding the door. Letting this guy know whose territory he was entering. He nodded to the table with the computer on it, shutting the thing as they sat down.

“This about Abilene?” Casey asked.

“Not exactly. This is about me. And about business.”

Wary, Casey kept his expression stony.

“Sign out front says this place is going to be a barbecue joint in a few weeks’ time.”

“That’s the plan.” And the wailing tools and the radio drone coming from beyond the plywood partition ought to confirm it.

“You hire all your cooks yet?”

Casey blinked, surprised. “Why? You looking to be one of them?”

The man shrugged. “I’ve been all over this fucking county, looking for honest work—Abilene’s told me, I don’t earn clean money, I don’t get to pass any along to her and the kid. There’s not a ton of options for guys who’re straight out of the pen.”

“There’s Petroch.”

Ware laughed silently, not looking especially amused. “I’m pushing forty. I’ve got a working back for now, and I’d prefer to keep it working for a couple more decades. And if somebody wants to start me off at fifteen bucks an hour, they sure as shit better not cripple me for it.”

Fair enough, Casey thought.

“Don’t get me wrong—I’ll take it if that’s all there is to take. But I want to know all my options.”

“You cooked before?”

Ware nodded. “Downstate I did. Both stints.”

“I did six months there myself, but I don’t remember being treated to any blue-ribbon barbecue.”

He shook his head. “No, but I’m a red-blooded American man. I know how to fucking grill. Prison taught me how to cook everything else.”

Casey considered it. Prison wasn’t known for its cuisine, but what Benji’s would be serving—steamed corn, baked beans, potatoes, coleslaw, and the rest of it—wasn’t exactly gourmet. It just had to taste good and turn a profit.

“So you need cooks or what?”

They did. They’d been planning on hiring two full-timers and a couple of preps, in addition to two or three waitstaff, but hadn’t had a chance to start the search, what with all the drama that had been afoot, partly courtesy of the man currently holding Casey’s eye contact from across the table.

“We will. And maybe you’re the man for the job. But I got other things to consider here. Like, why Benji’s? Why not the diner?”

“They’re staffed. So’s the truck stop by the off-ramp.”

“And it really has nothing to do with the fact that your ex also happens to work here?”

Ware crossed his arms on the tabletop, leaned in, spoke plainly. “I’m not looking to make anybody uncomfortable. I’m not looking to keep an eye on her, or get into her life any deeper than I have to for her to let me see my kid. I just need work, so I can help her take care of that baby, and you’re just about the only place in town that’s hiring. Trust me—you’re not my favorite man in this county. I got no beef with you—you’ve been good to her, and to the baby, far as I can tell. But I still don’t like you.”

“I’ll live.”

“I was hoping it’d be your fancy-pants partner who’d be here when I came knocking, trust me. But I need money, and I need a job. An honest one. If you paid me a fair wage, I’d work hard until I could find something else. All I want is an application. If Abilene’s okay with it, and your partner’s okay with it, and you’re okay with it, great. If not, no big deal.”

“That’s a lot of ifs.” But the guy was being undeniably rational, and calm and civil, and motherfucking humble to boot, and Casey couldn’t say the idea was terrible. Abilene could use the child support, no doubt, and a fair-minded biological father in Mercy’s life. Treat him decent, he might be more inclined to do the same for the girls.

Plus that keeping-an-eye-on-people shit—that went both ways, didn’t it? The enemy you know, and all that.

“I’ll talk to Abilene,” Casey said, “and if she’s okay with it, I’ll talk to my partner. And if he’s okay with it, you and me will talk again. Why don’t you give me your number?” Casey took out his phone and saved the digits Ware gave him.

“Thanks,” the guy said, a touch gruff. Not rude, but a little annoyed. And understandably. Who wanted to come asking after a job from a man he’d only just last week nearly gotten into a fistfight with? Plus, depending on how much Abilene had shared about her current situation, he might already know, or could guess, that she and Casey were sleeping together. That lowered his own hackles some, and he felt a little bad for the guy. After all, Casey knew exactly what Ware was missing out on. A great woman and a great child. At the moment, he was closer to both of them than Ware had been allowed.

“Whatever happens with this place, and a possible job,” Casey said, “good luck.”

Ware shrugged. “Can’t say short-order cook is topping my list of career aspirations, but I’ll take whatever comes. Especially around here.”

Casey nodded. Had to sting. In Ware’s apparently now former field, it sounded like he was a respected and feared commodity, and probably had done well for himself, financially. Before the feds seized whatever they may have. Now, to be looking for a gig slinging barbecue just to make child support happen . . . ? Yeah, he didn’t envy that.

Ware stood and slid the chair back under the high top. “Thanks for your time.”

“Sure.” He walked him to the door.

“Give her my best,” Ware added gruffly, his back to Casey, expression surely stony as always.

“I will. Later.”

He locked up behind Ware, feeling confused but calm. Hell, he’d been feeling confused about him ever since Miah had said that the old pickup now swinging out onto the street wasn’t the one from the night of the first creeper incident.

Ware seemed okay. Cold, maybe, but not sneaky. He might be a criminal, or a recovering one, but at least he was an open book about it. More than Casey could claim to be. Plus, the guy was broke, had found out he had a child out there in the world and an ex who’d been more than happy to avoid him, yet he was determined to see the both of them, determined to pitch in. He could easily have disappeared from Abilene’s rearview for good, saved himself the stress and the money, but he hadn’t. That was something. That was a lot. He might not be Father of the Year, but that baby could do way worse, all things considered.

He could have just taken off. Taken off, as Casey had last night, the moment things got serious. Could have taken off like Tom Grossier did, only he hadn’t. Hell, he was fighting to make himself a place in his child’s life, humbling himself for the chance, changing. Going straight, because he knew the payoff was worth it.

Last night was my chance to do the same. Casey’s chance to finally prove to himself he could set his precious freedom aside for once and embrace something worth committing to. It wasn’t as though freedom had ever made him happy, after all. It had lined his wallet, perhaps, but what was that worth, when you had nobody you loved to share the money with? Nobody to support or help out or treat? And he wanted to do all those things for Abilene, yet the moment she’d opened that door, he’d slinked off in the other direction.

Ware humbled himself, he thought. And he admired the man for it.

I could do the same. It wasn’t too late. He could admit he’d messed up, try to make this right. He had a chance to be the man he’d been wanting to become these last few months, quit running away from chances to grow up, and finally go running toward one.