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The Original Sinners: The Red Years
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“Jesus H. Christ, Wesley,” Nora said with feigned anger. “Cheese omelets have to have cheese or they’re just flat scrambled eggs.”

“Woman, Wisconsin is out of cheese now because of your omelet.” Wesley smacked her hand as she tried to put more cheese on the eggs. “Set the table and stop being a backseat chef.”

Nora took plates out of the cabinet and Zach winced at the clattering sound of the ceramic dishes knocking against each other.

“Could we possibly use paper plates?” he asked as he stepped into the kitchen. “They’re quieter.”

Nora turned and smiled at him. He saw nothing in the smile but friendliness and concern. Had he imagined what happened between them last night?

“Morning, Zach. How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Coffee,” he said. “Please.”

“Coffee. I know that feeling well.” Nora poured him a cup of black coffee, which he took with gratitude. “We’re having breakfast for lunch. You should join us.”

“You okay, Zach?” Wesley asked. He stood with his back to the stove with a frying pan and a spatula in his hand. “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet.”

Nora snorted a laugh.

“What?” Wesley asked.

“It’s a horse thing.”

“Of course it is.” She flashed a wicked grin at Zach as soon as Wesley turned his back. Dammit, he hadn’t imagined last night at all.

“I’m fine,” Zach said, answering Wesley’s question. “Hungover and disgusted Nora isn’t.”

“She was puking her guts out when I got home at eight this morning,” Wesley said, and Nora threw a napkin at him. Wesley batted it away with his spatula. “I think you both need a sermon on the wages of sin.”

“No sermons, please. Just greasy food,” Nora begged.

“Can you stomach an omelet, Zach?” Wesley asked.

Zach forced his eyes to focus on Wesley. He had a dish towel thrown over his shoulder as he stirred his eggs with expertise.

“I’m not sure I can eat anything…for the next week. The coffee is fine, thank you.”

“What were you two doing last night? Trying to be Hemingway or Faulkner?” Wesley asked.

“I was going more for Oscar Wilde,” Nora said. Zach looked up at her and she winked. “He was…Irish.”

Wesley didn’t seem to pick up her double meaning. He merely slid the omelet onto Nora’s plate and sat down to his own.

“Whatever we were doing was clearly a bad idea and will not happen again,” Zach said.

The smile fell out of Nora’s eyes. She started toying with her omelet.

Wesley took a healthy bite of his breakfast.

“I can make toast or—”

A blaring ring that seemed to originate from the top of the refrigerator interrupted Wesley’s question.

“Good God, what is that?” The sound bored a hole into Zach’s head.

Nora and Wesley exchanged a look. Nora stood and grabbed a red cell phone off the top of her refrigerator and silenced the ringer. Before she answered she checked the number.

“Shit. It’s not King.” She looked at Wesley with something like fear in her face, more fear than she’d shown yesterday at the book-signing. Zach saw the same fear mirrored in Wesley’s eyes.

“Is it—” Wesley asked, and Nora nodded.

She took a quick, deep breath.

“Yes, sir?” she said, finally answering the phone.

Wesley stood up slowly and started to walk to the door.

“Wes?” Nora said and Zach heard a quaver in her voice.

“What?” Wesley turned around to face her.

“It’s Soren.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Nora looked ghost-pale.

“I mean, it’s Soren for you. He wants to talk to you.”

Wesley’s eyes widened in shock. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Just talk to him, please.”

Wesley took the phone from her with obvious reluctance.

“Hello,” Wesley said and Zach winced with sympathy at the pain in the boy’s voice.

Nora stood with her arms crossed and leaned back against the counter. Wesley listened a moment and walked out of the kitchen, out of earshot.

“What on earth is that about?” Zach asked.

“I don’t know.” Nora seemed genuinely concerned.

“Soren and Wesley chat often?”

“No, they’ve never met, never spoken. Wes hates Soren.” Nora sat down at the table again. After what seemed like an eternity but what was probably only a minute or two, Wesley returned to the kitchen. He handed the red phone back to Nora.

“What did he want, Wes?” Nora asked.

Zach studied Wesley’s face. The boy looked flushed and fearful.

“He thanked me.”

“Thanked you for what?” she asked.

“For pulling that guy off you yesterday. He said that as he was no longer in a position to protect you, he was grateful you had someone who was seeing to your safety.”

Nora laughed a little.

“That sounds like him. What did you say?”

“I said ‘you’re welcome.’ I didn’t know what else to say. Nora, how did he even know about what happened?”

“If it involves me, he knows.”

“Why did he call me?”

“Because he’s Soren,” she said. “And he was grateful to you. That simple.”

“I didn’t pull that guy away from you for him, Nora. I did it for you.”

“I know you did. But Soren—”

“He still thinks he owns you, doesn’t he?”

“He still loves me.”

Wesley turned away from Nora. He picked up his plate and dumped his uneaten omelet in the trash bin. He looked back at Nora on his way out of the kitchen.

“I thought he was in your past,” Wesley said, and Zach saw the twin demons of sorrow and jealously in Wesley’s expression.

“I can’t help it if he doesn’t want to stay there,” Nora said.

Wesley left, and Nora started playing with her food again. She didn’t take a single bite.

“Nora, are you all right?”

Nora stood up and let her breakfast join Wesley’s in the trash.

“Come on, Zach. I’ll take you home.” Nora held out her hand.

Zach looked at her hand but didn’t take it.

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