“Ready to go?” Deacon asked, coming into the living room.
“Honestly? No. But I know you have to get to work.”
“I’ve got time, yet. If you want to wash off the sweat, I can throw together a late breakfast.” Deacon showed him the lavatory, just off the kitchen.
“Whatever you’re making smells delicious,” Max said a few minutes later, joining Deacon in the kitchen.
Deacon laughed. “You mustbe hungry. It’s just bacon and eggs.”
“Ambrosia, as far as I’m concerned. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Nope. I’ve got it in hand. Sit and relax.”
Max did, at the kitchen table, which was already set. Deacon handed him a cup of coffee, then filled two plates with eggs, bacon, and toast, putting them on the table before sitting, too.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Deacon said.
“Probably not. Depends.”
“Is that scar on your arm from Tony?”
“Yes. One of the mementos—” Max grimaced, “—of the attack.”
“Meaning you’ve got more.”