Page 133 of Matlock
I’m free.
But nothing’s changed.
“Simon, over here!” Goliath’s voice boomed from a booth near the counter. His massive frame took up most of one side, Haizley tucked in beside him. Mimic sat across from him, and Indie was perched on the edge of the seat, her dark eyes tracking my movement.
I changed direction, heading toward them instead. Tony followed, silent and tense.
“Goliath,” I said, standing at the end of the table. “You started without me.”
Goliath only grunted. Haizley smiled and elbowed him until he stood. She slipped out of the booth and gave me a hug. “How’s it feel?”
“Surreal,” I admitted. “Like I’m going to wake up and still be wearing that ankle monitor.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Tony had stopped a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight. He was watching me with that same unreadable expression he’d worn on the journey here.
Say something,I wanted to scream at him.Claim me. Sit down beside me. Touch me.
But he didn’t.
He just stood there, a wall of tension and silence.
“Matlock, you want a burger?” Goliath called.
“No,” Tony said curtly. “I’m good.”
The conversation around us continued, but I felt the shift in the way people’s eyes flickered between Tony and me, curious, speculating. Goliath narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharpening.
He knew.
They all knew.
And Tony was still pretending.
“Simon Nelson,” a voice cut through the noise, sharp and nasal. “Didn’t think I’d see you back in here so soon.”
I turned to see Marjorie Kemp standing near our booth, her arms crossed over her chest, her mouth pursed in disapproval.She was a regular at the diner, a woman in her sixties who’d never had a kind word for anyone and seemed to take particular pleasure in other people’s misery.
“Marjorie,” I said evenly. “Good to see you too.”
“Is it?” She sniffed. “I heard what happened in that courtroom. All that... business about your sister and that poor boy.”
“That poor boy was an abuser,” I said, my voice hardening. “And my sister defended herself.”
“So you say.” Marjorie’s eyes narrowed. “But it seems awfully convenient, doesn’t it? You taking the fall, then her swooping in with some recording no one knew about. Makes a person wonder what else you people are hiding.”
You people.
The words landed like a slap.
“Marjorie—” Indie started, her voice dangerous.
But Marjorie wasn’t done. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a stage whisper that half the diner could still hear. “And I have to say, Simon, I’m surprised the club is standing by you. I mean, with your... lifestyle and all. Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing bikers would approve of, does it?”
The booth went silent.
My face burned. My hands clenched into fists at my side.
Lifestyle.
