"Nobody said you had to," Claire shot back. "Jason's done his time in jail. Sitting at the same table isn't like swearing eternal brotherhood." He opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, very tightly, "I just wanted to make sure he didn't have a chance to hurt you again."
"Unless he uses a taco as a deadly weapon, he hasn't got much of a shot. Having you, Michael, and Eve here is about the best protection I could want. Anyway, would you rather have him where you can see him, or where you can't?" Some of the fire faded out of his eyes. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He still looked uncomfortable, though. "You do crazy crap, you know. And it's contagious."
"I know." She put her hand on his cheek, and got a very small smile in return. "Thanks for wanting to keep me safe. But don't overdo it, okay?" Shane made a sound of frustration deep in his throat, but he didn't argue. The kitchen door swung open again. It was Michael, looking fully awake and very calm, as if bracing for a fight. "I talked to him," he said. "He's sincere enough. But if you don't want him here, Shane--"
"I damn sure don't," Shane said, then glanced at Claire and continued. "But if she's willing to give it a shot, I will." Michael blinked, then raised his eyebrows. "Huh," he said. "The universe explodes, hell freezes, and Shane does something reasonable." Shane silently offered him the finger. Michael grinned and backed out of the kitchen again. Claire handed Shane the biggest knife they had. "Chop brisket," she said. "Take out your frustrations." The brisket didn't stand a chance.
Chapter Three
Jason didn't say much at dinner. In fact, he was almost completely silent, though he ate four tacos as if he'd been starving for a month, and when Eve brought out ice cream for dessert, he ate a double helping of that, too. Shane was right. The brisket was delicious in the tacos. Eve, compensating for her brother, chattered like a magpie on crack the whole time--about dumb-asses at the coffee shop where she worked, Common Grounds; about Oliver, her vampire boss, who was a full-time jerk, as far as Claire was concerned, although apparently he was a surprisingly fair supervisor; gossip about people in town. Michael contributed some juicy stuff about the vampire side of town (Claire, for one, had never considered that vampires could fall in and out of love just like regular people--well, vampires other than Michael, and maybe Amelie.) Shane finally loosened up on his glares and brought up some embarrassing stories from Michael's and Eve's pasts. If there were embarrassing stories he knew about Jason, he didn't get into telling them. It started out deeply uncomfortable, but by the time the ice cream bowls were empty, it felt kind of--normal. Not great--there was still a cautious tension around the table--but there was guarded acceptance. Jason finally said, "Thanks for the food." They all stopped talking and looked at him, and he kept his own gaze down on the empty dessert bowl. "Shane's right. I got no right to think I can just show up here and expect you not to hate my guts. You should."
"Damn straight," Shane muttered. Claire and Eve both glared at him. "What? Just sayin'." Jason didn't seem to mind. "I needed to come and tell you that I'm sorry. It's been--things got weird, man. Real weird. And I got real screwed up, in all kinds of ways. Until that thing happened with Claire ... Look, I never meant--she wasn't part of it. That was all on him." Him meant the other guy, the one none of them mentioned, ever. Claire felt her palms sweating and wiped them against her jeans. Her mouth felt dry. "But I'm guilty of other stuff, and I confessed to all of it to the cops, and I did time for it. I never killed anybody, though. I just--wanted to be somebody who got respect." Michael said, "That's how you think you get respect around here? As a killer?" Jason looked up, and it was eerie, seeing eyes exactly like Eve's in such a different face, simmering with anger. "Yeah," he said. "I did. I still do. And I don't need a frigging vampire to set me straight about that, either. In Morganville, when you're not one of the sheep, and you're not one of the wolves, you'd better be one mean-ass junkyard dog." Claire glanced over at Shane and was surprised to see that he wasn't hopping on the angry train. In fact, he was looking at Jason as if he understood what he was saying. Maybe he did. Maybe it was a guy thing. Nobody spoke, and finally Jason said, "So anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for helping get me out of jail. I'd be dead by now if you hadn't. I won't forget." He scraped his chair back and stood up. "Thanks for the tacos. Dinner was real good. I haven't--I haven't sat at a table with people for a really long time." Then, without making eye contact with any of them, he walked away, down the hall. Eve jumped up and ran after him, but before she got to him, he was out the front door and slamming it behind him. She opened it and looked out, but didn't follow. "Jason!" she called, but without any real hope he'd come back. Then, finally, hopelessly, she called again, "Be careful!" She slowly closed the door again, locked it, and came back to flop in her chair at the dinner table, staring at the remains of their taco feast. "Hey," Shane said. "Eve." She looked up. "It took guts for him to come here and try to apologize. I respect that." She looked surprised, and for a second she smiled. "Thanks. I know Jason's never going to be ... well, a good guy in any kind of way, but he's--I can't just turn my back on him. He needs somebody to keep him from going off the rails." Michael took a drink from his sports bottle. "He's the train," he said. "You're on the tracks. Think about what's going to happen, Eve." Her smile faded. "What are you saying?"