7

“Hailee, come here.” He gave her a reassuring nod, and slowly Hailee rose from the chair. But Thatcher’s hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“Not so fast, baby, we’re just getting—"

“Get your hands off her.”

“Or what, Chase? You’re a lover not a fighter and I don’t see Ford anywhere, do you?”

Anticipation crackled in the air, the whole diner watching on with fascination. A few cameras were aimed in the direction of the stand-off between Cameron and Lewis Thatcher and I knew it wouldn’t be long before it was all over social media.

“You don’t want to do this, man.” Cameron implored, holding his hands up. “It’s a public place, people are filming.”

Hesitation flashed over Thatcher’s face, enough for Cameron to grab Hailee’s hand and yank her toward him. “Go.” He flicked his head toward us, and she hurried to Asher’s side.

“Maybe we should call Jason,” she said.

“That is the last thing we want to do right now. Your boy can handle it.”

“What’s going on here?” Tate appeared looking flustered.