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"Don't be. Learned to take care of myself."

He cuts another piece of chicken as though we haven't just discussed something heartbreaking.

"That must have been lonely," I say.

His hand pauses.

"Got used to it."

I don't think that's something anyone should have to get used to.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Then he glances at me.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about how different our childhoods were."

"Yeah?"

I hesitate.

"My father was an alcoholic. And when he drank, he got violent."

Vex sets down his fork.

"With you?"

"Mostly my mother. But we were both terrified of him."

His jaw tightens.

I tell him a little about those years. About the way my mother and I learned to recognize his moods, and how the fear followed me long after she divorced him.

"That's why I ran from you," I admit. "When I saw you outside that building, all I could think about was how dangerous you looked."

"Can't say I blame you, darlin'."

I look up.

"You're not offended?"

"Nope."

"Not even a little?"

He shrugs.

"Been called worse."

I laugh despite myself.

"You're making this very difficult."

"Doing my best."

He reaches for his glass.