Before anyone could answer, a woman emerged from the bathroom. Pretty, but walking with the careful movements of someone hiding pain. She saw Tyler at our table and panic flashed across her face.

“Tyler! I’m so sorry, he’s bothering you—” She rushed over, and we all saw her wince. We also saw the heavy makeup on her wrist, smudged just enough to reveal purple bruises that matched her son’s.

“No bother at all, ma’am,” Mike said, standing slowly. “Actually, why don’t you both join us? We were just about to order dessert. Our treat.” It wasn’t a request.

She sat down reluctantly, pulling Tyler close. “Tyler,” Mike said, “is someone hurting you and your mom?”

Her composure cracked. “Please,” she whispered. “You don’t understand. He’ll kill us.”

“Ma’am, look around this table,” Mike interrupted quietly. “Every man here served in