“Thanks.” He sets the crate down before he turns. His eyes bulge, recognition kicking in. “No.”
I try to smile. “Hey, Mick.”
He points to the door. “Nope. No way.Out.”
“But—,”
He’s already shaking his head. Shaggy grey hair flicks from side to side. “I don’t want any trouble.”
I stand firm. “I need a job, Mick.”
He scoffs. “You never came back after your last shift.”
“You know why I didn’t. I was… in the hospital.” I stay where I am, ducking his hand as he vaguely attempts some sort of shooing motion. “You always need kitchen staff. I’ll stay out back and wash dishes. I’m a hard worker.”
I hold out my hands. “I’ll take whatever you want to pay me. Whatever shifts you need. And it’s only temporary. Just a few weeks.”
He sucks in his lower lip, eyeing me. If there’s a way to get Mick’s attention, it’s to offer him a cheap deal. “Minimum wage. Cash only.”
“Done.”
“And you won’t cause any trouble.” He stares at me. “I don’t want any of that business here. People don’t like you, you know.”
No fucking shit.
“I’ve never—,” I stop, and take a breath, even as my hands fist at my sides. “No trouble.”
He sighs theatrically. “Fine. Come back at six. I’m short-staffed.”
“Great. Thank you.” I force that smile again. It feels wrong on my face, so I let it slide off. Mick doesn’t give a shit if I smile anyway. Only that he can pay me less than anyone else. I already know without asking that I won’t get any share of the tip pool.
He only grunts. “Out. Come in through the back later.”
That, I can agree with. I have no desire to see anyone. My bandages itch, as if reminding me.
As if I ever fucking forget.
Still, working will at least pass the time. Better, maybe, than laying in my bed and staring at nothing. And it’s money in the pot for groceries.
Which leads me to my next stop. I leave my bike where it is, wrapping my arms around me and heading down the street with my head down.
We can’t survive on old bread. Abrams made it clear that I needed fresh food. Fruit, vegetables – things that I’m pretty sure don’t exist in Rick’s vocabulary. His cooking repertoire is limited to sloppy joes, some weird meatball dish that I’d rather he didn’t make, and sandwiches.
My sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as I walk to the grocery store. I’m sweating again, the thick sweater covering my skin doing nothing to keep me cool in this heat. I reach for my water, draining the last few drops before I pause to shove it back into my backpack.
Swinging the bag around, I look up. And freeze.
I vaguely recognize the woman staring at me. Elsie, I think her name is. Her daughter went to the local school with us. The disgust on her face is all too familiar. But it’s the other woman, standing beside her, that has the blood pooling from my face.
I remember the first time I met May Rivers. I remember thinking that she was thecleanestperson I’d ever seen. Sort of… shiny, as if nothing bad could ever stick to her. Soft blond bobbed hair and a soft, pretty face to go with it. The kind of mom I sometimes wish I’d had.
As kind as her mate was an asshole.
I blink rapidly, wetting my lips. She doesn’t look like that person now. She doesn’t move, doesn’t go past me. She stands there as her friend flutters awkwardly, whispering in her ear. And her eyes that used to be a deep sparkling green – just like Theo, although Brett was more like his dad – they’re cloudy now. Almost dazed. And her clothes don’t fit properly, as if someone else pushed them onto her.
“Hi, Mrs. Rivers.” My whisper may as well be a shout.
Her friend glares at me, as if furious that I should even speak. She’s probably right. I shouldn’t. “I should – I’ll go.”
