He glances down at the rolled neck sweater I’ve donned for tonight, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m more liquid than human at this point, the air hot and my bandages itchy as hell, but I’d rather have people question my fashion sense than why a good third of my skin is under wraps.
He nods toward the shelf of marketing tat he bought years ago with the hopes that everyone in town would buy it, only to be disappointed. “Borrow a cap if you need to.”
“Wonderful.” I mutter it as he disappears again. It takes me a good fifteen minutes to work through the stack he left me, and I feel as though I’m on fire by the time I back away from the sink. Grabbing a vibrant red cap withMick’s Dineremblazoned across the front, I shove my hair underneath it and pull it low in an attempt to hide my face before untying my apron.
My hands are trembling, and I squeeze them into fists in an attempt to stave off the shaking. I won’t last long if I end up dropping everything, and we need this job. I left Rick at home on the couch, his face painted with irritation that he wasn’t spending his evening at the bar. It told me enough about the state of our finances that he didn’t even have a beer in his hand.
Dire fucking straights.
Squaring my shoulders, I grab a tray and push the swinging door open. The noise hits me like a wall – laughter, and shouting, and the hum of music from the jukebox. Keeping my head lowered, I shift between groups of people who didn’t get here early enough to score a coveted booth on a Friday night.
There isn’t much else to do here on a weekend, aside from the bar a few doors down.
I spot far too many faces I recognize as I weave through the crowd, but nobody pays me much attention as I stack glassesand run them back to the kitchen for washing. At least we have a glass washer.
It’s not until Mick pushes me over to the booths that somebody spots me. I pause at the loud squeal.
“Oh my god. Is thatyou, Kennedy?”
A hand grabs my wrist as I reach for an empty glass, and I flinch back instinctively. The glasses on the tray wobble as I tip my head back, accidentally exposing my face.
“It is you!”
Kristen Edwards looks half-delighted, half-wary. “I thought you’d left town. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
My head bobs in a nod. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just grab these—,”
Kristen Edwards never liked me much. She liked Brett and Theo far better. Her smiling mask slips, giving me a glimpse of pure malice as she raises her voice in sugary sweetness. “Well, I know who’d just love to see you. Hey, Theo!”
I freeze.No.
She shouts again, and more faces turn to us. “Theo!”
Move. Now.
I can’t do this here.
I can’t.
I back up, but there’s so many people that my tray slips in my sweating palms. A glass slides straight off the end and smashes against the floor, sending up a cheer from the crowd. The amusement starts to peter out, replaced by whispers as people get a look at my face.
“Is that Kennedy Traylor?”
“Oh my god.”
“Do you know—,”
“I heard she—,”
But I’m watching Kristen, as she smiles again. This smile isn’t for me. It’s coy, and inviting, and curled at the edges. “Didyouknow Kennedy was working here? Because I didn’t!”
I step back, colliding with a solid chest. The glasses shake as I fight to keep them upright. Hands grab the tray, pulling it away, and I spin, raising my hands—
Everything stops. At least, it feels like it.
The air escapes my lungs, constricting, choking me.
Thoseeyes—
