Afterward, our once close relationship from high school and college was stripped away. Honestly, I’m shocked our friendship lasted throughout college. It wasn’t like we went away to some fancy school. My mother couldn’t afford that, but she has worked herself to the bone, seeing to it that I had enough money to attend the local community college while living at home.Brent also went there. I never knew if he followed me because he wanted to, or if he didn’t have any other options.
It eats at me, that knot of guilt coiled in my chest, tightening every time I think of him locked away because of me. Because of our stupid childish ways.
I can picture him in there, counting down the days, after taking the sole blame for something we did together. Stupid. We were so stupid.
I should’ve come clean, should have stepped up and taken what I deserved, but before I could he’d turned himself in, leaving my name out of his mouth. He’d known my goal was law enforcement in some capacity. He even knew I was leaning toward the National Park Service.
Some part of me was relieved. All the hours my mother labored away to fill our savings account for college, for my future—it would’ve been gone in a single night.
I thought it’d all blow over, but six months? Six months of his life, gone. Every time I look in the mirror, it’s like his face stares back, reminding me just how low I sank.
When he got out, we tried. Tried to go back to how things were between us. To hang together with all our friends, to pretend things hadn’t shifted the moment he went away, but it was all a lie. He ended up leaving town only to come back a different person, someone I don’t recognize.
There’s another bark from Max as he obeys my command to heel at my side.
Brent’s lip curls in an angry, provocative smirk. The stench of his body odor hits me—sharp and sour. A rank mix of pungent sweat curls up my nose, a heavy reminder of how close he is, how desperate he must be to neglect himself.
I release him, and he stumbles back but catches himself against my truck. He lets out a growl and then kicks the tire. “Is this h-how it’s going to be, Noah?”
I swipe a hand over my head. It’s hot from the streaming sun in spite of the cooler temperature. I pull out my wallet, open it, and remove a hundred-dollar bill, handing it over.
“Th-thanks, man.” Brent snickers, and I grind my teeth at the sound.
How did we get here? And for a hundred bucks.
Max whines at my side, nudging me with his snout as Brent walks backward toward his truck. He spins with a hop when he reaches his door to climb in.
After he speeds off, the roar of his muffler echoes through the trees, and I slump against my vehicle, hating myself.
He’ll reach out again. It’s been getting more frequent.
But beyond the fear that I’m funding his habit lies the sheer panic of handing him money at all—especially when I’ve been using any extra I have to help pay for my mother’s in-home care.
My heart pounds so hard I swear it’s going to burst, and every second that ticks by just pisses me off more. I wrap my fingers around the door handle, feeling them slip with the sweat of my palms. I yank, and it takes everything in me not to slam the door after Max has climbed in.
I do the same, cranking up the AC. I’m trapped, cornered, with nowhere to go but straight back to work like nothing happened.
Chapter 7
Lily
As I reach to serve the plate, a jolt of searing pain shoots through my hand—the damn thing’s scorching. I bite down on a curse but manage to hold on somehow.
“Order up!” Mitch yells from the back. That’s the one thing about him being owneranda cook—I have to hear his voice yelling constantly.
I shake out my singed fingers and yank up my uniform’s apron, more for show than functionality, but it does the trick, and I grab the plate, walking to deliver it to the middle-aged woman at the diner’s farthest booth. Figures.
After I’ve taken two more orders, I return to the kitchen to scoop some ice in a bowl and dunk my hand in. The cold stings just as sharp as the burn, but I grit my teeth and let the relief sink in. I hope it doesn’t blister.
“Lily! New customers at table twelve!” Mitch rounds the corner where the extra drink machine is in the kitchen, and he eyeballs my almost numb hand. His brows raise, and I don’t miss the slight roll of his eyes as his lips press into a thin line of exasperation. He sighs, shaking his head with a look that clearly saysSeriously?mixed with his irritation and absurd amusement.
Mitch is what I’d picture a diner owner to look like. He’s stout with a broad build and a belly that fills out his grease-stained apron. The short black hair on his head, or at least what’s left of it, is slicked back, the few pieces combed over the bald patch on top of his head sticking up with the sweat from the heat of the kitchen.
For a middle-aged man, he’s got a booming voice that cuts through the diner chatter and the sizzle of the high-powered grill. He’s a no-nonsense kind of guy, but he takes care of his employees, and I like that about him. Granted, he works too much and rarely sees his wife and kids, but the man runs this diner with practiced efficiency, and I’d expect nothing less. It was his father’s, and Mitch grew up helping his dad run the place.
His thick arms cross in front of his chest.
“On it,” I say, offering him a salute with my non-injured hand. That earns me another eye roll.
