No. That’s ridiculous. Why would he be here? His family lives out of state, and in the time I knew him I can’t recall him having enough empathy to visit anyone in a hospital.
Unless… I snort softly. What if he knocked someone up, and she’s in labor? Ha, I wouldn’t put it past the asshole. Pausing for a moment, it hits me so hard I nearly need to borrow mom’s oxygen. There isn’t an ounce of hurt or jealousy at the thought of him in a relationship with someone else. I mean, there shouldn’t be. But for years when someone I dated walked away and moved on to someone else, I immediately reverted back to the thoughts of my seven-year-old self.
Why wasn’t I enough?
Now, I’m more certain than ever. I deserve better. I’m never settling again.
My gaze returns to the shadowy figure. Maybe he’s just lost. Or casing cars. Or haunting hospital parking lots like some emotionally unavailable ghost. I shake my head. I don’t know when I became so dang para?—
“Graceland Montgomery,” Tuesday’s voice suddenly booms through my phone, pulling me back. Heck, I hadn’t realized I’d even dialed her number before zoning out. I really do need some sleep.
“Do I need to drop what I’m doing and come there right now? I’m getting worried about you, babe. You mean a hell of a lot more to me than money, and this town will survive without a florist for a few days. You say the word, and I’m there.”
My eyes burn. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Just hearing that means everything. Tuesday, you have no idea how much you mean to me.” I sniffle. “I can live without men, but not without you.” Every time I speak with her, she heals something she didn’t know was broken. Simply by being her. “But I’m okay. There’s nothing you could do right now. If I need a break, I promise I’ll call.”
“So long as you keep your word,” she says. “Honestly, I haven’tbeen good about leaving here anyway. It’s not just the business. There’s something about a small town that grows on you. No one waves when I go back home. No one smiles. And I paid twenty dollars for a salad the last time I was there.”
I snicker. She’s right. And by all intents and purposes, Hanover isn’t a thriving metropolis. It’s still considered a small town. But obviously nothing like Sycamore Mountain, where she’s living now.
“After my accident, busy roads make me anxious. Here, the worst traffic jam is two tractors at a four-way stop. Cheese and rice, the last time I was taking flowers to the town over from us, someone honked before the light turned green. I nearly had a come-apart.”
I chuckle. This girl. “I get it. I just wish I could visit more. It’s hard with Mom so sick.”
“I know. But I mean it. I’ll make Alex drive me back there if I have to.”
“I love you, Tues. You’re getting the biggest hug the next time I see you. I better go.”
“Okay, Gracie. Give all my love to your little Momma.”
When I finally make it home, my apartment feels too quiet. Too empty. And suddenly, unbearably temporary. There’s no sense delaying the inevitable. I can’t afford this place anymore.
Not without a job. Not with Mom’s medical bills climbing.Heck, independence is overrated anyway, I quip.
Nearly everything is packed and ready to go. The bulk of what I owned I’d moved into the storage room in the back of Mom’s house. I guess I was trying to hold onto some sense of autonomy for as long as I could.
My phone buzzes. A glittery, flowery GIF from Tuesday pops up with the caption:
Stay positive. Something good is coming.
A social medianotification also pops up onto the screen. That’s odd. It’s a message from a photographer I don’t recognize.
Hi Grace.I’ve seen your photos online, and you would be a great fit for the companies we work with. Would love to talk about a potential shoot.
My heart kicks hardin my chest. Wow. Who knew Tuesday’s positivity stuff worked that quick?
I exhale slowly, a smile creeping across my face. If Brad had stuck around a little longer, maybe he would’ve tried to ride this gravy train too. But now? This is all for me and my mother. And maybe, just maybe, it’s the beginning of something that finally turns everything around for us.
Ben
If there isa seventh circle of hell designed specifically to make men question their life choices, I’m fairly certain it looks exactly like the Devil’s Playground.
Located just outside of Washington, the opulence of the interior of the building is masked by its obscure manufacturing façade. There are a few other nightclubs and restaurants in the area, but this location blends into the background if you aren’t sure what to look for. And anonymity is essential with clubs of this nature.
The building’s main floor houses multiple bars, group seating, a dancefloor, and a stage for entertaining. It’s open to a viewing area along the second floor. This floor offers a place for patrons who want to be able to have an actual conversation. I can’t begin to imagine the many shrewd business deals that have been completed up there.
The opulent club is well-appointed with plush leather furnishings, decadent lighting, and jaw-dropping artwork. But none of the decor compares to the women.
The sultry, seductive sirens of the Devil’s Playground are like no other gentlemen’s club I’ve attended. Girls from different nationalities, tall, short, curvy, thin, blonde, brunette, or redhead. You name it, and you’ll find someone who meets your fancy. While some are strictly here as eye candy, others will gladly entertain in the more private areas of the club. While it’s not uncommon for an attractive server to sit on your knee and flirt a bit, this isn’t the type of place where you get a fifty-dollar lap dance while your friends spur them on.
