Just as I’m about to head back to the kitchen, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen and feel my blood pressure spike. It’s him.
I duck into the back, ignoring Joe’s glare, and answer. “What?”
“Where’s the fucking money, Wren?” John’s slurred voice comes through, thick with booze and anger.
“What money?” I snap, even though I know exactly what he’s talking about. Bastard must’ve gone through my room.
“Don’t play dumb with me, you little bitch. I know you’ve been holding out on me.”
I clench my fist, fury rising like bile in my throat. “You mean the money I earned? The money that keeps a roof over our heads and food in the fridge? That money?”
“It’s my house—”
“Bullshit!” I cut him off. “You haven’t paid rent in months. I’m the one keeping us afloat while you drink yourself stupid.”
“Watch your damn mouth—”
“No, you watch yours,” I snarl. “You want money, John? Get a fucking job. I’m done.”
I hang up, my hand shaking with rage.
Fuck him.
Fuck everything.
Sometimes, I wish he’d just die. I know it’s harsh as hell, but fuck it, I’m past caring. We’d probably live a hell of a lot better without his drunk ass dragging us down. No more stolen money, no more tiptoeing around his moods, no more—
“Done talking? Table 10.”
Joe’s gruff voice snaps me out of my dark thoughts. He’s leaning over the counter, dropping a plate of greasy burgers and fries.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” I mutter, snatching up the plate.
As I turn to leave, Joe’s voice stops me. “Take a break after this, will ya? You look like shit warmed over twice.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s a warmth in my chest I can’t quite squash. “Gee, thanks, Joe. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
He grunts, already turning back to the grill. “Just don’t fall asleep in the ketchup again. Bad for business.”
I flip him off behind his back, but I’m grinning as I deliver the food to Table 10.
After I’m done, I make a beeline for my sanctuary—the cramped supply closet near the back. It’s barely bigger than a coffin, stuffed with mops and cleaning supplies, but it’s quiet and dark. Perfect for a power nap.
I squeeze in, shoving aside a bucket to make room. The smell of bleach and old mop water hits me, but I’m too tired to care. I slide down the wall, my ass hitting the cold tile floor.
Leaning my head back, I close my eyes. Just fifteen minutes, that’s all I need. Fifteen minutes to recharge before I have to plaster on that fake smile again.
My mind drifts to tonight. At least I get off early from the diner. But then it’s straight to The Rusty Nail, the dive bar where I sling drinks every Friday and Saturday. It’s only a few blocks from here, thank fuck. I don’t think my feet could handle much more abuse.
The bar’s a shithole, but the tips are decent, and the regulars aren’t total assholes. Plus, it’s cash under the table, which means more money for the never-ending bills that are stacking up at home.
I feel myself starting to drift off, the exhaustion finally winning out. But even as sleep claims me, I can’t shake the nagging worry about John. If he’s desperate enough to call me at work, who knows what he’ll do next?
I’ll deal with it later, I tell myself. Right now, I’ve got fifteen minutes of peace, and I’ll be damned if I waste them worrying about that asshole.
Just as I’m about to completely zonk out, the closet door swings open, flooding the small space with light.
“Jesus Christ!” Rosie yelps, nearly dropping the stack of menus she’s carrying. “Wren? What the hell are you doing in here?”
