I glanced between the finger stabbing into my chest and Hazard’s furrowed brow. “What time is your shift?”
Surprise flitted over his face, but then he answered. “Twelve to eight. I’m closing tonight.”
“Eighthours?” I said, shocked. “I thought it was a fish store, not a sweatshop.” What in the hell kind of place handed out eight-hour shifts?
“I understand you might be a little out of touch with employment because you, ah, off people for a living, but a typical workday for most people is eight hours,” Hazard explained. “And usually, I do a shift for Uber Eats after.” His face lit up. “Oh, that reminds me. Know where my car is? I’ll need it.”
Bending down, he yanked the sweats back up to just under his pecs and tied the string so tight I wondered if he would be able to breathe.
“You are not working for eight hours and then driving around to deliver food to people who are too lazy to go and get it themselves.”
Haz’s shoulders stiffened. “Not everyone is lazy. Some people don’t have a car. Or are sick and can’t get out. One time, I delivered to a mother whose baby was in bed. And one time to a hospital.”
“You must make good tips,” Ghost put in like he was part of this conversation.
Haz shrugged. “Food is expensive these days.”
Red danced in my vision. “Are you telling me that people don’t even bother to tip you?”
“Some do,” he hurried to say.
“You can work until five.” I decided. Then I thought about the meeting I’d scheduled at four. “Six,” I amended. “But you have to take an hour break to eat.”
Haz said nothing, just went over to Cliff and Atlas to stick his fingers into the soil. When he was done, he had dirt on his fingertips.
We’d literally just showered and changed his bandages because they’d all gotten wet. I left him in the bathroom to dry his hair and dress, and what was the first thing he did? Stick his fingers in the dirt. Unbelievable.
I watched in horror as he wiped it on his leg.
“Do you know where my car is?”
“It’s at the impound lot at the police station,” I told him. I found it the other day just like I said I would.
Haz nodded and started across the room. “You can drop me off there, and then I’ll drive over to my place for some clothes before my shift that starts at twelve andends at eight.”
Was he pretending not to have heard what I said? Or just flat out ignoring it?
Ghost laughed under his breath, and I shot him a death glare.
“Make sure you bring enough money to get your car out of impound.”
Haz spun, his sneaker flying out of his hand. “I have to pay to get my car back?”
“That’s how it works,” I answered.
“But it’smycar.”
“Tax man wants his money, honey,” Ghost quipped.
“Don’t call him honey,” I snapped.
“How much is it going to cost?” Haz wanted to know.
I shrugged. “There’s no set amount. Hard to say.”
“Will it be a lot?” he asked, his voice sounding a lot less confident than before.
Just seeing the anxiety on his face was enough to make me want to rush over there and assure him it didn’t matter how much it cost because I would make sure he got his car.
