“What can I get you?” I asked politely.
Shelly’s eyes met mine. Once upon a time, I’d known her so well. It wasn’t just family barbecues. She had come over many a time in a pinch when my mom was busy at work. She was the one who brought me pads because my mom was at work once. She had cleaned up my knees when I scraped them. She had been the closest thing to a second mom that I ever had.
I despised what she had done to our family.
“Tori,” she began.
I breathed through that cold tightness. “Shelly, I can’t do this. I’m working. Let me just take your order.”
“Look, just listen to me for a minute, and I’ll order. But, please just listen.” Seeing as I either walked away or listened, I stayed silent. “I really want a chance to talk to your mom, and she won’t talk to me. It’s like a wall.”
My mouth actually fell open. “Shelly, are you serious? You were fucking my dad for a decade. My mom thought you were her friend. That’s not what friends do. I’m sorry you’re sad about blowing up your friendship, but you did it. It’s all on you. All of it. Don’t start with the whole ‘well, there were some problems in their marriage’ bullshit. Maybe there were. I have no idea. Really, it’s hard to know when everything turns out to be a lie. It doesn’t matter. That is a violation by an alleged friend that can’t be papered over. So good luck with that. My mom’s probably more forgiving than me.” I took a slow breath, willing the anger burning through me to cool. “What can I get you?”
Blessedly, Shelly ordered nothing more than a drink. I retreated to the bar. My hands were shaking, and I could barely breathe.
I served her that drink, left her check at the table, and said nothing else. I didn’t cry. I was really proud. I just kept working. Blessedly, it was late. I kept it all together until I made it out to the back patio toward the end of my shift—a staff-only section where they had recently put up decorative string lights in preparation for some events. They were glittering in the darkness.
I leaned against the railing, trying to breathe through the emotion bottled inside. With it being early spring, the air was still cool with a bite to it. Goosebumps rose on my arms. That coolness was better than the heat of anger that blasted through the cold numbness I felt whenever I even thought about Shelly and my dad.
I didn’t even hear the footsteps. I didn’t hear anything. Until I heard Kincaid’s voice.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
I spun around, curling my hands onto the railing at my sides. My nervous system was a jumble, all my nerves rattled from my encounter with Shelly.
I didn’t want to talk, but Kincaid was here, his presence steady and solid. I didn’t sense pressure from him. He just waited, like he’d stand there in this chilly evening for hours if that’s what I needed.
Finally, my voice barely audible, I managed to say, “Shelly. Again.” I shook my head.
“I wondered,” he offered. “I saw her leaving.”
Kincaid’s expression didn’t change much, but his eyes darkened, and I saw his jaw tighten just slightly. He stepped a little closer, close enough for me to feel his warmth emanating, his strength almost surrounding me.
I didn’t expect him to say anything.
“Tori,” he finally said. “You don’t have to hold it together.”
His words unraveled me. It was as if he had tugged lightly on the tiny threads barely holding me together. My eyes stung, just for a second. I blinked rapidly, and my breath caught in my throat. He reached out slowly, slow enough I could stop him if I wanted to. When his hand lifted to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I felt the brush of his fingertips on that sensitive skin along the shell of my ear.
It was quiet out here, the air around us crowded with unspoken emotions. I could hear my own breath. The distant call of an owl, followed by a raven in the darkness. The sound of wings beating through the air passed by.
I finally looked up at him, really looked. The sense of emotion in me was so heightened, so fraught. I wanted anything to distract me from it. Here was Kincaid. A firefighter with all kinds of rescue-y vibes.
The space between us shifted, the air thickening. It felt charged—a humming pause, as if the air itself was holding its breath just as I was.
Kincaid leaned in, the motion incremental. Close enough that his warmth felt like tendrils of smoke curling around me. He didn’t move again. He just waited.
I exhaled a small, shaky laugh. “How do you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel safe. Every time. I mean, it all started when you saved my life, so maybe that’s it.”
The rustle of the low chuckle in his throat sent goosebumps prickling over my skin. He smiled, his lips kicking up slightly.
“How do you make me feel like my life isn’t on fire… when it is?” I whispered.
He tipped his head. “Well, you make me feel like it is on fire, but I’m not sure that’s what you mean.”
