I spend the next thirty minutes looking through my Instagram feed before I’m so bored, I think I’m about to fall asleep. When I close my eyes, the night plays through my head. I don’t think I like Jay very much, so I push thoughts of him and Gwen away. I actually enjoyed dancing. It was nice to feel lost in the crowd instead of being the one on stage. But then I see him. His face isn’t clear, since I wasn’t able to look at him long enough to form a precise picture, so my mind just fills in the blanks.
I do remember his eyes though. They were too intense not to be memorable. I just wish the club weren’t so dark so I knew what color they were. The flare of the fire in his face could have told me if he weren’t so far away. His hair is dark, so I’m betting his eyes are also. I don’t even know why he’s still on my mind, but he is.
Chapter 8
It’s been a week since I’ve worked, and I haven’t heard from Winger since the night I went to The After Party. I’ve hovered over his name a dozen times, thinking about calling him, but I never had the nerve to—until now.
It rings three times, and I almost hang up. I’m brushing Scooby for an excuse to be out in the barn. “Hello?” a man who isn’t Winger answers smoothly.
It startles me, and I stay quiet.
“Hello?” He sounds a little agitated now.
“M-May I speak with Winger please?” Please don’t tell me he changed his number.
“What do you need?” the man asks.
“I’ll call back another time.” I hang up the phone as fast as my fingers allow and stare at it in my hand. The thought of having to find another job has crossed my mind more times than I want to admit, but I never really saw it as an actual possibility. I’d convinced myself that Winger would let me come back, that he was telling the truth and I would still have a job after a little time off, but I’m not so sure anymore.
On autopilot, I return Scooby to his stall and close up the barn. I haven’t gotten one call about boarding either. I’m feeling pretty fucking defeated.
“Lucy,” Mom calls as soon as I shut the kitchen door.
“Yeah?” I don’t want to talk to her right now, which is shitty, but I need a few seconds to deal or I might end up crying, and that crap never helps.
“Can I talk to you, babe?”
“Be right there,” I holler, but I go up to my bathroom instead. I plant my hands on the sink and hang my head. The taxes have been paid for the year, so I can push that concern back, but our creature comforts are about to get scarce around here if I don’t find a job.
I give myself five minutes to come to terms with my new situation, then head into the dining room where Mom is.
“What’s up?” I ask. She has her readers on, and there are several papers laid out in front of her.
“They settled,” she says softly.
“What?” I step farther into the room.
“The insurance company settled out of court.” She almost sounds like she’s in a daze.
“Ma, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell her.
“Uncle Scotty made me hire a lawyer after the accident. We got the runaround for two years, but he called and told me the insurance company finally gave me an offer. I wanted to take it right away, but Mr. Williams said it was just the first offer and I should counter it. I did, and they accepted,” she explains while holding up a piece of paper with shaking hands.
“You hired a lawyer?” How could I not know this?
“One that wouldn’t get any money unless I won, so it didn’t cost anything.” She sounds like she’s defending herself.
“But we already got money from the insurance. It paid for most of the medical stuff.”
“This is for damages. Babe…babe, it’s a lot of money, even after the lawyer takes his cut,” she whispers.
“Are you joking with me? Because it wouldn’t be funny, not today.” A single tear falls down my cheek.
“I’m not. I didn’t tell you sooner because I was afraid it wasn’t real, but I got the papers today.” She wiggles her hand again, shaking the papers.
I rush over and look at all the writing. Most of it is legal crap and I skip over it, but there’s a total at the bottom, an eight-figure total. Another tear falls.
“That’s the full amount. After fees, we’re supposed to get this.” Mom flattens the sheet she’s been clutching and points to another number that’s just a little more than half of the other number, if my math is correct.
