I feel a little dumpy and pudgy by comparison, suddenly self-conscious of the way my stomach sort of rolls when I’m sitting—especially when I’m slouching—and I sit up straighter. My no-money diet has made me lose a few pounds, but I never lost the freshman fifteen I gained in college, so I’m not supermodel skinny by any stretch.
“Anyway,” I gesture with the wing in my hand, “I kept up with it. I went to the conservatory at Lawrence University, then started auditioning for orchestras.”
His face lights up at that news. “Wow! That’s so cool! Where do you play?”
Shrugging, I shake my head. “Nowhere fancy. I play with the chamber orchestra here in the area. It pays a little, which is nice, but isn’t anything like enough to live off of. I teach, too, but summers are tough for that. Kids—and parents—flake during the summer or take lots of time off. So …” I spread my hands, doing my best to resist the urge to squirm. Admitting that I haven’t managed to land a higher-paying orchestra gig stings and makes me feel like a failure. Sure, I’m only twenty-five. I have plenty of time to apply and audition as often as I want. But it costs money to travel to auditions, to work with audition coaches, to constantly grind for this, and it’s not like most of the orchestras pay all that well, either, so I wouldn’t be a whole lot better off even if I did land a better gig. I’d still need to teach and gig outside of that to make enough money to live. Or the other non-music work I do for money.
“I do food delivery to help make ends meet. It’s more flexible than getting a part-time job, which means I’m available for gigs any time of day, any day of the week, and I can practice on my own schedule.” Within reason, of course. I try to practice at my teaching studio or when Whitney’s at work because she gets annoyed if I practice too long in my room. She can hear it in theliving room, and it makes it hard for her to doomscroll TikTok or hear whicheverReal Housewivesseries she’s binge-watching.
“And how’s that going?” he asks, his tone neutral.
I shrug. “It’s … well, it’d be going better if my car hadn’t just died.” I try to keep my tone wry, on the lighter side, but from the look he gives me, I don’t think I manage it.
“And the ends. Are they meeting?”
It takes a second for me to catch his meaning, and this time I do squirm, looking down at my plate and setting down the bone I’m holding before I pick through the others as though I don’t know which flavor to eat next. “Well, again. It would’ve been fine, but …”
“Your car died,” he fills in, and I risk a glance up at him to find him studying me.
Sighing, I push back from the table. “Look, I really appreciate the food and the use of your bathroom. But I should probably call a tow, like you said, and get this figured out.”
His eyes narrow, and in this moment, he seems so familiar to me, it’s almost like time is folding over on itself and his teenage self is being superimposed over him now as a grown man. He’s gotta be about thirty now? He’s the same age as Hunter, and Hunter’s five years older than me. He’d’ve been thirty in March.
“And do you have the cash to pay for that?” he asks, his voice almost accusatory, like he’s asking ifI’mthe one who took the last cookie out of the package he bought at the convenience store on his way home from school.
“Cash?” I shake my head, then plant my elbows on the table, my hands spread in front of me, palms up. “But I have an emergency credit card, and what is this if not an emergency?”
His jaw clenches, and he juts out his chin like he’s ready to fight me about something. “I don’t like this,” he says. “I don’t like it at all.”
I can’t help the laugh that pops out at that. “Uh, okay? And why exactly does your opinion matter?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jason
My eyes widenat her question.
Uh, because I promised your brother I’d look out for you, and I’ve apparently failed entirely.The words are right on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to bite them back.
I can tell from the way she carries herself and the way she’s clearly uncomfortable admitting that things aren’t going too well for her, at least as far as finances are concerned, to know she wouldn’t like that answer at all. She has that,I can do it myself, I don’t need anybody,chip on her shoulder a lot of guys end up with in the hockey world, especially if they get shipped off at sixteen to play in the Juniors for a team hours away from home. Sure, they have a host family and coaches who are supposed to be looking out for them. But not all host families are created equal. I heard some horror stories from teammates who got traded to us from other teams when I was in the Juniors to know that much. While none of us were little kids, we certainly weren’t ready to fend for ourselves either.
But when you’re expected to, you learn how, no matter what.
What happened to Hailey after Hunter passed? Did her parents stop looking after her?
I’m guessing to some degree they did. I know they curled inward, becoming hermits who eschewed any unnecessary interaction with the outside world. But it didn’t really occur to me, as little more than a kid myself, what that would do to Hailey.
From the way she seems to expect to have to handle everything herself, I’m guessing she’s been doing it a lot longer than most people her age.
“Can your folks help you out with getting your car fixed? Or rent? At least until you can get your car fixed?”
She lets out a soft, humorless chuckle. “They never really recovered from Hunter’s treatment.”
The way she says it makes it sound like she means more than just financially, which only serves to confirm my suspicions.
I grunt, knowing I need to tread carefully. “Why don’t you let me cover the tow truck, at least? That way you can save your emergency credit card for whatever it costs to get your car fixed.” Assuming it’s fixable, and that it doesn’t cost more than the car is worth. Either way, I plan on dealing with that situation too. I’m just not going to tell her yet, knowing her knee-jerk reaction will be to say no.
As it is, she’s giving me serious side-eye about just offering to pay for the tow truck.
