“Oh, my God,” she whispers, her hand flying to her mouth. “Three weeks? That’s not enough time!”
“That’s what I said.” I laugh, but it sounds broken even to my own ears. “And with rent the way it is now…” I trail off, the impossibility of my situation hanging between us.
“You’ll stay with me,” Mari says immediately, her tone leaving no room for argument. “My place is small, but?—”
“No.” I shake my head firmly. “I can’t do that to you, Mari. You barely have enough space as it is.”
“But—”
“I’ll figure something out,” I insist, though I have no idea what that something might be. “I always do.”
Once I say goodbye to my friend and begin my walk to the bar, my chest feels like something is sitting on it. Anxiety and fear and a crippling sense of sadness overwhelm me as I try to process the avalanche of bad news that just keeps falling today. First the food pantry’s empty shelves and having to tell people I couldn’t help them. Then giving away the only cash I had onhand before hearing about my eviction—not that twenty-three dollars would buy me an apartment. And then Frank’s death.
Fuck.
It feels like the universe is systematically dismantling every scrap of stability I’ve managed to build.
And then there’s Shepherd.
I told him that kiss didn’t mean anything when in reality, it meant everything. Yes, it started out as a morbid curiosity but the moment my lips touched his, I could feel it.
His warmth.
His comfort.
His calming nature.
He makes me feel safe and he doesn’t even know it because I can’t bring myself to tell him. I’m a hot mess of chaos living in a world of weakness and struggle and disappointment. He doesn’t need me bringing him down. And I don’t want him taking on my burdens out of pity.
He can’t fix me.
I’m far too broken.
And maybe that’s what makes me so sad.
Shepherd Haynes is, so far, one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. He treats me well and he’s kind and compassionate and funny…
And he’s rich.
Compared to him, I’m a street-rat and everyone knows the street-rat only wins in fairytales.
I walk faster, hugging my jacket tighter as the drizzle turns to proper rain. My boots splash through puddles, each step feeling heavier than the last. The thudding in my chest won’t stop, and I can feel the edges of a panic attack creeping in—the tightness, the shortness of breath, the feeling that everything is closing in.
Not now. I can’t break down now.
I have a shift to work. People counting on me. Bills to pay.
By the time I reach the Alley Tap, my hair is plastered to my face and my clothes are damp enough to be uncomfortable. Cal looks up as I push through the door, his usual greeting dying on his lips when he sees my face.
“Whoa,” he says, setting down the glass he’s polishing. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, heading straight for the back room.
“Sutton—”
“I’m fine, Cal. Just a rough day.”
Following me to the back and watching as I slip out of my jacket and tie my apron around my waist, he tells me, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t?—”
