Page 25 of The Bratva King

Tips have been thin. People are hot and cranky in the summer. Dehydrated. Not eager to tip. My last paycheck covered the electric bill and groceries. I had to buy Luke shoes because he’d outgrown the old ones overnight, the way kids do. And they weren’t even new. I found them at Goodwill. I was already three months behind, and now there was another late fee stacked on top.

I don’t have it. Not even close.

I go to the bathroom and retrieve the burner phone. I never call this early. He’s going to panic.

“What happened?” Greg answers immediately. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Talk.”

“I’m behind on rent and I got a seven-day notice to pay rent or move out.”

He sighs.

“Greg.”

“I’m here.” His voice is quiet. “How long have you been behind?”

I press my back to the bathroom wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the tile. “A while.”

“How long is a while, Gabby?”

“Three months.”

“Jesus.” He exhales, and I can picture him rubbing his chin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I could handle it.”

“Gabby, this is exactly the kind of thing you’re supposed to tell me.”

“I know.”

“I could have helped. I’ve told you a dozen times, I can send money.”

“You’re saving for retirement. You need that money.”

“You’re not in the program anymore. That doesn’t mean you’re alone. When are you going to understand that?”

I look at the yellow stain around the tub. “I thought I was ready when I left. I got a good job, but tourism slows in the summer.”

“Vegas is expensive.”

“I know.”

“And casino tips aren’t predictable.”

“I know.”

He’s frustrated with me. “I can send you enough to cover the back rent and the late fees.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“I know you don’t. Take it anyway.”

“Is there any way the program can help? Even just a one-time thing? Temporary housing assistance, or⁠⁠—”

“Gabby.” The way he says my name tells me everything.