Page 7

There is something wildly unpleasant about feeling like the air itself is sticking to your skin and I would give just about anything for a cool desert night right about now.

Except move back to Arizona.

I never want to go back to the place that I called home for the first twenty-six years of my life.

Not after I finally managed to escape.

As I climb behind the wheel, I toss my bag into the passenger seat and look up at the top with a sigh. I haven’t been able to drive without the top since moving to Louisiana since there is no safe place to store the window pieces that need to be removed at the apartment I share with my boyfriend.

God, I miss it, though.

I want to feel the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair.

The engine of the Jeep rumbles to life as I turn the key and I pull out into the alley, eyeing the clock on the dash. It’s one-oh-six and I need to be at the hotel for my shift in just under two hours. That doesn’t leave me a lot of time but thankfully, my apartment is only five miles from the bakery and I know a shortcut. I need to run home, grab something to eat and shower before I head out.

I wish I could just collapse in my bed.

If We Ever Broke Up by Mae Stephens begins playing over the radio and I turn it up as I pull out of the alley onto the main road. I bop along to the beat and sing along at the top of my lungs, earning a few looks from the cars I pass.

I don’t give a shit.

I have a whole other eight-hour shift still in front of me and I’ll do whatever the hell I need to do to hype myself up for it.

When I pull up to a red light, I roll down both windows and prop my arm on the sill, enjoying the warmth of the sun beating down on me. I may be run down and utterly drained but there is just something about the sun on my skin that always gives me a little bit of a recharge.

Reaching over, I grab my iced mocha and take a long drink, just as the light turns green. I pull forward as I put my coffee back and sigh, thinking about what is waiting for me at home.

Owen.

I met Owen two years ago when my old car broke down. He was working as a mechanic at the shop I took the car to at the time and said he felt so bad about delivering the news that my little Ford wasn’t long for this world that he needed to take me out to make up for it.

Reset his karma or some shit like that.

As far as lines go, it wasn’t the best but he seemed sweet so I let him take me to lunch. That lunch turned into coffee which then turned into dinner and before I knew it, we were official.

God, I’m not even sure that he ever even asked me to be his girlfriend but after two months, we were living together.

Owen isn’t much of a cook and his idea of cleaning up leaves a lot to be desired so I’ve always handled those things. Hell, I’ve been handling those things since I was a kid. But I didn’t mind because Owen made good money and it felt like we balanced each other out. But eight months ago, Owen was offered a job as lineman here in Baton Rouge. We both were nervous about moving across the country but we decided it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Once we were here, things were good for about three weeks before Owen was let go. They caught him drinking on the job and fired him immediately.

I was livid.

I seriously considered breaking up with him then and we also threw around the idea of going back to Arizona. Owen assured me, though, that this was a wakeup call for him that his drinking had gotten out of control and that he would fix it. He was convinced he would find another job quickly so I gave him another chance.

I was fucking dumb.

It didn’t take long for word to spread about what happened and once people knew why he had been fired from the first job, no one else was willing to take a chance on him. After three months of aggressively pursuing leads and following up with calls that went unanswered, Owen gave up. He started trying less and less and drinking more.

But we had fucking bills to pay so I went and found the job at the hotel.

At this point, Owen just sits around in his recliner every day, drinking beer and watching TV while I work my ass off to make enough money to support us.

And it’s killing me.

The worst part? We just exist in the same space but we haven’t been a couple or a team in a long damn time. Whenever that thought crosses my mind, though, the guilt is not far behind. How can I just up and walk away when he has nothing else going for him? He’s counting on me but I don’t know that I have much more to give.

Most of all, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life living like this.

By the time I pull into the parking lot of my building, my mood has plummeted and a feeling of dread creeps over me. It whispers tales of what I’ll find when I stop through that front door into my ear. None of them are good.