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I sucked in a breath, caught off guard. Matteo was always so understanding. So helpful. He never judged us for our failings. Maybe I’d taken it for granted that he’d always find me another job, however often I needed. It wasn’t that I was trying to fail, but well, I wasn’t trying not to, either.

“I understand.” I laughed, though there was nothing happy about the sound spilling out of me. “Guess I’ve been kind of a fuckup.”

Matteo squeezed my forearm before nudging me toward the door of the little local pet store. “No, no. There are no fuckups here. Some guys have trouble acclimating after prison. It’s natural.”

“I’m not like Ghost, though,” I said.

“No, well, Elias was a different challenge. I knew what he needed. I’m not sure with you.” His forehead furrowed. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me how. The program isn’t working, and I want to change that, but you’ve got to give me something.”

I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat. “It’s complicated.”

The print shop was my third job in as many months. But I couldn’t tell Matteo why none of them worked out. It was a convoluted series of reasons. My heart wasn’t in it. I couldn’t make myself give a shit. And then there was the fact I grew up in this town, and some people recognized my face. Remembered that I was Joey Whittaker, the guy who’d caused an accident that paralyzed Dakota Willis. And they, reasonably, did not want to deal with the ugly emotions I raised in the produce aisle, in the fast-food drive-thru, or while picking up their cheerful fund-raising flyers.

Or soon, while buying their kitty litter. This was destined to end the same way they all did.

“Well, I recommend you figure it out and soon,” Matteo said. “Come on. We better get inside.”

He stepped forward, and the doors swooshed open automatically. I followed Matteo toward the front office. It was behind the checkout counter to our left, where a young Black woman—who looked to be anywhere from sixteen to twenty with her heart-shaped face and braided bob—was ringing up cans of cat food.

Matteo lowered his voice. “Paws & Claws has a great manager. Pauline is really sympathetic to how difficult this transition can be for ex-cons. Her husband is currently serving time on a drug charge.”

“Okay.”

“If you make a real effort, she will work with you.”

The office door opened, and a middle-aged white woman with a huge amount of hair piled on top of her head—all bottle-dyed a vivid red—smiled at us. “You must be Joey.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

She emerged from the office and handed me a nametag. It read J-Dog, Clerk.

“Just a fun little affectation we have here.” She pointed to her own nametag, which read P-Claw, Meow Manager.

She introduced us to Siara, aka S-Cat.

They had a whole thing going here. The plus was that my name wasn’t spelled out for people. Maybe they’d be less likely to connect me to Joey Whittaker.

Hope springs eternal and all that.

“You’re going to shadow Siara today. Just learn the ropes of how to restock the shelves and take care of the small animals we carry. We have to clean out cages and do feedings. There’s also dogs and cats in the store regularly. We let our customers bring them in. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“Uh, no. I guess that wouldn’t mix well with working here.”

She slapped my arm with a laugh. “No, it sure wouldn’t!”

Matteo smiled. “Well, it looks like you’ve got everything in hand here. Call me, either of you, if you have any concerns. I’m a resource in this process.” He eyeballed me. “If you need help, please let me know.”

“Oh, I sure will.” Pauline pinched my cheek. “But look at this sweetheart! How could there be any problems with him?”

I widened my eyes at Matteo, but he beat a quick retreat, leaving me in the overly affectionate P-Claw’s clutches. Well, I guess it beat her hating me on sight, like Molly had.

She handed me off to Siara, which was a relief. Siara was friendly and younger than me, so probably less likely to associate me with the accident. She walked me through the store, pointing out the different brands of cat food and dog food.

“If anyone comes in here asking for Purina Alpo, no, we don’t carry it. They can find it at the local grocery store, but our store is too little to carry every brand.”

“Okay.”

“People can be so annoying. They’ll complain for ages about something you can’t control. You just have to let it roll off you, okay? It’s not really your problem. Just smile to their face and then you can bitch up a storm when they leave. Pauline is happy to let us vent all we want. She’s pretty cool like that.”