“Your call.” She shrugs. “But the offers still stands.”

I nod. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ll give you a ride after we close up tonight, as long as you don’t mind waiting.” She wipes down the counter.

“Of course not.” I grin. “I’ll help you close.”

“Deal.” She grabs a frosted glass from a freezer below the counter. “So what’s your poison tonight?”

My face falls. The last time I was drunk was a few days ago at the Fourth of July Bash out on Copper Lake. Old Man Turner had just died so I swigged my sadness away until I was inexcusably hammered. And then I scared the crap out of the only other face that ever makes me happy, Sarah “Pixie” Marshall, when my stupid ass tried to drive drunk with her as my terrified passenger.

Just thinking about the fear in Sarah’s eyes makes my stomach knot. That was a whole new low for me. Pixie was Charity’s best friend and, therefore, someone I’ve always cared a great deal for. I would never intentionally hurt Pixie. Not in a million years. God, I really need to apologize to her.

I shake my head. “I think I’ve had enough poison for a while. I’ll take a lemonade.”

“Ooh. Very badass of you.” Amber fills the frosted glass with lemonade, and scans my face. “What’s wrong?”

I run a hand through my hair. “I just need to straighten some stuff out with Sarah, that’s all.”

“Sarah ‘Pixie’ Sarah?” she asks, setting the lemonade down in front of me. I nod and her face lights up. “Aw… I miss her. How’s she doing?”

I shrug. “She’s been working at Willow Inn with me and Levi all summer.”

She arches a brow. “Have those two figured out they belong together yet?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “But God, I hope so. She deserves a win for once, you know?”

She nods silently and carefully eyes me. “I know a few people who deserve a win.”

I avoid her eyes and focus on more pertinent matters. Like eating.

“Hey so…” I swallow, hating this part of my current circumstances. “Since I’m staying here until you close anyway, I was thinking I could maybe help out in the kitchen. Again. You know, if Jake needs a hand with the dinner rush. Again.”

She frowns. “I can spot you dinner, Daren. I know you love to cook, but you don’t have to keep coming in here and doing chores to earn a meal.”

“I don’t keep coming in for that,” I say harshly, even though that’s a lie. I’ve helped Jake in the kitchen at Latecomers five times in the past week. “I’m just, you know, tight on cash right now. That’s all.”

If he had room in the payroll budget, I’m sure Jake would hire me on the spot. But Latecomers is maxed out on employees, all of whom love their jobs and probably have no intention of quitting anytime soon. So for now, Jake lets me cook alongside him every once in a while and, in return, I get a free meal.

Sympathy flashes in Amber’s eyes, but only for a split second. She knows I hate being pitied.

“Jake always welcomes an extra set of hands in the kitchen,” she says then winks. “Especially if those hands belong to an aspiring chef.”

“Right.” I smile and start to get up but her hand smacks against mine, pinning me to the bar top.

“Not so fast,” she says. “The dinner rush won’t start for another hour or so. I think you should have dinner before you head back to the kitchen. Something tells me you haven’t had much to eat today.”

I gently slide my hand out from under hers. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re hungry.”

“No, I’m not.”

She flicks the bar towel at me. Hard. “Quit being so prideful and sit your ass down.” The determined look in her eyes is anything but playful.

I slowly obey and return to my barstool. She slaps a black bar napkin down in front of me, thwacking the counter so hard that the burly guy seated a few stools down looks over. Then she calmly moves the glass of lemonade on top of the napkin.

“Now,” she says pleasantly, all hardness gone from her eyes. “What can I get you for dinner, sir?”

I stare at her, biting back a smile. It never ceases to amaze me how some women can go from sharp-as-steel to sugar-sweet in the blink of an eye.

“Surprise me,” I say.

As she spins around and moves to the computer, I watch her type in an order and shake my head.

After high school, Amber started working at Latecomers to save up for college. After our parents divorced, her life didn’t fall to pieces like mine.

When my mom left for Boston, my dad was a hopeless wreck and burned through his own wealth faster than a speeding bullet in a cloud. High school ended and I had no choice but to work night and day to help pay bills. I had my job tending to Old Man Turner’s yard, and even though he grossly overpaid me for my work, it still wasn’t enough so I started working at the local cell phone store so I could make a little extra cash and keep a cheap phone bill. But with the enormous bills we had every month—the mortgage, the expensive cars, the boat—I quickly started sinking.

Amber, however, was able to set herself up with a decent job and a gaggle of roommates to make rent cheap. Now she’s moving to Phoenix in the fall to start classes at Arizona State University while I’ll probably be selling cell phones in Copper Springs forever, not to mention paying off Connor’s fifty-thousand-dollar medical bills for the rest of my life.

I drop my face back into my hands. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to pull this off. My two jobs aren’t enough to keep me afloat with all the responsibilities I have, and without a car, I’m not sure if I’ll even be able to keep my jobs—particularly the one at Willow Inn, since it’s so far away. And that’s the job that pays the most and I like the best.

I’m screwed. But that’s nothing new.

5 Kayla

My stomach grumbles. I’ve barely eaten today. And yesterday all I had was an apple and a bag of Cheetos. Dinner is a must. If I can grab a full meal tonight then maybe I won’t have to worry about breakfast or lunch tomorrow when I’m on the road.

I hate driving alone, especially at night, so I’m not heading back to Chicago until morning. Though I’m not sure what my rush is. It’s not like I have anything to return to—except for Big Joe and his demands.

I’ve had to work so many shifts these past few months just to stay ahead of my bills that all of my friendships back in Illinois have faded into acquaintanceships. So much so that I doubt anyone even knows where I am. Or that I even left Chicago.

Wow. That’s an unsettling thought.

But it’s probably for the better. If Big Joe found out that I took off, he’d probably send his goons to come drag me back to the diner. Maybe it’s best if I never return at all.

There’s nothing and no one waiting for me back in Illinois. No home. No family… My heart drops to the floor as I realize, for the first time, that I’m technically an orphan.

I’m twenty-one and I can take care of myself but there’s something very lonely about not having loved ones waiting for me anywhere in this world. In recent years, my father wasn’t much of a parent but he was still somewhere, aware that I existed. And deep down, in the back of my mind where I let hope run free, I knew that if I needed him—if I really absolutely desperately needed my daddy—he would come through for me.

I had no reason to believe such a thing, but the little girl inside me refused to think otherwise. Even when I hated him, I still hoped for him. And maybe that’s what hurt the most. More than the rejection. More than the abandonment. The deepest cut was the relentless hope I carried, and it bled endlessly. Even now, with him dead and gone, it’s still bleeding.

I swallow back the lump in my throat and change out of my outfit.

Aside from the gray dress I wore yesterday, the royal blue blouse and black pencil skirt are the only “nice” clothes I own, so I’m careful not to snag or rip anything as I take them off. I slip out of the skirt, set it on the bed, then gingerly undo the buttons of my top before sliding it off my shoulders and folding everything neatly back into my suitcase.