Always the Boyfriend

Chapter 1 Hazel

ONE

Hazel

Luck had never been kind to me.

My entire life had been littered with unfortunate circumstances, so it only made sense trouble would continue to plague me.

One moment, I was sky high, buzzing with excitement and possibilities. The next, I was being blackmailed.

Freaking blackmailed.

Okay, maybe the issue this time wasn’t bad luck as much as it was an ill-advised, indiscreet post to my social media, but still.

This situation was shit no matter which direction I looked at it from.

Letting my handful of followers know about my newfound wealth might not have been my brightest idea to date, but hey, it wasn’t every day someone won the lottery.

Certainly not someone like me.

Like I said, luck had never had much interest in me.

It had taken one look at my birth certificate—Hazel Marigold Jacobs, born to Amanda Marie Jacobs in Southfield, Michigan on August 13th, the line for Father left blank—and said, “This girl is not for me.” Maybe it was the whole ‘born on Friday the 13th’ thing.

According to Gran, my mother used to say my birthday was cosmic favor, or something like that, but that could have just been an alcohol-induced haze talking.

I leaned over to the passenger side of my ancient sedan and pried open the glove box, searching for a napkin to wipe up the black mascara tears tracking down my cheeks.

I wasn’t typically above crying at work, but even I knew I looked like a complete and total mess.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d received the cursed text message, and I’d basically spent the entire night sobbing into my pillow.

Today would have been the perfect day to call in sick, but I couldn’t afford to cancel any clients. Not if my modest lottery winnings were about to go toward paying off some sick asshole who got off on kidnapping cats and tormenting women who had absolutely nothing going for them.

My chest heaved again, but I swallowed the panic, wiped my face with the napkin, and dragged myself out of my car.

The strip mall was straight out of the nineties and had no character.

I’d tried not to let that affect me when I’d first found the listing for an open stylist chair in the salon there.

The ripped sign above the door that read Hair Today Gone Tomorrow had a weird energy about it.

I’d urged the owner to let me fix it—and possibly rename the place while I was at it—but she wouldn’t hear of it, despite my best efforts to convince her the name sounded like we were selling some sort of hair growth supplement.

The interior offered slightly more appeal than the exterior.

Modern, cream-colored chairs added a touch of newness.

The perpetually polished tile floor and the wall-to-wall mirrors made the space seem bigger.

Sad little Halloween decorations still hung from the ceiling—crinkled bats and orange streamers.

“What happened?” Ruby’s voice pierced through the small shop the moment I stepped across the threshold.

“Nothing,” I said, my voice cracking as I walked over to my station and set my stuffed tote bag onto my styling chair.

Ruby rushed over to me, her blonde hair bouncing in perfect waves and her blue eyes shining with concern.

I wanted to run. She was lovely—radiant, really—and the last thing I needed was her perfection hovering next to my ogre-like self.

I believed in self-love, I truly did. In theory.

But I also knew, without a shred of doubt, that I was a spectacularly hideous crier.

“It’s Vermont,” I choked out.

Natalie, another stylist—a sweet, shy girl with mousey brown hair and bangs—gasped. “What’s wrong with Vermont?”

“Enough.” Miranda, the owner, gave me one harsh look before running a hand through her wispy white hair and jerking a finger to the back of the salon. She was not the warm and fuzzy type. “If you’re going to have a breakdown, do it in the back. My first client is due any minute.”

Jackson, the last of the other stylists at the tiny salon, snapped his gaze up from the front computer where he’d been zoning out.

“Breakdown? Where?” His brown eyes met mine and I swore he looked hungry for gossip.

Typical Jackson. He hadn’t even clocked the mess I was when I walked in, but the second someone hinted at drama, he was all ears.

Ruby and Natalie hurried me to the back room, with Jackson hot on our tail.

They guided me into one of the worn break room chairs before crowding around.

The room was barely big enough to have a quick snack—definitely not the ideal spot for a mental breakdown.

But I’d been kidding myself when I’d thought I could keep it together for the whole day.

“What happened?” Ruby demanded again.

“Don’t spare a single detail,” Jackson added before Natalie elbowed him in the ribs.

“Someone kidnapped Vermont,” I said through a hiccup.

Ruby’s eyebrows shot up, and she and Natalie exchanged a look before returning their gazes to assess me.

“Isn’t that your cat?” Jackson asked. Honestly, I was surprised he even remembered I had a cat, let alone its name.

“Um, someone kidnapped your cat?” Natalie asked.

“Yes,” I said through a sniffle.

“Are you sure he didn’t run away? I told you not to let him outside.” Ruby’s words were incredibly unhelpful. I’d already been beating myself up enough about this.

“I only let him out in the courtyard for a minute,” I insisted. “He was always whining at the door, acting all miserable. I was going to get him a leash, but…but…” I choked on another sob.

I had inherited Vermont, the orange tabby with lazy eyes and a sweet disposition, only thirty-seven days ago.

The same day my grandmother passed away, leaving him an orphan.

Leaving us both orphans, really. Could you be considered an orphan at twenty-five if the only person who ever took care of you was gone?

“I thought you didn’t like the cat?” Jackson asked, pursing his lips.

“I never said that, and besides, that isn’t the point!” I exclaimed. “He was hers. And we were just starting to bond.”

Which was mostly true. He’d rubbed his head against my leg the other day, and I’d finally discovered a brand of dry food he didn’t hate.

Gran had always loved cats, but I’d spent most of my childhood begging for a dog.

Since we could never agree, we’d compromised, with a fish who, unfortunately, hadn’t made it that long.

It wasn’t until I’d finally moved out of her house and in with my ex that she had taken the plunge and adopted Vermont.

Almost immediately, like she’d been waiting for the chance. He had become her pride and joy.

Now, he was all I had left of her. Sure, we’d started out as unwilling roommates, but over the past few weeks, we’d managed to forge some kind of understanding. I was just starting to like having the little guy around. He was a comfort, something I desperately needed.

“He must have wandered off,” Ruby continued. “He’s not familiar with the area. You got him microchipped, right? Did you call the local vets and shelters? We can help you…”

Her voice trailed off when she noticed me frantically shaking my head.

“He’s been stolen.” My phone shook as I pulled up the text that made me want to puke.

Natalie reached for my phone, but Jackson snatched it first, his brows drawing together in confusion as he read the message. Natalie and Ruby leaned in, squinting to read over his shoulder. Their eyes flicked from the screen to me, then back to the screen again.

“That’s…” Ruby started.

“Absolutely unhinged,” Jackson finished.

The message in question included a picture of Vermont—unharmed, thank the universe.

He was curled up on some nondescript hardwood floor that looked like every other hardwood floor I’d ever seen.

He looked content, rolled onto his back in search of pets.

I could take comfort in that, at least. But the text that accompanied the picture made my blood boil and my soul crumple all at once.

Unknown Number: I’ve taken your cat. He will remain unharmed so long as you follow my instructions.

DO NOT tell anyone about this. DO NOT try and negotiate.

In exchange for his return, you will pay me the sum of $40,000.

I will choose the time and the place for the exchange.

COME ALONE. You will only get the cat back after I’ve received a check for the total amount.

If you fail to follow these instructions, I will be keeping him for myself, and you will never see him again.

“I got the text last night,” I started. “I know I shouldn’t let him out in the courtyard, but his meows sounded so sad.

And he loves the grass. I never leave him unsupervised, but some jerk left a huge pile of dog crap right on the sidewalk.

I swear I was only in my apartment for maybe two minutes grabbing a plastic bag. I should have never left him.”

Natalie shook a tissue box in front of my face.

I grabbed one and blew my nose before continuing. “When I came back out, he was gone. I didn’t panic at first, but when I found his collar with his GPS tracker on it, I went into full-blown hysterics. I searched the neighborhood for at least two hours before I got the text.”

I was still kicking myself for leaving him unattended.

“What kind of sicko would steal a cat?” Ruby’s lips parted and lines creased her forehead.

“I thought everything was finally going my way,” I wailed, using the now-drenched tissue to blot my eyes.

“I can’t believe someone would kidnap a cat!” Natalie exclaimed. “What is wrong with people? You have to go to the police.”

“I already filed a report,” I said. I had been hysterical at the station last night, begging them to help and pulling up every picture of Vermont I had. The officers on duty had been less than sympathetic. “I don’t think they’re going to be much help.”