22. Alina
TWENTY-TWO
ALINA
TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD
“That’s basically it.”
I nod along with Regina, the owner of Tiny Dancers studio, and officially my new boss as of ten minutes ago. I’m not actually teaching dance, as much as I wish that weren’t the case, but being the office manager is a foot in the door, and the pay is great. I’ll be able to quit my job at the diner, and Tiny Dancers is one of the best children’s studios in all of East Tennessee. So even if I’ll be a glorified assistant, fetching coffee and Xeroxing copies till my fingers bleed, as long as I get to be part of something, I don’t mind.
“…so enjoy your weekend, and be here bright and early on Monday morning, ready to go.”
Blinking out of my daze, I smile wide, hoping she doesn’t realize I ignored her. “Great!”
“Oh, before I forget,” she continues, her short black bob swaying back and forth as she shakes her head. “You’ll be the go-to for the incoming contractor. I’ve outsourced the renovation to a company about forty minutes away from town.”
“You want me to be the go-to?” I look around the massive studio. “Don’t you think it should be somebody, you know, who’s worked here for more than a day?”
She laughs, her white teeth gleaming against her tawny skin. “Oh, honey, you’ll do just fine. All I need you to do is be a glorified babysitter, make sure they don’t make a mess of things.” She waves her hand around the space. “You know how construction workers are, milking the clock and trying to make an extra dollar from their clients wherever they can.”
I want to tell her my daddy was a construction worker, and so were my neighbors, but I grit my teeth to stop the sass that’s dying to escape.
“Won’t I be in their way?”
She gives me a pointed look. “Just keep an eye on them, keep them in line. Be professional and make sure they stay that way, too.”
I nod. “Got it. Professional.”
We wrap up our conversation and I walk outside to get a breath of fresh air. It’s a beautiful day, and I finally feel like things are looking up. Sure, my boss is a teensy bit overbearing—but I already missed out on one opportunity to further my dreams, so I’m holding on to this one with everything in me.
About a year ago, I came across a quote by one of my favorite authors, C.S. Lewis, and it changed my life.
“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”
Those words dug deep inside of me and pulled up the little bit of self-worth I had left. I was tired of waiting on a miracle, and I wasn’t taking any steps to change my own future. So I mustered up the courage to move out of Daddy’s and into a place of my own, even though the guilt of leaving him eats me alive little by little every day.
It’s been hard.
I feel like I’ve abandoned him. But he was sucking me down, and I realized in order to help him, I had to help myself first.
So here I am in my little 400-square-foot studio apartment, right above JuneBug’s Bakery on Main Street. It’s not much, but it’s mine and I love it. I’m far away enough from Daddy where I get some peace, and close enough to be there when he needs me.
Now all I have to do is get him to admit he needs help.
Johnny from The Watering Hole has my cell number, and whenever Daddy drinks too much, Johnny calls.
There’s never a time when Daddy doesn’t drink too much.
I’m just getting cozy on my couch with a good book when my phone chimes with a text.
Jax:
On a scale of 1–10, how much are you missing me?
I roll my eyes, grinning.
The truth is, I miss him a lot. He’s away these days way more than he’s home because he’s in such high demand out in California. Where dreams are made. Movies need fancy cars, and fancy cars need someone who knows how to keep them pretty.
Like a hole in the head. Seriously, how long are you gonna be gone for?
I’m not sure, but this producer is a pain in the ass.
Before I can respond, another text comes through.
He’s a ballbuster, and his daughter drives me nuts.
I smile, thinking about a little girl with a crush on Jax.
Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad!
It is. I miss you. You should come out here with me next time.
I laugh because he knows as well as I do that I won’t be making the trip to California any time soon. I take my phone and move outside, sitting on the small Juliet balcony.
This is my favorite time of day, right before the sun meets the horizon fully, after the oranges and pinks disappear, and the sky is stuck in the in-between. Lightning bugs flicker to life and the world just seems…quieter. I close my eyes and relax, a genuine smile taking over my face for the first time in what feels like forever.
The grin is still on my face the next day when I show up at Logan’s. It’s been a week since we’ve met up, and I’ve gotten used to the type of relief he provides because our time together quiets the voices that beat down on my soul. He’s a nice reprieve, one I have no shame about taking full advantage of. If men can do it, so can I.
“My ears are numb.” I giggle, rolling over in Logan’s bed, the silk sheets dropping slightly until they’re only covering from my hips down.
He’s standing by his dresser and smirks at my comment. “Your ears are numb?”
“Yeah, that never happens to you?”
“I can’t say it does.”
He moves toward me, crawling onto the bed until his body is covering mine, and he leans down to nibble on my neck. I laugh because it tickles, and he smiles against my skin.
It’s nice what we have. No emotions, no strings.
No exclusivity.
It’s the perfect arrangement, and I dread the day some girl sweeps him off his feet for real and he ends our tryst.
“I’ve gotta go.” He stands, grabbing his jeans and pulling them on. “You can chill here if you want, just lock up on your way out.”
This isn’t unusual for us, him leaving and letting me take my time, so I head to his kitchen after he’s gone and brew some coffee while I peruse the magazines on his counter.
“I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch)” blares through the living room and I groan in frustration. Only Jax would set his ringtone to something so obnoxious. I stop snooping and head to my purse, opening it to grab my phone and answer.
“Hey, Teeth.”
“Sweetheart. What are you doing right now?”
“Right now?” I look around Logan’s living room and cringe. Jax doesn’t approve of my situationship—which is rich considering he’s the king of sex with no strings. “I’m havin’ coffee at Logan’s, thinkin’ of all the ways to strangle you for messin’ with my ringtone, again .”
He groans. “When are you gonna cut that guy loose, Lee? He’s only using you for one thing.”
“I sure hope so.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he sighs into the phone.
“Oh please, Jackson. I swear, I can’t with you, actin’ like a man can get his jollies anytime and a woman needs to wait for some big love.”
He’s silent. I know what this is really about, even if I don’t want to admit it. Jax wants things to go further with the two of us, but I’ve never let it go further than what we already have. The truth is, I wouldn’t be able to love him right, and if anyone deserves the “can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breathe” kind of love, it’s Jackson Rhoades.
I change the subject, not wanting to argue. “How are things on set?”
“Things are kind of bullshit, but I’m dealing with it.”
“You’re not enjoyin’ it?”
“I’ve worked with some pricks, but this guy, Donahue, thinks he shits out gold.” He exhales before murmuring, “He’s a giant in this industry, though. My dad’s dream is so close I can taste it, Lee.”
“Then you’ve just gotta keep pushin’ through it, Jax. Your work will speak for itself. Your daddy would be so proud of you.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Did I tell you he has this daughter? She’s annoying as hell and always in my ear asking a thousand questions about the cars I’m shaking down. I don’t know why he lets her on set, it’s not like she does anything except annoy the shit out of me.”
“I thought you loved kids.”
“I love little kids. Not nineteen-year-old brats who aren’t used to hearing the word no.”
My eyes widen. “Nineteen isn’t exactly a kid, Jax.”
“Tell me about it,” he mutters.
I hear a faint knock through the line and know he’s about to be stolen away.
“Shit, sweetheart. I’ve gotta go. I expect a phone call Monday night so you can regale me with stories of how you kicked ass at your new job.”
“You got it, Teeth.”
Melancholy seeps through every bone in my body when I hang up the phone. I’m so proud of him for all his accomplishments, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss my friend.
I spend the rest of the weekend wallowing in loneliness.
Jax is gone and Becca is busy doing her daddy’s bidding at the church, but I could swear she’s avoiding me.
Before I know it, it’s Monday morning and time to start my new job.
Hope fills me up when I wake, because I’m determined to make today the start to the rest of my life.
No more settling. No more wallowing. No more misery.
Rolling over in my bed, I reach out to turn off my alarm since I never needed it and realize it never went off because it was set to p.m. not a.m.
Panic races through me, my heart flying against my chest with anxiety because, of course I’m about to be late on my first day at the new gig. My only saving grace is I laid out my outfit last night, and I rush, throwing on the black pencil skirt and cream silk blouse I borrowed from Becca. It’s a little long on me because she’s taller, and a bit tight around my curves, but until I get my first paycheck, this is as good as it’s going to get.
I pull into Tiny Dancers five minutes late. There are two other vehicles in the lot and the lights are all turned on inside.
The contractor must be here already.
Even though I don’t have the time, I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, wiping my sweaty hands on the seat’s upholstery. I tell myself it doesn’t matter if I’m a few minutes late. I’ll kick butt today, wow this contractor so he’ll sing my praises to Regina, and then I’ll go home, open a bottle of wine, and call Jax and Becca to tell them how amazing I am.
With a nod of affirmation, I get out of my car, straighten my skirt, and walk inside.