Chapter 5
Easton
“Fuck no,” Bennett growls.
I cast him a look over my shoulder. “Sorry to break it to you, but you're stuck with me. Trust me, I don’t like it either,” I mutter, a wave of embarrassment and shame flooding me as I look down at my football bag. It’s the only thing I have left.
I lost everything in the fire. And I mean everything. When I came to SVU, I took everything I owned out of my parents’ house. I didn’t want a reason to ever have to go back there.
It’s not that I had a lot, but it was mine. And now it’s all gone. Not just my clothes, but my photos. All my memories.
With him.
Not that I’m going to tell him that.
“You haven’t unpacked. You can still switch with someone,” he insists.
Unpack? That would require me to own things to unpack.
Closing my eyes, I take a breath. This is the last thing I want right now. My mind is racing, wondering how the fuck I'm going to come up with enough money to buy some new clothes.
A lot of college kids get jobs, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the time to spare. After working my ass off for football, any free time I had was spent studying so I didn’t fall behind and lose my scholarship.
I live off the allowance that is included. All of my school supplies will be replaced, thankfully, but my clothes are the same ones I’ve been wearing since I was in high school.
The idea of having to root around in the donation bin makes me want to puke. I hate my life right now, I hate myself.
I feel like a total joke. But I won’t let him see me like that, won’t let him see me break.
“Get the fuck over it, Bennett,” I snap, whirling around to glare at him. “If you don’t like it, go home to Mommy and Daddy. It’s not like you need this place.”
Bennett snaps his mouth shut. He stares at me, eyes flicking between mine. We hold each other's gaze until he looks away.
“Sorry,” he mutters, letting out a sigh. “I just didn’t expect you, of all people, to be my new roommate.”
“Trust me, neither did I.” I grab the clothes I was wearing before and pull my shirt on over my head.
Last night, I went to stay in Taylor’s dorm. She was nice enough to let me wash my clothes with hers while she did a load this morning.
The shirt on my back and the jeans in my hands are all I own.
Tears sting the back of my eyes as the reality of that crushes down on my chest.
“You don’t have to worry,” I grunt. “I’ll hardly be here. Between school, football, and Taylor, I’ll only be here to sleep.”
I don’t wait for him to respond. Taking my pants, I go back down the hall to the bathroom, finish getting changed, and head out.
The only reason I still have my wallet, phone, and these clothes is because I fell asleep with them last night. I was too wasted to change.
I guess it worked out in my favor.
It was a close call last night. If it wasn’t for Tyler banging on everyone's door, I would have slept right through the fire alarm. By the time the fire department would have found me, I probably would have already been dead.
As I walk down the street, my hands in my pockets and the weight of the world on my shoulders, I wonder if that would have been the better option.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” I growl to myself. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had to fight, and it’s not going to be the last.”
At least until I get signed to the NFL and make more money than I can imagine. Not that money is everything to me. But having some, having enough to not worry where my next meal is going to come from, or if I’m going to have a roof over my head, would be nice.
It’s midday on a Sunday. The thrift store is closed today, so that works in my favor.
Checking my surroundings, I make sure no one is watching before jumping the fence. I make my way around the building, just out of the camera's view, and smile to myself when I see that the donation bin is overflowing.
Looks like the homeless haven’t gotten to these bags yet. Means there might be something in here I could use.
I start grabbing bags, opening them carefully, and picking through them. When I’m done with each bag, I make sure to put everything back in and tie it up to not make a mess.
An hour later, and twenty bags sorted through, I walk away with three pairs of jeans, five T-shirts, two pairs of sneakers, and a backpack.
I draw the line at wearing someone else's used underwear. Unfortunately, any socks I found weren't big enough or had holes.
I’m a prideful man, but I’m also someone who knows how to survive. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. Coming to the donation bins and seeing what I can use isn’t something I’m new to.
Do you think my father would buy me new sneakers when mine got too small? Or a new pair of pants when I outgrew the ones I had?
That would require him to give up some of his money. The money he says he works so hard for. The money he wastes away on beer, smokes, and other ways to get himself fucked up.
Anything my mother made went to keeping food on the table. Half the stuff my mom got me was from thrift stores.
It’s not stealing, people donated all this. Thrift stores jack up the prices on used clothes. It’s fucked up. Half of this shit ends up in landfills anyway if they don’t sell it.
Still, doing this isn’t a long-term solution. Clothes are one thing, but I need bedding, pillows, and other things.
I need money. I need a job.
Even if it’s a few hours a week.
Instead of heading back to the hockey house, I head down to the local sports bar.
It’s owned by one of Bennett’s family friends, but hopefully, they don’t remember who I am. Not that I’ve ever met them before, but I’m sure my name must have come up at some point in the last ten-plus years.
I remember one of my buddies mentioning the place was hiring, and he was going to apply. Hopefully, they didn’t fill the position yet.
I’m relieved to find that it’s open. Most places like this don’t open until the evening.
At least I think it’s open? The door was unlocked, but it’s dead as hell in here.
“Hey.” A blond guy behind the bar smiles. “How can I help you?”
“Uh.” I clear my throat, wondering if he can tell I just spent hours picking through people's used, dirty clothes. “I heard from a friend of mine that you guys were hiring?”
He gives me a pitying smile, and any hope I have drifts away. “Sorry, man. We filled that spot a few days ago.”
“Of course you did.” I sigh heavily. “Do you happen to know anywhere else that’s hiring? I hate to admit it, but I’m in a bit of a bind. I attend Silver Valley, and well, I’m not sure if you heard about the fire–”
His face drops. “You’re on the football team?”
“Yup.” I nod.
“And you lived in the football house?”
“Yup again.”
“Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Come, sit.” He nods towards the bar. “I bet you could use a drink.”
“Not gonna say no to that,” I say, but pause. “Ah, never mind.”
“It’s on the house,” he chuckles.
I hesitate for a moment. I hate charity, I hate people looking at me with pity. But after the night I had, I don’t have room for pride right now.
“Thanks.” I pull out a stool and take a seat.
“Name’s Cooper, by the way,” he says, pouring me a beer.
“Easton.” I nod. “Thanks,” I say as he places the glass on the bar top.
“I used to attend SVU. Was on the football team, too.”
“Yeah?” I ask, taking a sip.
He nods. “All four years. Got a full-ride scholarship, too.”
“Really?” My brows pull together. “How did you end up owning a bar then?”
He chuckles. “With a lot of hours worked, a supportive father, and some amazing friends.”
Huh, I have no idea how that would feel. I mean, maybe the friends part. They're pretty amazing. But they’re not in much of a better boat than I am.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” I ask, raising a brow.
“What’s your story?”
“I just met you.” I snort.
“I don’t mean your life story," he chuckles. “But I’m going to guess if you’re looking for a job, you're a scholarship student too?”
I nod stiffly.
He pauses for a moment, throwing the dishcloth he was using over his shoulder.
“I might have filled the position that was advertised, but I was thinking about looking for a dishwasher. That wouldn’t be something you’d be interested in, would it?
You get paid weekly, in cash. It’s part-time, only a few hours a–”
“I’ll take it.”
He raises his brows. “Just like that? Not even going to ask about the pay? What days? How many hours?”
“Pay doesn’t matter. Money is money. But the days... I have games most weekends.”
“Good thing I’m looking for people to work Monday to Wednesdays.” He grins. “It’s from ten to one in the morning. Twenty bucks an hour.”
That’s almost eight hundred a month. That's more than enough, and it’s not hours that would eat into my study time. Sure, I might be tired from running on only five hours of sleep, but it’s only three days a week. I can do it.
“I’ll take it,” I say again.
“Alright then,” he says. “You start tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” I find a reason to smile for the first time today. “You have no idea how much this means.”
“No problem.”
I down the beer and thank Cooper again before leaving.
I’m glad I didn’t let myself wallow in my own self-pity. Now I have a job, and a few pairs of clothes that will get me through the next few days.
I’m sure I can borrow something from Taylor for my bed. She’s the only one who knows everything about my financial situation and the only person I don’t feel embarrassed to talk to about it.
“Hey, babe. Where are you?” Her voice makes me smile.
“Just got back from getting myself a job.”
“Really?” She sounds excited. “That’s amazing. Where?”
“Novak’s Sports Bar and Grill. It’s the dishwasher position, but it works.”
“I’m so happy for you! Where are you now?”
“Just leaving. I need to head to the hockey house to do a load of laundry. By any chance, could I use some of your laundry detergent?”
“Yeah, for sure. Is there anything else?”
I hate asking. I really fucking hate it. It’s not like she’s much better off than me.
“Nah.” I clear my throat.
“Easton,” she says in her best mom voice.
Swallowing hard and shoving down my pride, I ask. “Do you have any spare blankets and a pillow?”
“Yup,” she says with just enough pep for my sake. I really do love this girl. And if I were into girls, I’d drag her down to the courthouse and put a ring on her finger.
Okay, maybe not a ring, because that would require money, but you get the idea.
By the time I get back to the hockey house, Taylor is there waiting for me.
She’s talking with Aria, and I grin as I watch my girl stare at the babbling blonde who's talking a mile a minute, like she hung the moon.
I hang back, giving her a second, until she spots me and smiles. “Hey,” Taylor says.
Aria stops talking and looks my way. Her face drops into something close to pity. Fuck. Can she go back to hating me like her best friend does? I’d much rather that than the look she’s giving me.
“Hey, Easton.”
I give her a forced smile. “Hey.” I nod my head. “Hey, baby. Ready?”
“Yup.” Taylor smiles up at me. I lean down and press a kiss to her cheek and wave bye to Aria.
We head up to my new room, and I dread running into Bennett. Thankfully, there's no one in there. Taylor makes my bed and hands over the laundry detergent.
“So, find anything good?” she asks, peeking at the bag. “The bag is new. Nice.”
“I’ll show you when we get down there.” I laugh.
“You should have told me you were going. I could have found a few cute things!”
“Trust me, there wasn't anything good. I checked. Maybe next time.”
This is the reason why I’m not embarrassed.
Taylor used to join me back in high school.
We’d spend hours looking through clothes.
She could never afford brand names, but rich people donated their old clothes all the time.
She was the only one in our school swimming in Aeropostale, Hollister, and American Eagle.
People would accuse her of stealing. She never corrected them because it just made her popular. Not her fault, no one thought to hunt through used clothes.
I meant it when I said this girl is my soulmate. She’s my person. It’s times like this that I know I’ll be okay as long as I have her.