Dangerous (The Missarali Storks #1)

1. 1 Mae

1: Mae

L osing your job is tough.

Losing the job you’ve always dreamed of is even harder.

My manager—or rather, ex-manager—sits behind her desk with a pinched face. I knew something was up the moment she asked me to step into her office.

The dreaded office. The office where no conversation is ever good. Most employees leave crying or red-faced.

I want to flip the table and tell her she can’t do this, but the harsh reality is that she can. I’ve only been at the veterinary practice for four months, and I’m still on probation.

“Budget cuts,” she’d told me before asking me to hand my i n-training badge back over. I’d wanted to jam the pin into her thumb as revenge, but I decided against it. Cindy can be petty, and the last thing I need is her telling every other veterinary practice in the country not to hire me.

The scent of cheap antiseptic lingers in the air, and dog and cat anatomy posters hang wonkily from the walls, the eyes of the cartoon animals feeling like an audience as they judge me. I glower back at them, a chill running down my spine.

It’s freezing in here. But I suppose heating the place costs money—money the company just doesn’t have.

“You’re a good worker, Mae. You really are, but we simply cannot afford to have this many trainees anymore.”

“You’re the only vet practice in the state that offers this kind of training program,” I tell her as if she doesn’t already know. “School is too expensive.”

Joining a vet practice that was part of the Veterinary Training Academy—which means we get to learn on the job while being paid a lower salary—seemed like the only route I could take.

“We appreciate the work you’ve put in.” Cindy shrugs her shoulders, clearly at a loss. “Your contract ends today. I’m sorry.”

I stand, allowing my chair to scrape against the tiled flooring. “Did you not consider this before taking on so many of us?”

It’s a rhetorical question. I don’t want her response. Her words mean little to me. There’s no point in trying to soften the blow when I moved from Montana to Colorado for this opportunity, and I can barely afford my rent as it is. My lease is almost up, and after next month, I’m going to need to either enter another year-long contract with my greedy landlord or find somewhere else to live.

But the cost of moving is steep.

I leave the practice for the final time with hunched shoulders and begin the drive home. My gaze lands on myself in the rearview mirror, and I huff at the sight of my half-lidded, heavy eyes.

Four months wasted.

It feels like a massive kick in the teeth.

“And it’s another win for the Missarali Storks! Montana will be proud!” the radio presenter blasts, making me jump. My stupid car is jacked, and the radio turns on whenever it wants. Getting it fixed is low on my priority list, though. “They’re doing well this season, but I’m not sure they can keep it together with everything going on—”

I groan as I switch it off with twitchy fingers. I’ve never been a sports fan, and I’m certainly not interested in hearing about how the Missarali Storks are doing in the season.

It brings my mother to mind—the coach for their cheerleaders.

She told me moving away was a mistake. That I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Twenty-five is a perfectly normal age to chase your dreams, but she insisted I was too young and wouldn’t survive in such a cut-throat industry.

It only confirmed that she would never change. She cares about one person and one person only: herself.

“So, does that mean you’re coming home?” My best friend, Flo, asks on the other end of the Bluetooth line as I weave in and out of traffic, desperate to get home and throw myself onto the couch so I can eat my feelings. A tub of cinnamon ice cream is screaming my name right now.

I can spend tomorrow searching for new veterinary practices to apply to, but for now, I want to wallow and imagine myself throwing darts at a life-size photo of Cindy’s big head.

“I don’t know. That’s a big decision.”

Not one I want to think about right now.

“So was moving out of state to pursue your dream, but you did that. If Colorado doesn’t have what you need, find somewhere that does. I’m sure other states are in need of a young, hot veterinary nurse.”

I hum. “Even if it’s miles away from you?”

I hear my best friend pause from her end. I know she’s desperate for me to return to Montana, but she’d never say it. She knows how long I’ve wanted this.

“Whatever makes you happy, Mae. I’d offer for you to stay with me, but if my landlord found out, he’d have me evicted, and the last thing I want is to end up living on the streets with the rats.”

“Why not? You’d blend right in.” My lips tug into a smile.

“Haha, very funny.”

“I’m going to see if I can get by. I’ll start looking for other veterinary practices that offer the same training program. Some positions may have opened up.”

I’m not holding out much hope, though. Not a lot of veterinary practices offer the program.

“You could always just marry a rich man, you know?”

“Well, when you find one that’s actually hot, well-mannered and not a raging asshole, let me know. Colorado’s seriously lacking in that department.”

Flo laughs and says, “I’ll keep an eye out for you,” before ending the call as I pull up outside my apartment.

I glare at the brick’s peeling paint and chipped windows. The balconies show severe neglect, with overgrown weeds and rusted outside furniture. My old roommate used to smoke out there, and instead of throwing her cigarette buts away, she’d litter the floor with them, leaving it stinking of smoke.

We hadn’t settled for the worst place in town, but this apartment complex isn’t far off. It was within budget, though, and I’d told myself that the second I had enough money, I’d move to a nicer location—away from her. But then she disappeared and left me struggling to pay her half of the rent.

I knew I should have made her sign some kind of contract. The lease is solely under my name, but our landlord, Greg, doesn’t care who stays here as long as he gets his rent money on time.

She always gave me strange vibes, but I was under pressure to find somewhere to live at such short notice, and having someone to split the monthly rent with sounded like a good idea at the time.

That was before she began chipping off parts of random people’s headstones and bringing them home to perform seances. It scared me half to death to hear her screaming in the middle of the night, surrounded by candles, claiming that a ghost had appeared and tried to possess her body.

Safe to say, I’m not going to miss her.

I breathe in the chilly November air before entering my apartment.

Dropping my bags by the front door, I shrug off my white veterinarian coat that I have no use for anymore, laying it over the back of my small, green couch. It’s second-hand and lumpy, with a gaping hole in the back, but it was free, and that was all that mattered at the time when I had nothing to spare.

Chump, my tortoise, glances up at me from his pen, his slow movements making me smile. His little legs stick out from underneath his thick shell, moving in the most awkward and ungraceful way. He’s not cute. Not in the same way a puppy or kitten is, but he’s mine, and I appreciate his sagging skin and beady eyes regardless.

He feels no need for social interaction, so he doesn’t mind me being gone most of the time. But it’s nice to have someone to come home to. I tell him my problems, and although I know he doesn’t understand me, it’s nice to have someone—or something—there to listen.

He's expensive to house. His food and bedding don’t come cheap. But I’d never consider giving him up. He’s part of a memory I don’t want to forget—my last tie to my father.

Settling down on the couch, I allow my head to flop back, my eyes fixated on the ceiling above. The silence feels too loud. It’s giving me time to think. There’s a sudden absence of purpose that rushes through me, knowing I won’t be waking up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to tend to dogs with respiratory problems and cats with parasites.

I’ll be starting from scratch, but I’m not a quitter. There’s no point sitting here feeling sorry for myself when it won’t change anything.

I’m dragged from my thoughts by a knock at my door, and I roll my eyes and prepare to plaster on a smile for my neighbour, who probably needs toilet paper again, but I’m surprised when Greg is standing on the other side.

He gives me little time to compose myself.

“Mae, your rent. It’s late.”

I furrow my brows, eyes tracing over his receding hairline and lopsided eyes before realising how rude it is to stare. It’s hard not to when he looks like a gerbil, though. “Late? No, it’s not.”

He looks at me as if I’m pulling his leg. “Yes, it is. Haven’t you seen any of my emails? Your payment for last month didn’t go through.”

“Are you sure?” I immediately grab my phone and sift through the countless emails I haven't had time to open.

A cold wave rushes over me, a knot forming in my stomach as Greg says, “Do I look as if I’m not sure? I have the paperwork.”

I exhale heavily. This day just keeps getting better and better. I’m almost waiting for some cringy TV host to jump out from my closet and yell, “Ha! You just got pranked!” but as the seconds tick by, I realise that’s not going to happen.

“I’m really sorry, Greg. I thought I had enough in my account. I’ll get you the money as soon as possible.”

His shoulders drop, releasing the stiff tension he’s holding as disappointment floods his eyes. “This is the second time your rent has been late. I’m sorry, Mae, but if I don’t get the money by the end of the day, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

He doesn’t wait for my response; instead, he saunters down the steps without another word for dramatic effect. His too-tight suit constricts his body, making his movements wooden.

After closing it, I allow my head to drop down to rest against my apartment door. My tongue skates across the front of my teeth as I laugh in disbelief despite the fact that nothing about this situation is remotely funny.

I’m drowning, and there are no buoyancy aids available, leaving me stranded out at sea, barely afloat.

Clenching my spare hand into a fist by my side as I strangle my phone with the other, I gulp in dread, knowing what I need to do.

There’s no way I can get this money to Greg in time, and even if I could, I know I can’t afford to stay here in the long run. Not without my veterinary nursing job.

Fuck.

My chest constricts as I flick through my contacts, hovering over my mom’s name, unsure whether to tap or pull away. I’m not ready for what she’ll have to say, but I know I’m going to have to bite the bullet.

She picks up after a few rings, and after an awkward and mostly one-sided conversation, it looks like I’m heading back to Montana to visit Mommy Dearest.