9. Time is Running Out – Lauren
9
TIME IS RUNNING OUT
LAUREN
T he dinner rush is in full swing, but I can't stop my eyes from darting to the door every time the bell jingles. Each time, my heart does a little flip, only to sink when it's not him walking through.
Dakota.
I try my best to just freaking focus on the orders in front of me. What am I doing? I barely know the guy. But after last night's conversation, I can't help but feel like maybe, just maybe, there's a connection there.
"Order up for table six!" Jen's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I grab the plates, forcing a smile as I deliver them to a family of four. The little boy at the table reminds me of Roman, and I feel a pang of guilt. I should be home with him, not here hoping for a glimpse of some rockstar who probably doesn't even remember my name.
Roman's fever finally broke, but the doctor confirmed another ear infection. Third one this year. The antibiotics are going to stretch our budget even thinner, and with Shannon's bombshell about when she’s moving to Seattle, I’m running out of time to get my life straightened out.
"Three weeks," she'd said over coffee, not quite meeting my eyes. "The show starts filming in three weeks. I have to go, Lauren."
I'd nodded, trying to be supportive, but inside, I was panicking. How am I going to manage rent on my own? Childcare? School? It's all too much.
The bell jingles again, and I look up, hope rising despite myself. But it's just another regular, sliding into his usual stool at the counter.
No Dakota.
It's stupid to be disappointed. He probably said he'd come back just to be polite. Why would he actually want to spend time in some run-down diner when he could be anywhere else?
"Earth to Lauren," Jen says, waving a hand in front of my face. "You okay? You seem distracted."
I force a laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as hollow as it feels. "Yeah, just tired. Roman's been sick."
Jen nods sympathetically. "Poor little guy. Hope he feels better soon."
As she walks away, I can't help but wonder what Dakota's doing right now. Is he at some fancy Hollywood party? In the recording studio? Or maybe he's just at home, having completely forgotten about the waitress he talked to last night. Or, better yet, he’s out with some hot model or something. That’s probably more likely.
The night wears on, and the weight in my chest grows heavier with each passing hour. By closing time, I'm full of disappointment and self-directed anger. How could I be so naive? To think that someone like him would be interested in someone like me?
As I wipe down the last table, I make a decision. No more daydreaming about rockstars. I need to focus on what's real. Roman. Finding a way to make ends meet without Shannon. Nursing school. Improving our future. That's what matters.
Not some guy who couldn't even be bothered to show up.
The last customer finally leaves, and I flip the sign to "Closed" with a sigh of relief. My feet ache, and I only want to get home to Roman. As I gather my things and head out the back door, I'm already planning tomorrow's budget in my head. Maybe if I cut back on?—
I freeze mid-step. There's a figure leaning against my car, illuminated by the dim parking lot lights. My heart races, fear and adrenaline coursing through me until I recognize the silhouette.
Dakota.
He looks up as I approach, and even in the poor lighting, I can see he's a mess. His hair is disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes look slept in. But his eyes are clear, alert.
"Lauren," he says, straightening up. His tall frame casts a long shadow. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
I approach cautiously, my earlier disappointment warring with concern and a hint of anger. "What are you doing here?"
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that seems more nervous than rockstar cool. "I... I wanted to apologize for not coming in earlier. I didn't want to bother you while you were working, but I really wanted to see you."
I cross my arms, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest at his words. "So, you decided to lurk in the parking lot instead?"
He winces. "Yeah, I realize now how creepy that sounds. I'm sorry. I just... I wondered if we could talk for a while? If you're not too tired, that is."
I should say no. I should get in my car and drive home to my son. But something in Dakota's eyes, a vulnerability I hadn't seen before, makes me hesitate.
"Talk about what?" I ask, softer this time.
He shrugs, looking almost shy. "Anything. Everything. I just... I had a rough night, and talking to you yesterday, it helped. More than you know."
I study him for a moment, weighing my options. Finally, I sigh. "There's a 24-hour diner a few blocks from here. We can grab a coffee if you want."
Relief washes over his face. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."
We head towards the diner, but I can't help but wonder what I'm getting myself into. Despite my better judgment, despite the voice in my head telling me to be careful, I find myself looking forward to whatever conversation lies ahead.
Maybe, just maybe, I'm not the only one who felt that connection last night.
As we walk, I pull out my phone. "Just give me a second," I say to Dakota, quickly typing out a text to Shannon.
ME: Grabbing coffee with a friend. Be home a bit late. How's Roman?
I hit send, then turn my attention back to Dakota. He's walking beside me, hands shoved in his pockets, looking almost nervous. It's such a contrast to the confident rockstar image that I can't help but feel intrigued.
"So," I begin, breaking the silence, "rough night?"
He lets out a dry chuckle. "You could say that. I almost did something I would have regretted."
I nod, not pushing for details. "But you didn't?"
"No," he says softly. "I didn't. But it was close."
We walk in silence for a moment, the weight of his unspoken struggle hanging between us. My phone buzzes, and I glance down.
SHANNON: He's fine. Still no fever. Have fun, but be safe! x
I smile slightly, tucking the phone away.
"How's your son?" Dakota asks, catching me off guard. "Roman, right? Is he feeling better?"
The fact that he remembered surprises me. "Yeah, Roman. He's doing okay. But it turns out he has another ear infection. Nothing we haven't dealt with before, though."
Dakota nods, looking genuinely concerned. "That's tough. Kids are resilient, but still... it must be hard on you both."
"It is," I admit. "But we manage. Always do."
We're quiet for another moment, and then Dakota speaks again. "Lauren, I want you to know that I meant to come in earlier. I was there, actually. Sat in my car for about an hour, trying to work up the courage."
I raise an eyebrow. "Courage? To enter a diner?"
He laughs, but it's a self-deprecating sound. "Crazy, right? I can perform in front of thousands, but the thought of walking in there, seeing you... it terrified me."
"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious.
He stops walking, turning to face me. His eyes meet mine, and I'm struck by their intensity. "Because you make me feel... real. Not like some stupid fucking rockstar, or some screwed-up addict, but just... me. And that's both amazing and terrifying."
The word 'addict' hits me like a physical blow. Suddenly, I'm back three years ago, the phone call telling me Miles was dead. The sleepless nights, the broken promises, the constant fear - it all comes rushing back.
A voice in my head screams at me to run, to protect myself and Roman from going through that hell again. Red flags are waving frantically in my mind. I should end this right now, turn around, and go home to my son.
But as I look at Dakota, I see something I never saw in Miles - a vulnerability, an openness about his struggle. He's not hiding it or making excuses. And despite every instinct telling me to flee, I find myself curious about his story.
Still, I can't ignore the warning bells. I need to be careful, for Roman's sake, if not my own.
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Addict, huh? That's a lot to process. I appreciate your honesty, but I hope you understand that I need to be careful. I have Roman to think about."
He nods, understanding and disappointment in his eyes. "Of course. I get it. I shouldn't have dumped all that on you right then. I'm sorry."
Before I can respond, the diner's neon sign comes into view. "We're here," I say, gesturing towards the entrance, grateful for the distraction.
I feel his hand brush against mine as we walk towards the door. It might be accidental, but the brief contact sends conflicting sparks and anxiety through me that I can't ignore.
Whatever happens next, I have a feeling this night is going to change things. I just hope I have the strength to handle it - and the wisdom to know when to walk away if I need to.