Chapter Two
Damon
S hoving my hard hat off, I stalk to my truck and ignore my co-workers calling after me. They want me to go out with them, but that isn’t an option, as they well know.
Thursday through Monday night, I work a second job as a bouncer at a popular club. Working two jobs suck, but I do what I have to do to make sure my mom gets the care she needs. She has early-onset dementia, so she needs someone with her at all times. The facility I have her at is one of the best, meaning she gets the best treatments, nurses, and doctors, but it also means I’m paying out the ass for her to be there.
I would do anything for my mom. She’s always been there for me—even when our lives went to shit ten years ago. She never once blamed me for what happened. Not that it had been my fault.
No, that laid with my dad—the bastard.
Throwing open the door of my truck, I throw the hard hat onto the passenger seat before shucking off the safety vest we’re required to wear. It joins my hard hat as I climb in and tear out of the parking lot.
We’d had an hour of mandatory overtime tonight, which I love because it’s good money, but it means I have less time until I have to be at Ivory Tower. It’s already six, and I have to be there by eight. I have to hurry back to my tiny ass apartment, eat, shower, and get ready before making the thirty-minute drive to the club.
If I plan on keeping this job, I might need to look at getting an apartment closer to work. Since my primary job is construction, we never know where the next project will be, so there’s no way I can live close to that job. The main thing that’s been holding me back is that my apartment is cheap. It’s barely five hundred square feet, but it’s just me, so there’s no reason for me to need more room than that. I’m not even there often except to sleep.
Working seventy-plus hours a week will do that. On days when I have to work both jobs, I’m lucky to get four hours of sleep. On the four days I only have to work one of the jobs, I crash the moment I get home and don’t wake up until it’s time to go to work. It’s not much of a life, but I’d sleep less if it means my mom is taken care of.
Even with both of my jobs, I wouldn’t be able to pay my bills and the cost of the facility mom stays at. In order to supplement my income, I also sell drugs. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I do what I have to do.
Pulling up to my apartment complex, I hurry up the stairs to the fourth floor. My neighbors are having another screaming match, but I ignore the noise as I push into my apartment. The two of them fight like this almost every day. Part of me wonders why they stay together if they fight like this. It’s insane.
I head for the kitchen and throw open the refrigerator, groaning when I see how little food I have. I need to go grocery shopping this weekend or I’m going to be out of food. For tonight, I pull out my last frozen pizza and set the oven to preheat.
While I wait the ten minutes it’ll take for the oven to heat up, I head to my bedroom and remove my boots and filthy clothes. There’s no point in dirtying anything else until after I shower, so I move around the apartment in my black boxer briefs. I pull out the black shirt and slacks I’m required to wear for work, setting them aside with clean boxer briefs and an undershirt.
Before heading back to the kitchen, I turn on my shower. It needs almost as long to warm up as the oven does. At least it’s got good water pressure, unlike the last apartment I had. I’d much rather deal with the old ass water heater here than the slow dripping shower that took twice as long to shower in.
Back in the kitchen, I pull out my pizza pan and get the frozen pizza ready to go into the oven. It beeps as I finish, and I slide it inside and set the timer. That’ll give me enough time to shower and get dressed before I sit down to eat.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling the pizza from the oven. I still need to pull on the black T-shirt and put on my shoes, but besides that, I’m ready. Now to scarf down my pizza and hope it holds me over until my fifteen-minute break later tonight.
Luckily, we’re able to get food from the kitchen at work, so I don’t have to worry about grabbing something for while I’m there. Ian, the owner of Ivory Tower, doesn’t want us to waste our short break so he makes sure to feed us. He’s a good guy.
After all, he was willing to hire me even though I have a record. Sure, it was just a misdemeanor assault charge when I was eighteen, but there are a lot of people who aren’t willing to hire someone who has been in jail.
Ian didn’t care that I had a record, nor does he care that I sell drugs at the club. He did tell me if I got caught, he’d be throwing me under the bus. Can’t blame him for that. I’m just grateful that he allows me to earn more money while I’m there. Even though he’s never asked for it, I leave him some cash after each shift—a small percentage of what I made that night. It’s the least I can do for the guy.
I’m absolutely beat already as I snag an energy drink from the fridge. While I know they’re not good for me, they’re the only thing that keeps me going on the days I have to work both jobs. I’ll go through at least three of them tonight.
By the time I finish eating, my energy drink is gone, and it’s time to head to work.
I grab my backpack filled with the drugs I’ll be pushing tonight—different types of pills. I’m not a fan of the heavier shit like coke and heroin. While they’re highly addictive and therefore create more repeat customers, that shit kills. Not that people can’t overdose on the pills I sell, but I feel better about it. Besides, it’s more lucrative at the club. Besides, Ian wouldn’t approve of me selling that shit. It was one of the rules he made clear. Pills only.
I pull on my security tee and boots before booking it back down the stairs to my truck. Because I have drugs in my car, I drive no more than a few miles over the speed limit. The last thing I need is to get pulled over with a backpack full of drugs.
Tonight should be busy so time will not only go faster, but I’ll be able to sell a shit ton of drugs. Fridays and Saturdays are the best nights for that, and the regulars all know they can come to me to get what they want.
As I pull into the employee parking lot, I take a deep breath.
I can do this.
Just like every other night, I’ll ignore the bone-weary exhaustion that runs through me and keep on keeping on.
Because what other choice do I have?
So what if I’m lonely and tired. So what if I haven’t gotten laid in six months.
Life is what it is, and I can only do what I can do.