Chapter Eight #2
I checked my watch, my hate-filled gaze lingering on the small hand, trying to will it to move faster. There were still over ten hours until my shift ended. Ten hours. Of free time.
Free time scared the daylights out of me. It was something my brain didn’t comprehend. How could someone just roam about all day with nothing on their schedules, no plans for meals, no scheduled wind-down time in the evenings to decompress from the day?
Yes, every now and then I planned for things to go wrong.
It was statistics. Things could never go right for one person every single day.
There was a balancing game being played, and everyone on the planet had their own dice to roll.
But I’d already had several bad rolls, a few of them nearly costing me my life and thus derailing everything I had planned.
It had taken considerable effort to get myself back on some sort of track, and now… now I was free for ten hours.
The lump in my throat jumped down into my stomach, calling forth a wave of panic set to knock me on my ass for at least a week. “What am I going to do?”
I walked to the edge of the property, where the concrete met the wood of the docks, and dropped my head for a few moments, my mind racing with thousands of possibilities.
Images of my progress fading away consumed me.
The sun was hot on the top of my head, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I tried to get a grip.
It was no use.
The burning in my throat refused to cease as I folded my arms around myself, my entire body feeling as if it were two seconds away from exploding, and scanned the parking lot. I could feel the walls wanting to close in around me, my routine interrupted.
I had done everything right.
I followed the plan.
I was good.
That’s all the world wanted me to be, right?
“And yet?” I muttered as I took the first step off my path.
I headed down to the Buoy, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk as locals and tourists brushed by, relaxed and calm.
I couldn’t look at them. If I did, they would see the difference.
They would see how messed up I truly was on the inside, how my brain couldn’t function like theirs.
And then, due to my newfound stress, I would become overwhelmed with emotion.
The tears would come. I would be labeled as overly dramatic.
I could practically hear their judgment.
So your boss sent you home for the day. What’s the big deal?
I wish I could get a day off. You have no idea how lucky you are.
You’re crying over nothing. Stop being a drama queen.
You have to grow thicker skin.
The Buoy was packed. Typical given the day and time of year.
Once I was in the parking lot, I lifted my head and sucked in a long breath through my nose.
It was filled with a variety of cars, some old, some new, some too expensive to be from anywhere in Astoria.
There were a few groups of people standing just outside the entrance, mainly fishing crew back early.
They had big, sweaty smiles on their faces and cigars hanging from their mouths, and their laughter echoed across the hot black pavement.
It must’ve been an excellent day out at sea.
The wind shifted, blowing my hair over my shoulders, and as I released the breath, I looked over to the dark water, ignoring the hovering seagulls searching for lunch.
The waves were wild today, crashing against the shoreline, rocking the boats in their designated slots, their flags waving with violent tremors that had no signs of stopping.
The salt in the air was strong, and far out in the distance, there was a wall of dark clouds.
“I fucking hope that doesn’t hit us.”
I flinched, and I turned, finding Joey standing a few feet from me, trash bags in either hand.
“The weatherman said there was a good chance of it shifting south before hitting Astoria,” I said, shifting my weight.
He grunted and moved quickly to the dumpster perched at the end of the parking lot. Once he’d tossed the bags, both landing with a forceful smack, glass shattering, he turned to face me, hands on his hips. “You looking for Margo?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Possibly.”
He raised a dark brow and his head tilted the side. “You all right, Angel?”
Joey was a good man. He’d just had a stroke of bad luck that had put him in a hole.
The problem with that, according to Rachel, was that he’d gotten comfortable in the hole and had refused to let go of the shovel.
He’d lost his way after the sudden death of his dad, the previous owner of the Buoy.
Today, though, he looked different. A good difference.
There were no bags under his eyes, no cigarette tucked behind his ear, and his hair…
looked thicker than it was the last time I saw him.
His skin looked brighter, healthier. His five-o’clock shadow was also gone.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“Oh—I, uh.” I cleared my throat and looked away, focusing on the pretty red Corvette parked in the end spot. “Sorry, I just…You look different.”
“Different?”
I nodded. “Yeah, Joey. Different.”
He waited for me to look at him again before he deadpanned, “Please tell me it’s a good fucking different, because, fuck me, therapy and upgrading oneself is damn expensive.”
Therapy? Upgrading?
“Yes,” I rushed out. “It’s a good different. You look healthier.”
“I do?”
I gave a second nod and averted my eyes again.
“Well, shit. Thanks, babe.” I heard him sigh and couldn’t mistake the glaring relief within it. “Progress takes time, but I’m glad it’s noticeable now.” He paused. “Did Marg fire you or something?”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head and I gaped at him. “I—what? Did she tell you that? Did she call you?” I asked, skin vibrating, chest aching. I was seconds away from puking up my yogurt from this morning.
“Whoa,” he urged, holding up his hands. “Angel, it was just a guess. I’ve never seen you outside in your uniform before. It’s the middle of the day. Did she send you on an errand?”
Before I could stop them, the tears came—hot, heavy, and downright excruciating. “N-no,” I pushed out, gasping for air as my throat tightened. “She sent me home because I got into a car accident last night.”
He stepped forward. “Angel, what the fuck?” he clipped, panic glimmering in his dark eyes. “Why are you not at home?”
“It was just a little fender-bender,” I cried, my arms falling to my sides.
My purse slid down with them, and I was too paralyzed with devastation to try and stop it from hitting the ground.
“I don’t know what to do! I’m supposed to work until seven today, and we’re launching lemon tarts this evening.
I’m not going to be there for that, and I’ve spent the last week perfecting that recipe.
What if someone doesn’t like them and I’m not there to—”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he interrupted with a furrowed brow.
I swallowed the rest of my words and assessed the situation. Joey was staring at me, but not in a “wow, she’s fucking crazy” way. His eyes were filled with concern, genuine and caring. It was something I never expected. Especially since Margo and Rachel always complained about how grumpy he was.
“It’s okay…I’ve just…I’ve had a rough few days.” I slowly told him, carefully choosing my words. “I didn’t think Marg would send me home…” Especially on such an important day.
“Yeah, I can understand that,” he replied, putting his hands in his jean pockets as he looked back at the bar. “The world never slows down, no matter how much you beg it.”
His words struck me.
Another tear hit my cheek, gliding down and disappearing into my collar. “Yes.”
His kind brown eyes met mine again. “Think of it like this: perhaps this is a good thing. A chance for you to rest and regroup.”
I didn’t know how to rest outside of my schedule.
Resting outside it…felt foreign. It was terrifying to even think about. Still, I couldn’t let him know that. “Perhaps,” I uttered, running a hand through my hair.
“Do you need someone to take you home?” he finally asked, blowing out some air. He tossed his thumb over his shoulder. “Margo isn’t here, but I’m sure Rachel would be happy to.”
I shook my head, the fear of being a burden weighing heavily on my shoulders. “No, no. I couldn’t ask her to do that. She’s in the middle of her shift.”
“I’ll keep her on the clock.”
Something moved out of the corner of my eye, and I turned to find Hayes coming around the building.
He was dressed in black cargo pants and a crisp white shirt.
His eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviators.
He looked like he just stepped off the set of Top Gun.
Just as he was about to reach his Jeep, his head turned and those sunshades were pinned on me.
“Here we fucking go,” Joey mumbled, shaking his head.
“Here what goes?”
“Angel?” Hayes called, his deep voice stretching to me.
I lifted my hand and gave him a practiced but polite wave. “Hello, Hayes.”
He didn’t speak until he was a few feet away. “Everything okay?” he asked, pulling off his shades. He shot a look at Joey. “What are you doing here?”
My tongue shot up to the roof of my mouth. “Well, I…I was just here on my lunch break,” I blurted out.
Joey rolled his eyes. “Babe, I don’t know if anyone has told you this, but you’re a terrible liar.”
Hayes’ eyes were burning into my profile as I stared at Joey. “No, I’m not,” I told him.
“Let me rephrase. You’re terrible at lying to him.” He pointed at Hayes. “This fucker is a walking lie detector.”
“Angel,” Hayes called.
I didn’t want to look at him. If I looked at him, I would start crying again. Then he would call Margo and she, being the amazing human she was, would come to my side. I didn’t need her to do that. She was slammed with work.
“Yes?”
He took a step closer. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I chirped.