Chapter 7 #2
The simple apology caught me off guard. I'd expected justifications, explanations—not this straightforward acceptance of wrongdoing.
"I was scared," I admitted quietly. "Not just because you were there, but because someone else had been there too. Someone who went through all my things."
Walker turned, his expression serious. "I've got people looking into that. If someone targeted you specifically, we'll figure out why."
"People?" I echoed.
"My colleagues at Salvation," Walker explained, pouring beaten eggs into a hot pan. "We have resources that most private investigators would envy."
My stomach clenched at the thought of strangers investigating my life. "I don't have money to pay for that kind of help."
Walker glanced up from the omelet, his eyes serious. "No one's asking you to pay, Lottie."
"But I can't just—"
"Accept help?" He slid the spatula under the edges of the omelet with practiced ease. "Why not?"
I stared at my hands, unsure how to explain the lifetime of conditioning that had taught me independence was the only safe option. That needing help made you a burden, and burdens got left behind.
"I've always taken care of myself," I said finally. "I had to."
Walker was quiet as he folded cheese and vegetables into the omelet, his movements deliberate.
When he spoke again, his voice was carefully neutral.
"There's someone coming by this morning," he said.
"Her name's Fiona. She works at Kingdom, our other club, and she has Type two diabetes as well.
I thought she might be able to talk to you about management strategies that have worked for her. "
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again. The truth was, I could use the advice. My management had been slipping for months, and the constant stress of barely scraping by made it impossible to focus on my health the way I should.
"That would be...nice," I admitted.
Walker's expression brightened as he slid the omelet onto a plate and placed it in front of me. "Eat while it's hot. I'll make another for myself."
The food smelled amazing—fluffy eggs, a little melted cheese, and perfectly sautéed vegetables. My stomach growled loudly, and I felt heat climb my face. "Thank you," I murmured, picking up the fork.
Walker just nodded, already cracking more eggs for his own breakfast. I took a small bite, then another, surprised by how good it tasted. Before I knew it, I'd cleaned the plate.
"More?" Walker asked, eyebrow raised as he noticed my empty plate.
I shook my head, embarrassed by how quickly I'd devoured the food. "That was perfect."
He sat across from me with his own omelet, his dark eyes studying me as he ate. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
"What?" I asked finally.
"Why you didn't tell me about your diabetes when I was helping you after the attack?"
I looked away, heat rising to my cheeks. "It's not something I like to talk about."
"Even when it was putting your health at risk?"
His tone wasn't accusatory, just genuinely confused, which somehow made it worse. I wrapped my arms around myself protectively. "My uncle...he wasn't exactly thrilled when I was diagnosed."
Walker waited patiently, giving me space to find the words.
"I was seven," I continued, staring at the empty plate. "My parents had been gone for two years by then. He's my dad's older brother."
"The first time I had to go to the hospital, he was so angry. Not worried—angry. He kept telling the doctors how inconvenient this was, how expensive. He made sure I knew exactly how much my medication cost, how much the test strips cost, how much every doctor's visit cost."
Walker's jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
"When I had lows at school and the nurse would call, he'd lecture me all the way home about being careless, about making him leave work.
" My fingers twisted in the hem of the t-shirt.
"He used to time my injections at first, because I hated needles so much I'd put it off.
If I took too long, he'd grab my arm and do it himself, telling me I was being dramatic. " And it had hurt so much.
"Jesus, Lottie," Walker breathed.
"By the time I was ten, I was doing everything myself. Injections, counting carbs, making my own appointments with the doctor. He made it clear that my condition was my problem, not his." I laughed, a hollow sound. "He used to say that nobody wants a sick kid. That I was lucky he kept me at all."
Walker set his fork down carefully, as if afraid he might break it. "He was wrong."
"Maybe." I shrugged, trying to appear casual though my heart was racing. "But when you hear something enough times, you start to believe it. I learned not to ask for help, not to complain when I felt bad. I just...managed."
"Is that what you're doing now? Managing?" His voice was gentle, but the question cut deep.
"I was doing okay until recently," I insisted. "But the rent went up, and insulin is so expensive...I've been stretching it, skipping doses sometimes."
Walker's expression darkened. "That's dangerous, Lottie."
"I know that," I snapped, then immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry. I just—I don't have many options. The clinic helps when they can, but there's only so much they can do."
"There are programs—"
"That have waiting lists, or paperwork I don't understand, or requirements I don't meet.
" The nurse that regularly helped me had run into all sorts of problems, even though she'd tried.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself.
"I've tried, okay? I've called the numbers and filled out the forms. But something always goes wrong. "
Walker was quiet for a moment, studying me with those intense dark eyes. "Your uncle," he said finally. "Is he still in the picture?"
I shook my head. “He made me leave the day I turned eighteen.” Although he'd tried to call a couple of times recently. I hadn't called him back. Walker's expression shifted, his jaw tightening. I could see him processing this information, the muscles in his forearms tensing.
"He just...kicked you out?" Walker asked, his voice carefully controlled.
"Not exactly." I stared at my empty plate, tracing invisible patterns with my fingertip. "He told me six months before that I needed to start looking for somewhere to live. That his responsibility ended on my eighteenth birthday."
“And your parents didn’t leave you anything?” Walker pressed.
I shook my head. That had hurt, but they were young and it had been a fledgling start-up business.
There hadn’t been any payout as it had been ruled a no-fault accident and they didn’t have much life insurance, despite my uncle advising them to get some.
"He gave me the deposit I would need, but everything else is so expensive. "
"Where did you go?"
"I had a friend from school whose family let me stay on their couch for a few weeks.
I'd been saving whatever I could from my after-school job.
It wasn't much, but it was enough for first month's rent at my current place.
" I shrugged, trying to make it sound less pathetic than it was.
"The neighborhood was all I could afford. "
Walker was quiet for so long that I finally looked up. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes made my chest tighten. “What about school?”
I shook my head. “I tried but when the rent went up, I had to take more hours to cover it. I couldn’t fit in school as well.
” He put a mug of coffee down in front of me and, used to it black, I took a sip.
"I've been managing," I repeated a little defensively, though the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"You shouldn't have to just manage, Lottie," he said softly. "Not like this."
Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. Walker glanced at his watch.
"That'll be Fiona," he said, standing. "You okay to meet her? We can reschedule if you're not feeling up to it."
The consideration in his voice, the way he gave me a choice instead of making decisions for me, made something warm unfurl in my chest.
"No, it's fine. I'd like to meet her," I said, and meant it.
Walker nodded and went to answer the door. I heard muffled voices in the hallway, then footsteps approaching the kitchen. I smoothed down my borrowed shirt, suddenly self-conscious about my appearance.
The woman who entered behind Walker wasn't what I expected.
She was tall and curvy with bright purple hair cut in an asymmetrical bob, multiple piercings in each ear, and a sleeve of colorful tattoos running down her right arm.
She wore ripped jeans and a band t-shirt under a leather jacket, and when she smiled at me, her whole face lit up.
"You must be Lottie," she said, her voice warm and slightly husky. "I'm Fiona. I hear we have something in common."
I returned her smile tentatively. "Hi."
Walker cleared his throat. "I'll give you two some privacy. I need to make some calls anyway." He looked at me, his expression softening. "I'll be in my office if you need anything."
After he left, Fiona settled onto the stool beside me, setting a small backpack on the counter.
"So," she said, "The boss tells me you're having some trouble managing your blood sugar?"
The direct approach caught me off guard but surprisingly, it made me laugh. I liked her already.