Beneath the Midnight Sky (Raven Creek #1)

Tomorrow Would be Better

A spen

Sixteen years old

Walking home from school was basically the only time I had to myself. Time that I was able to think and just exist in whatever form I wanted to.

I walked along the sidewalk; grateful it wasn’t a long journey as I tried my hardest to ignore how I desperately needed new shoes.

The pair I had on were wearing thin on the bottoms and had a hole in one side.

They’d been a gift from the last foster family I stayed with a year ago.

I actually hadn’t minded it there. The family was nice, and they had another foster kid my age, but then social services placed me back with my father, Henry.

Before the version of my father I was faced with every few days, he was apparently everything you’d want in a boyfriend. But that was back in high school, and it was only the story he fed me, along with stories of my mother from before I’d stopped asking about her.

He’d played football, becoming the best running back his high school had ever seen.

My mother was the head cheerleader, of course.

They won prom king and queen, completing the look of a perfect all-American couple.

He had a football scholarship, and she planned to follow him wherever he ended up.

The whole midwestern dream—until my mom got pregnant with me.

So the dream was canceled. Instead, he started working as a local car salesman, and life was fine. Simple, at least. Until my mother left right after I turned three. Since then, it’s just been us—my dad and me.

Well…it’d been me, and he sort of slid in and out when he was sober enough to remember I was around.

I’d been in and out of six foster homes since I turned seven, but I always ended up back with him.

He wasn’t abusive or anything like that. He sort of just…forgot I existed.

Sometimes I wondered which was worse—abuse or neglect.

Was it worse to be physically hit or for the one person in the world who was supposed to love you more than anything, to simply forget you were there at all?

Part of me always wondered if he wished he’d left with my mother.

Left to go live the life they wanted together, with me permanently in a foster home.

Maybe a nice couple would have adopted me.

Maybe I’d have siblings…maybe, maybe, maybe.

Shoving thoughts of the what-ifs aside, I made it home—sore feet and all.

I walked up the little steps into our two-bedroom trailer; the steps had caved in on one side, but the other side was fine.

Plus, it had windows on both sides of the trailer, so if I opened them all, the breeze would flow through almost as if we had working air conditioning all year.

I chuckled to myself because, honestly, my attempt to make it seem happier than it was was almost pathetic. My dad would say my optimism was a curse and a gift, but I wasn’t sure about the gift part of it. I felt as if I was just deluding myself into believing my life would turn out fine.

I tossed my backpack on the couch and walked into the small kitchen.

It didn’t take long to realize my dad hadn’t been to the grocery store again.

The empty appliance stared back at me like it had been the last few days—I laughed at my optimism that today would be different.

Letting out a sigh, I grabbed a glass of water and sat down to do my homework.

By the time I finished, it was almost nine, and still no dad in sight.

I sighed, putting away my school stuff and getting myself ready for bed.

Tomorrow would be better, or maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, two more years and I’d be out of here. That was what mattered.

Two more years and I’d be on my own, in art school, living my life exactly how I wished to.

Nineteen years old

“Hi! My name is Aspen, and I’ll be your waitress tonight. Can I get y’all started with some drinks?” I asked with my normal fake chipper ” I work here, and I have to smile for tips” attitude.

The table in front of me was a mother, a father, and their two kids. So, the normal Friday family date night sort of vibes. The family rattled off their drink order for me, and I smiled politely before walking off to put it in the computer.

Seeing the father coloring with his kids sent a pang of grief through my heart.

My dad had been gone for almost a year now, and I always wondered what my family could have been like if my mom hadn’t left and my father hadn’t slowly numbed the pain in his heart with alcohol, or maybe if he’d have been happier leaving with her.

Nevertheless, he had a heart attack right after I’d turned eighteen, and then I was alone.

Not that I hadn’t really been alone before that, but it was different knowing he truly wasn’t coming back this time. He wouldn’t be getting sober or mending our relationship; he was just gone. Along with any possibility of a brighter future with him.

Since I graduated high school, I’d been working in one of the three hundred ‘family-owned’ restaurants right off the Las Vegas strip.

They all claimed to be family-owned for generations, but who knew if that was the truth.

The owners now had only lived in Vegas for two years, so how “family-owned for generations” could it really be if the diner itself had been here since before I was born?

I brought over my table’s drinks, they thanked me, and waved me off while they looked over our basic dinner menu.

Burger or chicken tenders? What a hard dilemma to have.

I walked into the back kitchen and sat on a stool, giving them a few minutes so I wouldn’t hover. That was a sure way to a shitty tip.

I only had two tables at the moment, which was unusual since it was Friday night.

But it was the middle of January, so it wasn’t as if the strip was insanely busy right now.

The holiday crowd had died down, and the Valentine’s Day crowd hadn’t picked up yet.

Crazy couples seeking Elvis weddings wouldn’t arrive in droves for another month or so.

Nevertheless, grumbling wouldn’t help my paycheck. I wasn’t even supposed to work tonight, but I picked up the shift anyway. It beat being at home, and we needed the money for rent. Even two tables were better than nothing.

Sam, my boyfriend, was once again out of work. It seemed like it was back to being on my shoulders to keep us fed. I wanted to grab new paint supplies this week, but that would have to wait until after the rent payment.

I took a deep breath and slowly released it through my nose.

I told myself years ago that I was going to leave this city.

I was going to move somewhere far away where no one knew my father or my mother.

I was going to go to art school and become a full-time painter.

But I met Sam right before graduation, then my father passed, and the world just felt rather hopeless for a while.

Sam had seemed like the sweetest man to ever walk the planet, and most of the time, he was. But he struggled to hold down a job for more than a few months at a time. He was more of a free spirit who got bored easily if he wasn’t challenged enough.

He’d talked me into saving more money and going to school at home first. But school hadn’t happened at all yet. Whenever it came time to enroll, something would come up. He’d be out of work, the car would need something expensive, and so on.

So here we were. Me working extra shifts because he wasn’t feeling challenged .

I shook my head at the thought. I needed to stop blaming him. It was my own fault, too. I just let it slide and covered his portion of the bills every single time he was short. If anything, I was more to blame than he was. If I were that pressed, I’d stand up to him about it.

Getting up, I went to check on my two tables again. I took the second table’s order and then walked it back to the kitchen. After putting it up for the cooks in the back to start making it, I heard a familiar voice yelling my name.

Walking out of the kitchen, I looked toward the front of the diner where the voice came from, and realized it was Sam.

But he didn’t seem okay—he seemed somewhat unsteady.

His sandy brown hair was disheveled, as if he ran his hands through it one too many times on the way over here.

He’s wearing black joggers and an old, gray t-shirt, which was also wrinkled and worn in.

“Hey, baby, are you okay?” I asked him gently. Please don’t let him be drunk right now. Please.

He looked down at me, his normal dark chocolate-colored eyes were now bloodshot and glassy.

“We need to talk, babe. Now,” he said, his words slightly slurred.

I hated it when he called me that. It made my skin itch.

But what was actually driving my nerves was the fact that he was very clearly drunk at my place of employment.

Of all the places to pick, why did he have to do this here?

I sighed and took his hand in mine. “Okay. We can talk. Let’s go outside, though.” If I could keep him calm, it would be fine. If I could keep his voice at a reasonable level, it would be okay.

He yanked his hand out of mine and stumbled backwards a few steps. We must’ve been louder than I thought because my manager, Chris, came walking out of the back, and his eyes narrowed at Sam almost immediately.

“Is there a problem out here, Aspen?” Chris asked, giving me a pointed look that clearly said he knew who this was and didn’t want the drama in his diner—not that I could blame him.

“Of course not, Chris. Sam was just leaving.” All I could think was that I really couldn’t lose this job right now. Especially with Sam not working.

“No, the fuck I’m not, Aspen! I’m not fucking going anywhere.” His voice was raised now, and he’d caught the attention of almost every table in the diner, stomping his foot as if he were a toddler being told no for the first time in his life.