Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Skylar
Irun my fingers through my hair, trying to fix it in the smeared, grimy window of Lou’s Diner.
It’s barely ten, but the air already reeks of burned grease, stale bacon, and broken fucking dreams.
A flickering “Help Wanted” sign hums in the corner, buzzing like it’s half a second from giving up on life.
Still, it’s a job. And I need it.
If Zane’s out there breaking himself to make money, then I need to step the fuck up. If he’s fighting to keep us afloat, the least I can do is stop watching him bleed for it.
“One small step for minimum wage,” Cassie mutters, pushing the door open with her hip. “One giant leap for future grease fires and deep-fried dignity.”
I shoot her a look. “You promised you’d be supportive.”
“I am,” she says, all sugar-sweet and full of shit. She leans against the counter like she’s posing for some fuck-you fashion campaign, all legs and attitude. “But I’m also not gonna lie to you. You’re gonna smell like onions and regret for the rest of your life.”
“You’re such a bitch.”
She grins. “Only to the people I love.”
The guy at the counter doesn’t bother to glance up.
He’s too busy filling his oversized cup with Coke from the self-serve fountain. He’s wearing a uniform, so I know he works here, but he’s moving slow as shit.
Someone in the back yells something about frozen patties, voice hoarse and pissed off, and another guy’s jamming a butter knife into the side of the milkshake machine, swearing under his breath while he smears something across his apron.
It’s chaos. Greasy, low-budget chaos.
The office door opens, and a man with a stomach too big for his shirt and a name tag that reads “Derek” waddles out, adjusting his belt.
Classy.
“You’re the one who called about the job?”
I nod. “Yeah. Skylar.”
He gives me the once-over. A bored, dead-inside look that says he’s sizing me up to see if I’ll quit before my first shift or make it long enough to wipe down a few tables.
“Have you ever worked in food service before?” he asks, already sounding tired.
“No,” I say, lifting my chin. “But I’m a fast learner and I’m really good with people.”
Cassie chokes on her gum behind me.
I swing my elbow back and catch her in the ribs. Hard enough to shut her up.
Derek scratches the back of his head.
“Pays fifteen an hour. Shifts are when we need you, mostly afternoons, weekends, and whenever someone fucks off without notice. We clean our own shit, and some customers are a special brand of asshole. You think you can handle that?”
I nod. “Yeah. I can handle it.”
He stares for a second longer, then shrugs, tired and over it.
“You’re hired. We’re desperate.”
Not exactly the dream scenario.
No handshake, no welcome aboard, no laminated training manual. Just a man in a sweat-stained polo admitting they’ll take whoever shows up and doesn’t puke at the smell of old grease.
But fuck it, it’s a job, a start. It’s something that might keep Zane out of that ring a little longer.
“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it. My voice is low but solid.
“Can you start Monday?”
I nod again. “Yeah. Monday’s good.”
“Bring sneakers,” he mutters, already turning away. “And don’t be late.”
He turns away, muttering something under his breath about fryers and teenagers, and Cassie nudges my shoulder with a smirk that’s already loaded.
“Well,” she says, popping her gum, “dreams do come true. Next stop: Employee of the fucking month.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Shut up.”
She widens her eyes. “No, seriously, I can already see your picture on the wall. Holding a mop with tears in your eyes.”
As we head to the door, I roll my eyes, but then I spot the table by the window.
Liam.
Of fucking course.
There he is, all varsity swagger and leftover ego, camped out with his two brain-dead shadows—Connor and Bryce. Same matching haircuts, like their barber gave them all the group discount for douchebags.
Cassie follows my gaze. “Jesus. I didn’t realize rats came with the fries.”
Liam grins, too wide, teeth flashing as if he thinks he’s charming. “Hey, Sky.”
I don’t answer.
“I didn’t know you were applying here.” His voice carries loud enough for the whole place to hear. “You planning on getting my order all nice and wet for me?”
I keep walking.
Bryce wheezes with laughter, already halfway to choking on his fries.
Connor mumbles something crude, probably about my mouth or my ass.
Cassie flips him off without hesitation, her middle finger standing proud. “Your face looks like a sunburned scrotum, Liam.”
I grab Cassie’s wrist before she can say more.
“Don’t. Not today.”
She turns, fire blazing in her eyes, jaw tight. “He can’t keep getting away with talking to you like that.”
I push open the door and step out. I keep walking, head held high, every step measured, refusing to give those assholes the satisfaction of knowing they got to me.
I can still feel their eyes on me. The way they stare isn’t curious. It’s ownership. The kind that makes your stomach twist and your skin crawl.
Cassie falls into step beside me.
“You know they’re not gonna let up,” she says after a few blocks.
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do. They are obsessed with you. It’s fucking gross.”
“They’re just assholes,” I say, voice clipped.
“No, they are the assholes who think “no” means try harder.”
I don’t answer because she’s right.
Everyone knows what they do at parties. How they corner girls when the music’s too loud and the lights are too dim. How they wait until someone’s too dizzy to stand straight. When a girl says no, they laugh, as if it’s a joke.
They run in a pack, feeding off each other’s arrogance, untouchable because their dads play golf with the sheriff and their moms host charity brunches.
Cassie sighs, dramatic as hell, then perks up like someone just handed her a shot of tequila.
“Okay, but real talk now. Are we celebrating your rise to burger royalty with fries or ice cream? I vote for fries. With cheese. And bacon. And zero shame.”
“Zane,” I say, before I even realize I’m thinking it out loud.
She pauses mid-stride. “Huh?”
“I want to tell Zane first.”
Her brows lift. “Oh?”
I shrug, trying to play it off. But the truth is, he’s the first person I want to tell.
Cassie’s expression softens instantly. All that sass melts off her face like butter on a hot plate. “He’ll be proud of you, too, Sky. Even if he just grunts and walks off, that’s Zane-speak for I’m fucking proud.”
“I hope so.” A smile tugs at my lips.
“You know what else I hope?” Cassie says, grinning. “That I get to be there the first time he walks in and sees you in a paper hat and apron while flipping patties.”
“Shut up.” I laugh, shaking my head.
“No, seriously. It’s gonna be the highlight of my entire year. I might film it. Could put it on TikTok. Caption it “bad boy gets emotionally wrecked over girl in food service uniform.”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks ache from smiling.
For the first time in a while, things don’t feel so impossible.
We turn down a quieter street with empty lots and boarded-up windows.
Cassie’s in the middle of some wild rant about how soft serve machines are government-controlled sabotage when I hear footsteps behind us.
Then a voice.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Skylar.”
My stomach drops hard.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Liam. That smug tone is carved into my bones from years of ignoring it.
Cassie goes rigid beside me. “Ignore them.”
I try.
But the footsteps keep coming.
Louder.
Closer.
Fast enough to make my pulse pound in my ears.
“Keep walking,” Cassie mutters.
I do.
“Not gonna say hi?” Liam calls out, with that fake fucking charm, the one he puts on when there’s an audience. “Hey, don’t walk away from us. So, you’re gonna act all stuck-up now that you’re flipping patties?”
Then another voice sounds behind me.
Bryce, the guy who’d laugh at his own dick pic, is trying to outgross the rest. “Heard they’re making her wear a tight little uniform. Bet she bends real easy over the fryer.”
Laughter follows. Not the kind that fades quickly, it’s cruel.
I grab Cassie’s hand without thinking, fingers clenched tight around hers as we pick up the pace. Our sneakers slap against the concrete, rhythm quickens, hearts thudding harder in our chests with every footfall behind us.
We cross the street without checking for traffic, instincts kicking in.
Fast walk turns into a half-run.
We pass a chain-link fence, a smashed phone booth, a dumpster that reeks of rot. But the street’s too still. The houses on this stretch are ghosted. Windows boarded up, yards overgrown, fences leaning as if they had given up a long time ago.
Despite that, they’re not stopping.
If anything, they are getting closer.
Cassie squeezes my fingers.
“Fucking hell,” she hisses. “They’re still coming.”
I don’t look back because I can sense them. The weight of their stares presses against my spine. The sound of their boots behind us is haunting.
“Should we run?” Cassie’s voice is low.
“No,” I mutter. “Don’t let them think we’re scared.”
But I am. I’m fucking scared shitless and my heartbeat is pounding like a fucking war drum.
“Skylar,” Liam calls again, dragging my name out with that smug cockiness that always makes my skin crawl. “Don’t be rude, Baby,” he adds. “We’re just being friendly.”
Cassie hisses beside me, “Fuck. I swear to God, I’m buying pepper spray and a taser the size of my dildo.”
“Walk faster,” I murmur, eyes locked ahead.
The echo of their boots picks up behind us.
Liam’s voice slides down my spine. “Where are you two headed in such a hurry, huh? Got somewhere better to be than with us?”
I don’t answer.
Neither does Cassie.
“Oh, come on, Slut,” Liam drawls. “No need to act all shy now. You’re always strutting around school in those tight little jeans. Thought you were begging for the attention.”