Chapter 16
Kayla
My bar job here at The Pit is very different to working on the island, and I am finding I want to be there more and more. I feel terrible because this used to feel like home, but now I am having to drag myself here, and I hate doing that.
Doren comes up beside me and slides a glass of water my way. “You look like shit.”
“Wow, tell me how you really feel.”
He chuckles. “I’m serious, did you sleep much last night?”
I think back to what happened last night and smile. No, I didn’t sleep much. Vero and Brawley came over to my loft, and let’s just say being the meat in their sandwich was amazing, but it left little time for sleeping. Especially when Vero wakes up with the fucking sun.
“I slept fine, and you need a haircut.”
He gives me a skeptical look that says he really doesn’t believe me.
“Well, you need a personality transplant.” He gives me a nudge, and we both get back to work.
While it’s not busy on a Wednesday night, we still have the normal crowd.
I’m pouring a beer for one of our regulars, Michael, who is telling me about his children’s upcoming visit this weekend and how excited he is since he hasn’t seen his grandchildren for a few months.
As he talks, I catch sight of someone out of the corner of my eye.
Panic claws its way into my mind, and I set the glass down in front of Michael harder than I intended.
No, it’s not him, I think to myself.
Surely my brain is just fucking with me. I turn my head and my vision blurs.
Aaron.
My whole body goes cold from the inside out, and my hands shake. I need to make sure. As I turn fully, I see that the man standing there isn’t him; he is older than Aaron, though he looks remarkably similar.
I twist away from him, gripping the edge of the bar as I breathe.
In through my nose and out through my mouth, just the way I was taught to ease the panic. Except my fucking body hasn’t caught up to my brain yet and my hands won’t stop shaking.
I face away from the customers and count the bottles on the shelf. One, two, three. Gin, vodka, rum. I start again, getting to nine and my chest pulls tight. The last time this happened was exactly a year ago. I thought I was past this, and yet clearly I’m not.
The noise in the bar grows louder and my vision completely blurs.
“Kayla,” Bianca says, her hand coming down on my shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” she says quietly, or maybe I just can’t hear her right because her voice sounds off. “Go out the back and take a break.”
“I can’t.”
“Go.”
I nod and hurry toward the back. When I push through the door, the corridor narrows and breathing gets harder. I make it as far as a stack of crates beside the fire exit before I collapse on one of them and drop my head in my hands.
Breathe.
I can’t draw a full breath into my lungs.
That’s the thing nobody tells you about panic attacks. It’s like your body is convinced it’s dying, and the harder you try to breathe, the more the air won’t come. Though I know this, it doesn’t help. My hands are trembling worse now, and I press them flat against my jeans to stop the movement.
In through your nose.
I can’t.
I just need air.
The sound of the door opening is not a priority right now. I don’t bother looking up. It’s a distraction I don’t need when I just want air.
“Hey.”
I relax slightly, knowing it’s Doren. He shuffles in front of me and his hands cover mine.
“Five things.”
“Stack of boxes,” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound right. “The fire door, the . . .” I stop and drag in half a breath. “The yellow sign on the extinguisher, the light on the ceiling, and your shoes.”
“My shoes are very nice.”
I almost laugh but it comes out as a sob instead. I slide my hands from beneath Doren’s and press the heels of my palms against my eyes as I murmur, “Four things I can touch.”
“Take your time,” he says, his voice sounding more like him.
I press my hands against my thighs again, then the crate under my legs. Rub the fabric of my shirt and spin a ring on my hand. “Three things I can hear. The music from the bar, the old-ass fridge, and you breathing annoyingly calm.”
“One of us has to be.”
I breathe, getting a whole lungful, and it feels amazing. “Two things I can smell. Stale beer and floor cleaner.”
“It’s a classy establishment.”
“One thing I can taste. Does my own spit count?”
“I will get you some water in a minute. You good now?”
I’m not good, but my hands have stopped trembling, and I can breathe again. So I’m as good as I am going to be right now.
Aaron is not here.
He has never been here.
He doesn’t know where I live or where I work.
He has been in prison for years.
He doesn’t know where I am.
Repeating that mantra in my head, I make myself believe it, as I have done everything right, including relocating and changing jobs.
I have been okay since I left him and am now the best version of myself.
I will still be okay because I am no longer scared of my shadow.
I am barely scared of anything and have learned to be strong.
Only that fucking bear hunt song freaks me out, and I still don’t know how Vero even knew about it. It is an irrational childhood fear, one my parents used to make me behave and stay in bed as a child. One fear I cannot shake. It makes no sense, and it has not been an issue until Vero.
“There was a man at the bar,” I tell Doren. “He looked like someone I used to know, and it freaked me out a little.”
Doren doesn’t ask who, knowing me well enough that if I wanted to tell him I would.
“I knew it wasn’t him, but my body apparently didn’t get the message.”
“That sucks.”
“I thought I was past this—it’s been a year since the last one.”
He looks at me. “You’re a tough bitch, Kayla. You’ll be okay. Did you want me to tell Rogue?”
I snort, and it’s very unladylike. “God, no.”
“Good choice, she would mother-hen you. Stay here for another five and I will cover you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He stands up and looks down at me. “Five minutes and then come back in. I will have a glass of water ready for you.”
Once I nod, he turns his back and walks toward the bar. I sit and breathe, making sure I am good to go back in there.
After my five minutes are up, I head back inside, and the rest of my shift passes by quickly with no more panic attacks. Everything seems normal, thanks to Doren not treating me like I’m fragile. He was his normal charming self, insulting me at every chance he got.
My phone buzzes as I am walking outside after my shift ends, and I retrieve it from my bag.
Brawley: He is at the corner store.
I smile and send a reply.
Kayla: Thanks. I will go find him.
Brawley: If you need me let me know.
I pocket my phone and wave to Bianca, who is smoking outside on her break.
The convenience store is lit up, and I walk inside to look for Vero. I hear him straight away.
“I’m not asking for much, just chicken nuggets. Six would be good—you don’t even need to make twelve. A half-serve. Oh, a tasting plate.”
“We don’t sell nuggets.”
“You sell hot fries.”
“Yes.”
“So you have a fryer?”
“Also, yes.”
“So what you’re telling me is that you have the fryer, hot oil, and no nuggets. This is a tragedy of epic proportions.”
As I come around to where the counter is, the man is looking at Vero as if he has lost his mind.
I grab a bottle of water and bring it to the counter. “I’ve been told he has been like this his entire life,” I interject. “There is no cure.”
Vero spins around, his smile contagious. “Paper-cut princess, tell him I need nuggets.”
“I am not getting involved in your nugget situation.”
“There shouldn’t even be a nugget situation.” He glares at the man. “Do you know who doesn’t sell nuggets at midnight? Villains and people who don’t want the world to be a better place.”
The man scans my water.
“I will cook nuggets when we get to my place. There are still some left that Brawley brought over with you yesterday.”
His whole mood changes and he loads the snacks from his arms onto the front of the counter.
I pull out my card, but he snatches it from me, producing his own. Once the man rings everything up, Vero pays and hands me back my card.
“I think the lack of nuggets would be a good reason to test those paper cuts.”
I snort and take the bag of snacks, grab Vero by the arm, and drag him out of the store before we get thrown out.
We step outside, and Vero takes the bag and starts rummaging around in it, handing me my water. He then pulls out a bag of sour gummy worms and tears it open, offering me some before he tips some into his mouth.
Vero asks about work and keeps the conversation casual, which is almost alarming, but when we are half a block from my place, that changes.
“I have a business proposal for you.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“I don’t need to. If you’re asking me, that means Brawley said no or you know he will say no.”
“It involves paper cuts, so it’s not his domain—it’s ours. It is a very serious moneymaker. I have done research, and yes, Brawley says it’s a terrible idea, but what does he even know?”
“How do you plan to make money from knowing how many paper cuts it takes to die?”
“We have moved past death; we are now onto torture and psychological warfare. It’s much more scalable. I pitched it to Banks, and he said, and I am quoting him directly, ‘I have concerns about the liability exposure.’ Which I thought was rich coming from a man who makes cum moisturizer.”
“I don’t see how it would work, you know, with the staying out of jail aspect. But maybe keep it on the back burner for a little while.”
Vero bounces as he walks. “See?! You are so smart. Oh, yes,” he says as we stop at my loft. “It’s nugget time!”
I pull out my keys and open the downstairs door, and we take the stairs up to my loft. Vero is a gigantic ball of energy, and once I unlock the top door, he rushes inside. He dumps his bag of snacks on the table and beelines to the kitchen to find the nuggets.
I kick off my boots and drop my bag as I watch him tear through my freezer.
“Found them,” he announces, holding the bag in the air. “This is why I love you.”
“Because I have nuggets?”
“Because you have nuggets and didn’t throw them away.”
He pulls out a tray and turns on the oven. “Brawley wouldn’t let me cook at midnight. He would just pull a face.”
“What face?”
Vero turns to me and makes a very good impression of Brawley. I laugh and Vero joins me.
“He has been making that face since we met. I think he might have been born with it because there is a baby photo of him making that face at whoever is taking the picture.”
I pull myself up onto the counter and watch as Vero figures out my oven—the temperature dial sticks and he doesn’t realize it yet. When I reach down and fix it for him, he looks at me and then at the dial.
“You knew it was broken?”
I nod. “I was curious how long it would take you to figure it out.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Nothing will keep me from my nuggets, woman.”
He places the tray in and steps between my legs. “You good?”
“I am now because you’re here,” I tell him.
He grabs his second bag of sour worms from the counter beside us and pulls one out, offering the bag to me.
I shake my head and he shrugs. “Brawley wanted me to walk you home tonight. They were all busy doing boy stuff, which sounded boring. I prefer to be around you.”
“I like being around you as well.”
“Three more minutes.”
I laugh. “If you are referring to your nuggets, the oven hasn’t even warmed up yet.”
“It will be fine. I can negotiate with it.”
I smile at him. There is no way I will let him eat half-frozen nuggets. He can learn to have some patience.
After fifteen minutes, he deems them cooked enough.
He brings them to the bed, and we put on the television, choosing a serial-killer documentary.
Vero is the only person insane enough to enjoy them with me.
Brawley vetoed it last night, and sure that ended in sex, but Vero is content to eat his nuggets and commentate how he’d have done things differently so he wouldn’t get caught.
Meeting him was hands down the best thing that has ever happened to me. Though it was a little rocky there for a minute, I’m glad I forgave him and didn’t let my past with Aaron ruin it for me.