Chapter 3
brIELLE
My hands shake as I count my money again, realizing I am, indeed, short on rent.
I’ve counted the stack of money I had hidden under my bed five times now.
The tips were pouring in last night, and I could’ve sworn I had more saved than what I’m counting, but I have been exhausted and could’ve miscounted.
I run my hands through my hair, sitting on the edge of the bed. I have no way to get more cash, and if I don’t have it before I go to work tonight, Chase is going to throw a goddamn fit.
If I didn’t want to inconvenience Bexley, I would’ve stayed on her couch like she offered, but I can’t do that to her—not when she has a little boy at home.
Bexley has been amazing since I met her, but that’s their safe place.
I don’t want to risk our friendship, and Kristie lives in a tiny studio apartment on the other side of town.
As much as I know it’s pointless, I decide to go down to the bank and see if they’re able to unfreeze my mom’s bank account that holds her savings. She left all she had to me in her will, and it might not be much, but it would save my ass right now.
It takes me about twenty minutes to drive there, and as I wait in line, I can’t help but think of my mom and the last time we were here.
I had just given her all the money I made at work to help pay rent and to cover her next prescription.
The state only helps so much, but it was never enough to cover all she needed—copays from her appointments and the endless tests.
It was all too much.
“Ma’am? I can help you if you are ready?” the lady behind the glass calls, snapping me out of my thoughts. I step forward, and the closer I get, the more she recognizes me, and the pity begins swimming in her eyes.
“Has there been any updates, Dorathea?” I ask, but the look on her face tells me this is nothing but a waste of time.
“I’m sorry, Brielle, but the bank froze her accounts.
Any of the money she had left is now part of the estate.
Once probate is complete and the creditors make their claims, you’ll be notified of what’s left,” she says, folding her hands on her desk.
“There’s nothing I can do. This process takes time.
” I only stare at her as the anger of the situation rises inside me.
“How the fuck does that work?” I ask, my voice rising enough to gain attention from others lingering around, but I don’t give a shit. “This is fucking bullshit. You know that, right?” I know it’s not her fault, but I don’t care anymore.
“Brielle, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you don’t stop yelling,” Dorathea says, her words final.
The security guard steps closer when I don’t immediately move.
“Fuck you, Dorathea. I hope this place burns to the ground,” I grind out before storming to the door, throwing it open and leaving.
My car door slams shut as I get in, and the sound cracks something open in me. A scream rips through my chest, bouncing off the windshield.
My fists come down on the steering wheel repeatedly until my chest is heaving and my hands throb. I suck in air, and it doesn’t feel like it’s doing a damn thing. My vision blurs, and I blink hard, trying to clear it up because crying won’t fix anything.
I drag in a shaky breath and stare straight ahead. I’ll figure it out. I have to.
I’ve spent the last few hours walking around downtown aimlessly. Silence fills me as I wait for time to pass before I have to be at the bar, and I can’t go back to the apartment for obvious reasons.
The sun is already gone, and the smell of rain lingers in the air, promising another wet night.
Thankfully, my jacket’s dry, and it’s not nearly as cold as it was yesterday.
My feet ache from walking, but I don’t stop—not until I need something to wake me up.
As I cross the street, I see a small coffee shop on the corner of Link Street.
Pulling the door open, I’m hit with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and my shoulders loosen as I get in line. Only two people are ahead of me, placing their orders with the barista, and the line disappears fast. At this hour, an open coffee shop feels like a small mercy.
“Hello. What can I get for you?” the barista asks from behind the counter, a smile on her face. She seems happy and carefree. It makes me feel even more annoyed as I order a large iced caramel macchiato.
Should I spend money on coffee? No, but if I don’t get some kind of caffeine in me, I won’t last long enough to get through tonight.
“Thanks,” I say to the lady who calls out my name once my drink is done.
Deciding I’ll head to The Whiskey early, I walk to my car, sipping on the iced coffee.
When I pull into the parking lot, I notice all the empty spaces.
It’s almost eight p.m. by the time I get inside, finding Susie in her office reading over some paperwork.
I plop down on the chair in front of her desk, and her eyes meet mine, a forced smile playing at the corner of her lips.
“What’s going on, Susie? I feel like I haven’t seen you much.” I lean back in the chair, enjoying the few minutes I have to rest my feet. I think it’s time I get some new shoes with better support because, fuck, my feet are throbbing.
“Oh, same shit, different day, kiddo. Nothing you can help with.” Her smile turns from forced to sad, and I wish more than anything I could help. I’m not sure what’s been going on, but she seems stressed.
Since the day I met Susie, she’s been nothing but outgoing and fun.
This bar is her whole world, and everyone here loves her.
She’s filled a void in my heart the longer I work with her, which is why I can tell something’s wrong, but she won’t confide in me.
She’ll try to take care of whatever issue she’s dealing with alone.
Maybe the meeting with the potential investor is stressing her out?
Although, I still think it’s odd to have a meeting this late into the day.
“I hate to ask, since you’ve been here every night this week, but Kristie took off. She won’t be back. I have the band coming to play, and it’s going to be packed. I’ll need you to stay until close.” She doesn’t look at me, eyes glued to the paper in front of her.
“What do you mean? Where’d Kristie go?” I ask as concern fills my voice. I was talking to her last night. She was supposed to be here to see the band play.
“I’m not sure,” she says, her jaw set tight. “She only told me she wouldn’t be back and not to contact her again—which means you shouldn’t try to get a hold of her either.”
Her tone hits like ice, and my stomach twists. My hands grip the edge of the chair. Something’s off, but I can’t focus on other people’s problems when I’m on the verge of being homeless myself.
“Got it,” I tell her, pushing myself up. I can hear the chatter of people out in the lobby, which tells me it’s going to start getting busy soon, and I need to get out there.
“Brielle,” Susie calls out before I make it to the door.
“Yeah?”
“I’m serious. Don’t try to contact her.” Her eyes flicker, a shadow passing over her face, but gone before I can read it.
“Yeah, okay, I won’t.” I force a smile and leave the room, something feeling off.