Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Shaye
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say to no one in particular.
The storage area to The Gold Room is a wreck.
The supplies that were delivered on Friday still sit in cardboard boxes—well, most of them.
Some of them spill over onto the floor. Pantry items are askew on the large metal shelves along the wall and something wet with a blue shine has pooled under the shelf where we keep the dish soap.
“This is wonderful,” I mumble, trying not to break my neck on the slick surface.
I hang my purse in the locker with my name spelled out with children’s magnets and then slam it. The sound must echo through the kitchen because Nate’s head pops around the corner.
“Thank fuck you’re here,” he says, annoyance embedded on his handsome features. “I was getting ready to come looking for you.”
I smile because he would’ve done exactly that.
Nate Hughes is good people. We met at a bar—ironically not his bar, The Gold Room.
It was late one night a few months ago and I was at an impasse.
Tequila sounded like an acceptable answer.
It was as good of a solution as any in my clouded, this-may-as-well-be-total-rock-bottom moment.
Nate and his brother, Dominic, just happened to be there.
Before the night was over, Nate had quietly labeled me as one of his tribe—a ragtag bunch of misfits, for the most part—and offered me a part-time job.
I accepted. The rest is history.
“I would’ve left to avoid this mess too.” I wrinkle my nose as I look around the room. “What the hell happened here?”
“Murray.” Nate gives me a pointed look as he fills the doorway with his broad shoulders. “He was in one of his moods and tried to start shit with Paige over a fish sandwich. Things got a little … heated.”
Imagine that. “And messy, it appears.”
The corner of his lip twitches. “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been. I didn’t break his face.”
I shake my head. We both know he’d never hurt Murray. Murray is like a son to him, despite the fact that Nate’s not actually old enough to be his dad.
“I fired him,” he says, as if this shores up his point. “I love the guy, but he can’t act a fool to Paige. I won’t have it.”
“So he’ll be back, when? Tomorrow?”
“Probably not until Friday.” He smiles sheepishly. “He’ll be out of money and full of apologies by then.”
“You’re weak, Hughes. Weak.”
He laughs and steps into the room. “Forget Murray. How are you? Any broken bones? Do I need to go hunt anyone down?”
My skin tingles as I think about Oliver.
It’s such a shame that the universe wasted a perfectly good meet-cute on me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “My car is currently held together by zip ties though.”
As if on cue, images of Oliver and his unintentional smolder fires through my brain. I wonder vaguely if I’m always going to have a Pavlovian reaction to the word zip ties.
My stomach clenches.
There could be worse things to endure.
“I’m fine,” I reiterate.
Nate’s brow furrows. “Okay. Want me to look at your car?”
“Nah,” I say, taking a waist apron off a shelf. “It’ll be fine.”
I tie the apron around my middle and ignore Nate’s piercing gaze. He doesn’t say a word but he doesn’t have to. I know what he’s thinking.
Nate’s irritation over my refusal to accept help from anyone is no secret. His heart is as big as his shoulders and rebuffing his attempts to help never goes over smoothly. But I love that about him.
“Hey, I have some good news for you.” I fiddle with the ties at the small of my back. “Your girl here has a job interview tomorrow. And that’s a damn good thing because the temp job the staffing company told me they had for me—the one at the Creamery? They made a mistake.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. But the good news part of this is that one of the resumes I sent out over the past couple of weeks panned out and I have an interview in the morning.”
Nate smiles. “That is good news as long as that means I won’t lose you around here.”
“I’m not going anywhere. This is the only night job I’ll ever have.”
“Good.”
I laugh as my hands fall to my sides. “Trust me when I tell you that working two jobs—three if I can find a third that can coordinate with the other two—is not where I wanted to be at thirty years old. I’ll require this second job for the foreseeable future.”
He takes a deep breath almost as if he already regrets what he’s about to say and Nate Hughes regrets very little of what comes out of his mouth.
My nerves fizzle back to life as I open my locker. I don’t need more lip gloss but I also don’t need to stand in front of him like a target waiting to be shot.
Just as I put the cap back on the tube, he sighs.
“Dominic told you that Camilla could help you,” he says warily.
I fire a glare over my shoulder. “Stop.”
“Come on, Shaye. Think about it.”
I slam my locker again. It causes the y magnet to fall to the floor.
I level my gaze with my boss. My friend. I know he means well. His heart is as big as his shoulders. But I just wish he’d stop.
Nate’s features soften as he marches over my line in the sand. I’ve drawn it more than once. My problems are my problems—whether they actually are or not. Tangling money with friendships is never, ever a good idea.
Not ever. In the history of evers.
“Dom’s girlfriend is loaded,” he says. “And Camilla has this intense need to help people—which I don’t understand. If I had her money, I’d just live on an island by my damn self and roll around in it.”
“Oh right. Sure.”
“I would.”
I press my lips together. “Nate, you aren’t loaded and you give free ham sandwiches out like you own a pig farm. Don’t try to sell me that I’d just live on an island by my damn self bullshit. We both know that isn’t true.”
He tries to stay stone-faced but it doesn’t last. Finally, he cracks. “Fine. But this isn’t about me or ham sandwiches. It’s about you and the way you refuse to let someone give you a loan that will never miss the money.”
I turn on my heel and start picking up the mess scattered across the floor.
“Will you at least think about it?” he asks, coming up beside me and picking up a box. “You work yourself to the bone. You live in a neighborhood that’s getting shittier by the day—no offense.”
“None taken.”
He puts the box on a shelf before leaning against it. “And you are paying a debt that’s not even yours.”
I grind my teeth together and stare at him.
I can’t be mad at him for speaking the truth. But I can be pissed at the way hearing it out loud makes me feel.
My blood runs hot with anger but my chest squeezes in pain. It’s the worst kind of pain too. It’s the kind of hurt that comes from so many places that you know you’ll never be able to fix it. There’s no antidote for it.
Nate takes a step toward me. “No one deserves to be saddled with a one-hundred-thousand-dollar bill that they didn’t run up.”
I reach for another box. “I went along with it, so it’s mine. Plain and simple.”
“It’s not that plain or simple.”
“Okay, true. But no one else needs to have the burden thrust on them. I’m not making this someone else’s problem.”
“Luca sure as hell made it fucking yours.”
I tuck the box at my side and face him head-on. The bridge of my nose tickles like it does just before my eyes start to water. I pinch it with two fingers.
Of all the friends to find at the end of a shitty day, I’m thankful that I found Nate. But he doesn’t always get that when you’re used to doing life on your own, it’s hard to rely on others—even kind souls that chose you as family.
“Nate, buddy, I appreciate your big-brother act and all but—”
“It’s not a fucking act, Shaye.” His voice is as solid as a rock. “You have no one in the universe to go to bat for you. My bat is big enough to take care of you too.”
I know how he means it, but I can’t resist. It’s a good way to defuse the situation and avoid tears.
“How many women have you used that line on?” I tease, dropping my hand from my nose to my side.
He sighs in frustration, but smiles nonetheless.
“Look,” I say, putting another box on the end of the shelf, “I’m fine. I’m going to be fine. Everyone has to work for a living. I’ll just be working two jobs until the day I die.”
I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He wants to argue with me. But, slowly, I watch him relent.
Thank God.
“Speaking of working for a living, let’s get to it.” I find a towel perched on top of a stack of cups. “Is Paige still here?”
He nods. “Yeah. The dining room is pretty slow though. Would you mind cleaning this up? I can circle back in a few and help you, but I need to run a couple of errands.”
“Go. I’m good. It’ll be easier if you stay out of my way.”
“You just want me to stay away so I won’t talk to you.”
“No,” I say, tossing the towel on the floor next to the spill. “It’s just a fortunate side effect.”
He chuckles. “I wonder why I like you sometimes.”
“Same, Nate. Same.”
He flashes me a boyish grin and disappears through the doorway.
I kneel and gather random lids that are scattered under the shelves. The process gives me a moment to collect my thoughts—and emotions—too.
My heart is still tender. I massage it absentmindedly as I think about what Nate said.
You have no one in the universe to go to bat for you.
I force a swallow down my throat and set my jaw in place. My teeth ache as I clamp them together in a form of determination.
Nate is right. I have no one on my side in the world. And I’ll be well served to remember that.
The only two people I’ve ever really trusted to be on my side one hundred percent are my mother and Luca. Both were a mistake.
Mom took Luca’s side when we split, accusing me of being spoiled.
She refused to understand that Luca had been so careless about our finances that I struggled to pay the utilities most months.
She wouldn’t hear about him shoving me against a wall when I threatened to leave or taking my keys with him to work so I couldn’t go anywhere.
She didn’t care that I didn’t love him anymore and that I wasn’t sure he ever really loved me.
And, when he crashed his car and died? She blamed that on me too.
We haven’t spoken since.
I put a stack of lids into a box at my side and let my hand rest on the edge. The cardboard bites into my wrist.
It’s sad that I feel more comfortable alone in life than with my family. It hurts my heart. But admitting the truth is the first step in moving on from trauma. At least, that’s what I read.
“I’m going to be fine,” I say quietly, pulling my hand back from the box. “I’m in control. I’m in the driver’s seat.”
My lips break out into a half-smile, half-grimace as I think about the last time I was in an actual driver’s seat.
Oliver’s smile slips into my brain, sweeping out thoughts of Mom and Luca.
I sit back on my heels. A sigh topples from my lips.
My arms cross over my chest and I snuggle into my shoulder, unable to remove the grin from my face. I search through our interaction—not with the fine-tooth comb I will use tonight, I’m sure—and try to find something, anything to indicate that he was annoyed. Or irritated. Or frustrated.
And I come up with nothing.
Could he really be remarkably handsome and unwaveringly kind? Does that kind of guy really even exist?
I drop my arms and shrug. Who knows? Not me and I never will. By the time I get my act together, all the good men in the world will be scooped up.
My knees scream as I get to my feet and get back to work, but that can’t matter. As Nate pointed out, I have an enormous debt to pay. And, as they say, life goes on.
Well, debt does, anyway.