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“Here,” Wendy says, and when I look up at her, I realize she’s holding a paper towel. “You’re crying.”
“I’m fine.” I rub the scratchy material over my face, then hiccup. “I swear I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you are,” she says, but she doesn’t look convinced as she pours me another shot. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? I mean, if he’s calling you this much—”
“I’m sure,” I say too quickly. Too viciously. Too heartbrokenly.
Jackson Cade’s game with me is over now, and I lost.
My virginity. My restaurant. And worst of all, my heart.
When I go into work the next morning, I start for Dad’s office immediately to confront him, but he handles the first half of the deed for me. Just before opening for lunch, he calls everyone on duty—Brooke, Ziggy, the rest of the kitchen staff—to a meeting in the dining room. “You think he’s going to announce we’re getting a raise?” Brooke asks as she slides into a booth beside me and waits for my father to break his big news. “Because I could really use it.”
I don’t meet her gaze because I know the disappointment and fury is written all over my mine. “I doubt it,” I choke out.
“You never know,” she says with a shrug. “Things have been going better around here.”
But when Dad starts talking, Brooke’s optimism quickly disappears. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her face fall as Dad lets everyone know this location—like The Sandwich Station down the street—will be closing at the end of summer.
“They’re reopening in Litchfield,” Ziggy points out. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and cocks an eyebrow at my dad. “Are you saying we’ll be moving or are you saying it’s over?”
My father’s never been one for confrontation. It’s obvious Ziggy’s question flusters him because he shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet. “Business hasn’t been doing so great. Maybe in a year or two, I’ll consider reopening York’s.” He flinches when Ziggy snorts and takes off for the kitchen, mumbling that he’s got to get the grill ready for lunch. Dad is silent for a moment, meeting the rest of our stares. He stops on my face for just a second and swallows hard.
“For now, we’re closing for good,” Dad says.
It’s a load of bullshit. It’s a load of absolute bullshit, but nobody calls him out on it as he calls the meeting to a close. My co-workers wander off, dazed and upset by his news, and Dad doesn’t look at me when he slinks away to hide in his office. For a long time, I sit in that booth, grinding my teeth together as bitter anger swirls through me. He could barely look me in the eye because he knows he fucked up.
Climbing out of the booth, I walk to his office, my legs going number with each step. When I knock on the door, he softly requests that I give him a few minutes. I step inside anyway. He starts to come out of his seat in protest, but at the sight of me, he sinks back down and clamps his eyes shut.
“I’m sorry, Flick,” he whispers.
“No, you’re not.” I slam the door behind me and he jerks his head back, his green eyes flying open. “I can’t—won’t—accept that word from you because you just gave up.”
“I’m doing this for you,” he counters, and I stalk over to him, leaning over his chair to jab one finger a mere inch from the tip of his nose. This is the first time in twenty-one years I’ve ever gotten in my father’s face and spoken to him in real anger. His lips tremble as he repeats himself. “Felicity … I’m doing this for you.”
“No, you’re doing this for yourself. I love this place, Dad. I would do anything to keep it.” I have done anything. I had given away the one possession that was mine for a handful of money and a bad case of heart break from a rat bastard. “How could you do this? To them?” I wave my hand toward the door to his office, where I can hear Brooke on the phone telling her mother in Mississippi that she’s lost her job.
I back away from my father, dragging my hands over my face and through my brown hair. “When I found out what you did last night, I didn’t want it to be true. I wanted to believe you’d keep this place because you’d been so upset about losing it.” Shaking my head, I let out a bitter laugh. “God, it sucks to be wrong.”
His features harden. “Who told you?”
“Does it matter?” On the other side of the door, I hear Brooke tell her mother she loves her and that she’ll let her know when she finds something else. “They have kids, Dad. Kids and people who depend on them. They were loyal to us because we’re a family here. You don’t shit on family.”
