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Just, ew.
I got out of the Mustang, leaving his stash on the floorboard, because I wasn’t touching that shit, and hauled ass to the end of the block.
I walked aimlessly for hours, not sure what my next move would be. I had no car, no money, no place to stay and no real friends. I’d just gotten fired from my job as a waitress at a stupid chain restaurant because I wasn’t cut out for all the fake chipper bullshit. I’d lost it on a table full of uppity women and told them to fuck off after the third time they sent their plates back.
Just eat your fucking salads!
I’d also been renting a room from one of the girls at the restaurant, and since I was already behind on rent and jobless, she kicked me out. That was the reason I decided to find Mack.
His life was slightly more… stable. He and his crew of goons street raced for money and did a bunch of other things I knew couldn’t be legal. Mack protected me from the details and I carried on in ignorant bliss.
Our long history also meant that staying with Mack was an option while I got my shit together. He had never turned me away. Except, when I woke up that morning, the idea didn’t sound so great anymore. I knew that living with him meant I would always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was inevitable that he would do something to hurt me, and I would be angry with myself for allowing it to happen, then I was out on my own again.
It’s your life, Harley Jane. It’s up to you whether you make something of it.
The familiar ache crept its way in again. Gram had been gone six years and I missed her every day. She raised me from the time I was ten until I graduated from high school. I couldn’t lie; I was a wild child and pure hell on wheels. Gram couldn’t control me; her nature was too gentle. I ran away constantly and didn’t care about anyone but myself.
Gram withheld the fact she was sick from me for a long time. I stomped around like a brat, clueless that my life was about to go from bad to worse. The day she collapsed at her job at the grocery store, it took three days for one of her co-workers to track me down at what was considered a ‘party house’ for teenage runaways. The doctor said that she wasn’t responding to treatment as they had hoped, and thus began the rapid decline of her health.
Fuck cancer.
Gram went from being vibrant and energetic to old and frail in a flash. I felt like the worst shit in the world for the way I’d treated her. I tried hard to make up for wasted time by finishing my senior year of high school, just like she wanted, and ditching my loser friends. Her pale face lit up with pride as she watched me graduate, but it all just seemed like too little, too late. I spent every moment I could with her until the sickness consumed her whole body and took her life—just three days after my nineteenth birthday. Once she was gone, I didn’t care about anything. Her death had destroyed what was left of my hear
t. Any hope of me becoming someone Gram could be proud of had scattered off into the wind with her ashes.
Instead, I’d surrounded myself with bad people, got arrested twice on misdemeanor charges, and eventually fell for a criminal who wasn’t emotionally there for me any more than I was for him.
Sometimes I even had myself convinced that I deserved my fucked-up life.
****
A few hours later, and miles away from Mack’s house, I was sitting in a diner outside of Charleston, sipping on my third coffee refill as I tried to figure out my next move. The place was empty besides a few people sitting at the counter and an elderly couple at a booth near the window. Two waitresses were huddled together behind the counter, whispering and tossing quick glances behind them. Mildly curious, I looked around to see the cause of the commotion. There was a guy who looked to be in his mid-twenties, eating quietly at the end of the countertop, completely oblivious to the attention. I’ll admit he had a gorgeous profile. A strong jaw that held a little bit of scruff that matched his short, light brown hair. His full lips moved enticingly as he chewed, his jaw moving almost hypnotically. It was like staring at that old-timey pendulum thing I remembered from my shrink’s desk. Another thing Gram had forced on me during my rebellious teenage years.
When the waitress stopped to refill his coffee, he looked up at her with a pair of deep blue eyes and politely declined with a smile. He was classically handsome, so yeah, I could see why he was causing a fuss.
Not my type, though.
I liked my men a little rougher around the edges. The longer I stared, the stronger my urge grew to have a little fun with him.
I dropped some money on the table and got up from my chair at the other end of the counter. When I slid down on the barstool next to Mr. All-American he turned his blue gaze to me in surprise.
“Who do you think the luckiest person in the room is, right now?” I asked.
“What?” He looked taken aback by my sudden appearance but didn’t dismiss me like some crazy person. Instead, he continued staring, waiting for me to say something. I grinned, thrilled that he was going to play my game.
“Who do you think the luckiest person in the room is?” I repeated. “Because I think I can name at least two.”
He looked at me like I had three heads, then laughed awkwardly.
“Um, I don’t know. Who?” he asked, clearly expecting a certain answer but humoring me anyway.
“Those two waitresses right there.” The moment the confusion set in for him I continued. “Having you sitting here at the end of their counter has made their day.” I looked around and lowered my voice. “Now, the only problem is that the rest of the customers aren’t being waited on. I would hurry up and get the hell out of here before Big Earl catches you.” I nodded to a random trucker who was seated in a booth near the door. All-American also started to wearily turn his gaze to the direction of the trucker.
“No, don’t look! Damn it, I’m trying to help you. Earl loves his pancakes and he does not like to wait. You are causing too much commotion and slowing down the staff. You look like you might be able to take a few good blows but then again so did that last guy.” I furrowed my brow and chewed on my bottom lip as if I were sizing him up for competition. “Nah, you might do okay.”
I slapped him on the shoulder, swiped a strip of bacon from his plate with a wink, and hopped off the barstool. On my way out, I noticed the name tag on the trucker’s shirt really did say ‘Earl’. What were the odds? Judging by my rural surroundings, I decided they were pretty good.
Laughing to myself, I chewed on my bacon and walked away from the diner. Gram would cook bacon every Saturday morning when I came to live with her. I’d grown so sick of bacon that I threw a tantrum and refused to eat it. Gram, who never called me out on my bratty behavior, just simply stopped making it. Every time I remembered those little details it always made the ache in my chest even worse. The hurt was constant, it was only the pain level that varied. I would give anything to have her bacon again.
