Page 27 of Halo

I park in the grocery store around the corner. I spot the blue Toyota parked outside belonging to a certain new employee with heavenly brown eyes with gorgeous tousled hair.

Maybe I should go in and say hello.

No. You idiot. You left her hanging in the parking lot last time, lips drawn for an epic kiss in the rain. There is no way she wants to see you, and there is no coming back from that.

Let me just wait here and at least make sure she makes it to her car okay. That’s not weird, right?

My phone lights up with a Houston number I don’t recognize, drawing my attention. After sending it to voicemail, the same number calls me right back. I stare at the door to Low Places, no one entering or leaving. Against my better judgment, I answer the phone.

“Nick?” A tinny, feminine voice echoes through the receiver. “It’s Tiffany. Tiffany Stone.”

Chapter 7

Nick

Tiffany spots me before I step out of my truck. She’s sitting on a bench outside of Vinny’s Burgers, an old diner at a truck stop along the interstate, and God, she’s a ghost of the woman who’d scan my membership card at the gym and hand me a clean towel. Gone are her vibrant blonde locks. Gone is the bright blue from her eyes. Wearing a simple dress and apron, her thick curves are gone, her body thin—almost painfully gaunt, matching the pale color of her skin.

As I approach, she smothers out her cigarette on the ground. She grins. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” I say, leaning in for a chaste hug. “How are you doing?”

She anxiously nods, staring at the horizon. “You know. Just … life.”

When she called me Tuesday night, her voice trembled as she tripped over her words. She swore she was fine, that she wasn’t in danger, but seeing her before me now, I realize she’s in a world of trouble, and I get the sneaking suspicion she’s calling for money.

She and I had a casual relationship several years back when she was working at the gym. Strictly sexual. No commitments. Just two consenting adults having fun. During that time, however, I wasn’t a complete asshole.There were a few occasions I paid for drinks, spotted her gas money—always paid for her rideshare. We even shared a few meals together, all of which I paid for. I never thought twice, but I’m starting to wonder if this meet-up is about money.

It’s not like I can’t help her out if she needs help. But, it’s been … god, six years?

I take a seat next to her, taking her lead by watching a few young kids play on the small playground outside of the restaurant. Their indiscernible conversations and wild giggles fill the silence as Tiffany’s attention turns to her fingernails.

“I didn’t know how else to do this,” she starts.

“Okay …” I stare at the mulch, choosing my words cautiously. “Whatever you need to talk about, I’m here to listen. You know, if you need help or getting—”

“I have a son,” she blurts.

I meet the worry in her gaze. And my heart sinks. “Is … is he okay? Is he sick?”

“Yeah—” she sighs with relief—“he’s fine. He’s right over there.” She nods toward the play equipment.

And there, sitting alone underneath the ladder to a platform is a small little boy—maybe four years old, if I had to guess—with messy blond hair and large-framed glasses. Hugging his knees, he awkwardly glances at the other kids playing, choosing solitude he thwacks a stick against the spokes of a gate.

“Cute kid.” I smirk.

“He is. He really is a great kid. He’s quiet, but very sweet. Follows directions.”

We sit there, nodding cordially, but a chasm of silence grows between us. I don’t want to rush her, but this conversation doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“Look, Tiffany—”

“Nick, you—” we talk over each other, causing us both to stop and chuckle.

I clear my throat. “Go ahead.”

Her throat bobs. “His name is Grady. And Nick—” she sighs heavily—“you’re his father.”

The moment—this fraction of a second—stretches into an eon. I recognize everything that is happening around me, but my brain short-circuits, not able to discern what is actually going on.