Page 5 of To Love the Stars too Fondly

Liam didn’t understand. The therapist hadn’t either. They’d never watched a gun get pointed at their girlfriend’s head.

What if I had to self-destruct to protect myself?

What if I was too numb to care?

My phone buzzed. I left it alone.

Sunday

Sunday brunch was always hell. I couldn’t yell louder than the crowd.

“Iced oat milk latte, two pumps of caramel, two pumps of French vanilla, with light ice for Morgo! Is there a Morgo here?”

There was nothing quite so troublesome as a complicated order during a rush, but the woman who picked it up was gorgeous enough for me to not actually be bothered. “Here you are,” I said, but my barista wink was wasted in such a large crowd. Morgo smiled as she hurried off—as was polite, technically, but I would’ve liked to see her smile a little longer.

The line of empty cups marked with orders seemed endless. I glanced at Liam, who was working his ass off to fulfill them, then at Barbs, who assisted. A childish scream cut through the chaos of the long line as a kid in the corner threw his mom’s drink to the ground. I sighed and turned to Barbs. “Can you take over the register, Barbara? We have a spill.”

Barbs had the gumption to assist with emergencies, but she also had a bad back and worse knees—the perils of aging—so it was best to volunteer before she could and save her from her own ego. A sore Barbs was a grumpy Barbs, and nobody wanted that.

I grabbed a few clean-enough rags and wove through the crowd. Sundays attracted an older crowd, mostly Boomers coming in for weekend brunch, which meant endless lines of cappuccinos and explaining what a frappe was and why it contained virtually no caffeine. The tinkling of the front bell chimed in the background, but I was already on my knees under the table. Iced latte covered the floor, and the mom and child had left instead of having the courtesy of even pretending to clean up after themselves, so it was up to me to prevent a slipping hazard.

I’d need more towels. I created a blockade instead, at least preventing the drink from seeping where some old man’s cane could slip in it.

“Nice to see a woman working on her knees.”

As preferable as it would’ve been to pretend I hadn’t heard, the voice pinged as familiar. I looked up and saw a man with linebacker shoulders and piggy eyes.

Unfortunately, I’d seen a lot more of him last night. “Cliff? What are you doing here?”

In general, when I met someone at a party, I kept my real life private, especially my place of work. His shit-eating grin suggested this was far from accidental. “I just wanted to know where you spent your time. On your knees, looks like.”

Oh, he thought he was hilarious. Still, the oppressive urge to sink into the grout and disappear gripped my chest. People were looking, listening; I felt it like static. I rose, grabbing the cup and lid, mostly empty. “It’s just busy right now. Not a good time.”

I stepped back; he came forward. “What, you’ll let me fuck you, but I can’t visit you at work?”

God, what if Barbs heard? “Look, my manager is really strict.”

“So what? Take five. We can chat outside.”

“That’s really not possible right now.”

His nasty grin faded, replaced with a rage that left me cold. “What’s the endgame, Terra? Do you like messing with my head?”

My breath was short, the world numbing to a buzz as I struggled to reply. “That’s not what this is. We can talk on my break, but you have to wait—”

I turned around—and barreled right into Alex.

She grabbed my arm. Heat flooded my face, quickly replaced with horror as the remains of the spilled drink splattered against us both, spoiling her fancy tank top and jeans. “Shit, Alex, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

I dropped everything and dragged Alex through the spectators, desperate to flee. I could barely hear anything beneath my own pulse in my ears, but I was cold, so goddamn cold.

I pulled her to the counter with napkins and straws, trembling as I blotted the liquid from her arm.

But I immediately recoiled, remembering the scar. Instead, I grabbed a huge stack of napkins and pressed them against it, unwilling to risk noticing again.

“It’s okay, I promise,” came Alex’s smooth voice. It cut through even the chaos of the morning rush and my own racing pulse. “Was that guy bothering you?”