Page 26 of The Bratva King

“I know.”

“You signed the paperwork. You chose to leave. They’re not going to reopen your case for a housing stipend. That’s not how it works. You’d have to go back in fully, and we both know you won’t do that.”

“I’ve moved him seven times in four years. I won’t do it again. He needs to stay here. He needs this school. He needs stability.”

“Have you heard if he got into the school?”

“Still waiting.” I close my eyes. “There’s a waitlist. I don’t know how long it’ll take. I check my email every morning.”

“And if he doesn’t get in?”

“Then I find another option. But Greg, this school… they have a counselor on staff who specializes in kids who’ve experienced instability. Not just a regular school counselor, an actual child trauma specialist. The classes are small. The routine doesn’t change.” I hear myself getting wound up and try to slow down. “I don’t know how he’ll handle a regular kindergarten classroom. I don’t know how he’ll handle any of it. He doesn’t talk to strangers, Greg. He barely talks to me. He needs help.”

“I understand.”

“He’s so smart that it scares me sometimes. But when things change, he shuts down. When we moved here, he didn’t speak for nine days. He just went somewhere inside himself, and I couldn’t reach him.”

“I remember.”

“I can’t move him again. I won’t.”

“Then take the money,” Greg says. “Take the money, pay the rent, stay in the apartment. Figure out the rest.”

“I’m going to ask for an advance. If they say no, I’ll call back.”

“You have to stop waiting until the last possible second to ask for help. You’re not proving anything to anyone.”

“I’m proving it to myself.”

“What are you proving?”

“That I can take care of my son without anyone else’s money or power. I just need to know I can do it.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You can do it,” he says finally. “You already are. Asking for help when you’re drowning isn’t weakness. Call me tomorrow, and tell me where to send the money.”

“Thank you, Greg.”

I already know I’m not calling him tomorrow. Not for the money. I need to figure this out myself. Somehow. But Greg always wants me to tell him when something’s wrong, and at least now he knows what’s going on.

I check myself in the bathroom mirror and put on a little extra makeup. Uniform pressed. Hair done, hanging loose around my shoulders. I usually wear it up at work, but I think down is sexier. I need to charm the customers, and if flashing some cleavage and wiggling my ass helps, I’ll do it.

Today, I’ll smile until my face hurts and read every player at my table. I will walk out of that casino tonight with enough cash to make a dent in what I owe the landlord.

I have to.

I load Luke into the car, get the engine to turn over on the second try, and drive across town with the windows down because the AC has finally given up the ghost.

I take him to the front door. Carla answers with her usual lack of enthusiasm.

“He eat breakfast?” she asks.

“Yep.” I hand her the bag. “Water bottle’s in there. Lunch, too.”

She takes it. I’m already backing toward the car.

“Tonight,” she says. “On time.”

“On time,” I agree. “I promise.”