Page 39 of Gin and Bear It

Shit.

I glance at Ash out of the corner of my eye. He doesn’t seem too fazed. Maybe he hasn’t connected those dots yet.

“Alright, then.” Waylon opens the tube treat and crouches down. The cat slinks along the wall, still wary but not enough to stay put. “I need to get him to the back for treatment. I’ll text you updates on him.”

Once the cat is secure, Ash and I leave.

“Fuck, I’m late,” Ash says, looking at his phone. He swears a few more times, running his hand over his hair.

“Shit, I am, too.” I let my head fall back. I haven’t showered or finished my coffee or done any of the things I need to do to prepare for the day. And I have missed texts from the contractor who’s making the renovations on the hotel a living hell.

Today is going to be a rough one.

We hop into the car and Ash drives us back, his mind mostly on the road and wherever he has to be. Work, I’m assuming. When we get home, he mumbles something about taking a shower and disappears into the bathroom.

I pick up Pip, who’s still lingering around the area where the ceiling caved in, and take a closer look. Dad had patched it up with a tarp temporarily since he had to go into the office. It looks worse than I thought, as does the fold-out bed.

I sigh and sit Pip on my lap so I can email my team, letting them know I’m going to be late. Once I send that email, I make coffee and wait for Ash to finish in the bathroom.

Ash appears in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt under a button-down. Seeing him dressed in muted colors is such a sharp contrast to the usual bright ones he wears. The darkness pulls out the matching shades under his eyes, muting the greenish brown of his irises, too.

“Hey,” he says, his hand on the doorknob. “Sorry. About earlier.”

I frown, trying to piece together what we were even talking about before the cat incident. We were on the edge of an argument because he was cranky. It’s crazy how easily I can forget. But then again, I still remember his calm, steadying presence right after the mystery cat crashed through the ceiling and how he’d guided me from panicking to Waylon. He was just what I needed in that moment. Even though it was all okay, it hadn’t felt like it then.

“Thanks for the apology,” I say. “Also, um, we need to sort out the sleeping situation. Given the whole construction zone over where you sleep, which is all fucked up.”

“Right now?” Ash glances at his phone.

“Or later. But we have to figure it out.”

He glances toward the opening to the hallway, then at me, then up and down my body. I see him swallow. Everything clicks for him, doesn’t it?

“Later. Please.” Then, he leaves without another word.

TWELVE

ASH

The crash landing from the wedding back into what will become my day-to-day life is like hitting the ocean from five thousand feet up. Or like a cat crashing through the fucking ceiling.

I’m not sure what came over me when the Pip imposter cat came crashing through, stopping the spiral that we were going down. It was a weird sense of calm, almost, like everything but the situation at hand disappeared. The only thing that my brain could do was help Jada.

It felt…good. Like I was finally doing something right after the longest time. Like I was competent, even if it was just to calm her down and get the cat out of there.

Dread fills my stomach like concrete in a hole.

My bed is completely fucked, and there’s not space for an air mattress. My sleep sucks but sleeping on the floor will only make it worse.

We have to share a bed. That big, dreamlike bed of hers…right next to her.

I throw my car into park in the Stryker Liquors lot. The weight of sitting in the parking lot is the only thing that could distract me from what I’ll have to deal with when I get back to Jada’s: this job, whatever it’ll be.

I take a deep breath, looking over at the Stryker Liquors building. I haven’t been here since I was a child, when I got dragged along with Mom or they had an event where the whole family needed to be photographed. The sight of the building, which looks the exact same aside from an updated sign, makes my stomach flip up into my throat.

I’m already late, and I’ve already gotten a terse text from JD, but I need a minute.

I understand my dread—JD and I haven’t gotten along ever, really. But there’s fear underneath the dread. Fear of whatever job I’ll have. Whether I’ll be able to cut it or if JD will fire me before I can get the money I need.