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“You’ve gotta be eighteen, kid.”
Hunter had heard this one before. “I am eighteen.”
The guy’s eyes flicked up and his hands went still on the money in his hands. “Sure. Prove it.”
Okay, he hadn’t heard that yet.
The man laughed and went back to counting cash.
“All right, look.” Hunter felt like he’d reached the end of his rope and found it a frayed, tangled mess. “I need a job. You’ve got a sign out front. I can work hard. I don’t understand why everyone has to act like I’m some—”
“You look.” The man flung the stack of cash into the drawer. “Forgetting the fact that you’re underage, I’ve got guys coming in here with families to feed. You want me to turn them down because some kid wants money to take his girlfriend to the prom?”
Hunter glared at him. “I need a job.”
“Join the club.” Then the phone beside the register rang, and the man turned away to answer it.
Hunter stood there, feeling the air bite at his cheeks. The fluorescent lights in the warehouse ceiling seemed to be buzzing more loudly than normal, but maybe it was just his shot nerves.
At this rate, he’d have to drop some of his remaining cash on a bottle of Motrin.
Then he realized that the man had left the cash drawer open, and he was now facing away, flipping through a binder full of laminated pages.
Hunter stared at the cash. He’d watched the man count it—a big stack of twenties. There had to be several hundred dollars there.
The store wasn’t even that crowded. He could grab a twenty and run.
He’d never stolen anything in his life.
The lights buzzed more loudly. Hunter wanted to rub at his head, but he was afraid if he lifted a hand, it would grab the cash almost against his will.
“Hunter?”
He turned his head, feeling like he’d lost a minute of time.
Michael Merrick stood there, two rolls of something green hooked under one arm. A red shirt with the Merrick landscaping logo stretched across his chest, already sporting a fine layer of dust, and a stain near the hem. He had a couple inches on Hunter, but that might have just been the work boots on his feet. It was the first time Hunter had ever seen Michael clean shaven.
Hunter had no idea what Michael thought of him, but considering the way his younger brothers were treating him, it probably wasn’t good.
Then again, Michael wasn’t swinging a fist or openly mocking him, so maybe this was better.
Michael said, “Why aren’t you in school?”
Hunter froze. He’d been ready for that question all day—but Michael was the first one to ask, and probably the only one who wouldn’t buy a line of bullshit.
Then Michael glanced at his watch. “Jesus, is it after three already?” He shifted the rolls under his arm and looked at Hunter a little more critically. “You all right?”
The question took him by surprise. “Yeah. Fine.”
The cash drawer slammed behind him, and Hunter jumped.
Well, there went an opportunity. Hunter scowled and wondered if he should be relieved or pissed.
The service manager cleared his throat. “I can take those for you here, if you’re ready.”
“Sure.” Michael put the stuff on the counter. Then he pulled out his wallet. Hunter could see cash trapped in the folds.
The service manager was watching him. “You need something else, kid?”
