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Changed the entire course of my life.
No one cared until this girl—Shitville’s new ambassador of hope—landed here and flooded the dark with her light.
For a moment, I forget what a sorry excuse of a human I am. I forget about counting down my anger. I even forget that I was about to bounce.
This girl is getting to me. My lungs feel heavy, and a hard lump forms in my throat. I struggle to swallow while the backs of my eyes prickle and burn.
I feel like I did on my tenth birthday when my father arranged for me to stand behind the bench during the Army-Navy game. I watched the Midshipmen trounce the Black Nights and knew from that moment I wanted to be a quarterback. I set my sights on the NFL and never looked back.
Not until the night after the National Championship game, when it all turned to shit.
But right now, this beautiful empath, who as far as I’m concerned has nothing to be happy about, is somehow finding joy everywhere and asking about feelings I’d rather not deal with. Between the tears in her eyes and her recognizing my pain, I need to lock my past down tight before I break.
I never thought I’d say this, but I want one night as the old Jack. One night to forgive myself for the past. Tomorrow will be here soon enough. Tonight, I give myself permission to live; to steal a little of Emily’s happiness, because God knows, I have none of my own.
I reach across the table and, with my rough, calloused hand, wipe away a tear as it tracks down her cheek. I touch my finger to my tongue and taste her anguish. My pain has touched her somehow, and I feel the need to absorb a part of her.
“You’re too pretty to cry, Emily.” I haven’t spoken this gently in years. “I don’t deserve it but thank you.”
Before she can argue, I press my fingers to her lips, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I smile. It’s a little strange using those long dormant muscles, but it soon feels as natural as if I do it every day.
After a few blinks and more tears, Emily returns my smile. The light returns to her eyes, and it feels good knowing I put it there.
The waitress returns and Emily orders a turkey club and fries as well as soup and a salad. I opt for a cheesesteak and fries.
I unroll my silverware and spread the paper napkin onto my lap. “Tell me about you,” I say. “What are your plans now that you’re here?”
“First, I need to find a job,” she says. “Then a place to live.”
I shake my head. “I still can’t believe you got on a bus and came to a strange city with no prospects.”
“It’s called adventure, Jack,” she says, scolding me. “Haven’t you ever had an adventure?”
I think for a few moments. “Can’t say that I have. My life was pretty much laid out for me since I was ten.”
“Not me. If I accepted what my life looked like when I was ten as my future…” A shiver shakes her shoulders. “Who knows where I’d be?” She lays out her silverware in front of her. “But I did dream. Every New Year’s Eve, I’d write down my dreams and send them out into the universe.”
“Any of those dreams come true?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
I can’t help but laugh. “No offense, but it was your dream to come to Hazlewood?”
“Not exactly. I looked at a map and figured out how far I could go and what I could afford when I got there based on the money I’d saved.” She sweeps her hand. “This is where my adventure begins.”
If getting mugged or finding a dealer on every street corner is her idea of an adventure, she’s in the right place. Since I can’t say that without sounding like a dick, I keep it to myself. I do, however, encourage her to proceed with caution.
Our food arrives, and I watch in amusement—and then concern—as Emily dives in like she hasn’t eaten in days. Given that she walked miles from the bus station to her motel, and that it sounds like she’s counting pennies to stay there until she finds a job, I’d bet anything she didn’t treat food as a priority. There’s no way she’s paying for dinner. In fact, I’ll be stopping at the market on the corner to load her up with some snacks and drinks to store in her room.
“Was it good?” I ask after she drags the last french fry through a puddle of ketchup.
Shoulders back, she rests a hand on her belly and smiles. “Delicious.”
The waitress arrives and asks about dessert. I’m about to tell her no, thinking Emily couldn’t eat another bite, but she surprises me.
“Yes!” she gushes. “Jack, would you share dessert with me?”
Images of me licking whipped cream and chocolate syrup off her tits and her treating my cock like an ice cream cone pop into my head. My dick hardens and I have to resettle myself before I embarrass us both.
