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Except for tonight, of course.
Jesse and I slap each other’s backs in one of those bro hugs. As I’m closer to his body, I warn him about his carelessness, “She better be worth it.”
He pulls back and winks with a grin, “Sure is.”
Jesse and Lincoln head out through the exit door while I move out through the front.
We play in one of the back rooms in my casino. Michael is one of the blackjack dealers, so I assume he’ll be getting back to work.
I look at my watch, and it reads 1 a.m.
Or maybe Michael will be getting home now.
When I step outside, the cool breeze hits me. Las Vegas is hot almost all the time except for nights in the winter. It’s a nice break from feeling like you’ll melt any second.
A car pulls up, and I give the valet a hundred-dollar bill and slip inside. The rumble of my Chevy Impala makes me smile as I pull onto the road past an inflatable Santa Clause.
As I drive home, my mind goes to the dark-haired beauty, Gregory’s daughter. I hope she knows where her father is because it’ll be a shame if I have to do bad things to her. Regardless of my guilt, though, my cock stirs in my pants.
I suppose it wouldn’t be that much of a shame. I can think of some things that’d make both of us feel good.
Because no matter what, I will get retribution for this debt, one way or another, someone will pay.
Chapter 2
Serenity
Iwonderhowmanypeople have shitty fathers like mine? A father who leaves you high and dry with rent and bills to pay.
I take a deep breath and try to keep my anger in check as I serve my customers. It’s not their fault my father bailed. To be honest, it doesn’t affect my life much. Sure, my only family is gone, but we didn’t hang out much. And he didn’t help with bills or rent.
I knew I should’ve moved out when I had the chance. A year ago, I got a nice bonus check, and with the money I’d already saved, I could’ve gotten my own place and let him deal with his own problems. But I couldn’t leave him. It didn’t feel right.
Which makes what he did hurt so much worse.
After returning to the kitchen, passing one of those stupid mistletoe, to pick up another order, I lean against the wall for a short break. Catch my breath. This is a disaster. Not the least of which is that my dad had a gambling problem, and I’m not one to think he was considerate enough to clear up any debts before he high-tailed out of Vegas.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and begin my breathing exercises. I learned them from Camilla, one of the other waitresses. She’s going to school to become a licensed therapist, and one of her classes was teaching breathing exercises for people who deal with panic and anxiety attacks. Being one of those people, she taught them to me.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Focus on your breath.
I didn’t panic like this when I was a kid. It's probably because life was awesome when I was a kid. Then, when I got older it got worse. Moving, then teenage life, a dad who constantly loses jobs.
I take one more deep breath in and out, open my eyes, and return to work. I try to forget about my troubles for the rest of the day. Instead, I focus on smiling for the customers to get more tips.
At lunch, I sit in the break room and cry in the corner while eating my sandwich. It was as good a time as any. I need to let it all out now before my next shift. My salty tears mix with my bologna sandwich, but I don’t taste any of it. I could be eating cardboard, for all I know.
“Oh my God,” Camilla gasps and runs over to me. “Are you okay?” She starts petting my knee after she takes a seat next to me.
I nod and sniffle, wiping my nose with a tissue.
