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I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach as I stare at the ugly word for several seconds. I don’t know what to do. What to say. My hands are shaking as I blink in stunned silence.
“Hey, you okay?”
I flinch at the interruption and look over to see Ashton studying me with concern.
“Oh, uh, yeah, fine. Just…” I snap the book shut and hold it up with a forced smile. “Bad tip.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I understand, believe me.”
I try to smile back but I can’t this time. What the hell am I even supposed to do with this? I can’t turn it in and have the others see it. They already judge me. No one talks to me except Leah and Stacie. What if Stacie sees it and decides I’m not worth the liability? I already have so many marks against me tonight.
I drop the check holder on the table, still shaking as I back away. It feels like the walls are shrinking. The entire restaurant is a black hole of absent air.
“I’m, uh, gonna take a break,” I say to Leah as I pass.
I don’t wait for her reaction before weaving through the tables and escaping into the cool evening air. I lean against the brick wall and close my eyes, trying to calm my nerves. The fresh air was supposed to help, but my lungs seem even less sure what to do with it.
God, why am I even here? What did I think was going to happen? They’re all right. I shouldn’t have come back to Suncrest Valley, but I had nowhere else to go. No relative would take me in after what happened. No one wanted me except the one person who feels enough guilt to tolerate my toxic presence.
I scrub at my face, trying to breathe through the vice on my chest. Maybe there’s a halfway house somewhere or… I don’t know. There has to be some loophole to this living arrangement requirement for parole. People must do this all the time. My PO is coming by tomorrow for my initial home visit. I can ask then.
You really want to stir the pot right out of the gate?
No, of course not. The last thing I want is to raise alarms before the ink’s even dried on my parole conditions. I’ll have to—
The door opens, but I ignore it. Not sure who else is taking their break now, but I’m in no mood for small talk. I should have hidden further in the shadows and I inch away to make it clear I want to be alone. The person doesn’t seem to get the hint, though, and I sense them moving toward me.
Seriously? Not now. God, I can’t take any more at the moment.
“Hey,” the intruder says, and I have no choice but to face them.
Hold on. Ashton?
He’s not smiling anymore as he mirrors my pose against the wall, and I shove my fists in my pockets.
“I’ve spent a lot of time in this position,” he says with a dry laugh. “Brings back memories.”
I don’t respond, now confused on top of everything else. Why the hell would he follow me out here? He barely knows me.
“I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve been treated like shit in my life,” he continues. “In fact, the reason I met Iris was because her sister and friends made my life miserable for no reason other than their own sick amusement when I worked here. Humans can be incredibly cruel.”
He kicks at the small stones beneath us. “They can also be incredibly kind.”
I suck in a breath and press my nails further into my palms.
“I saw the check,” he says when I still don’t speak.
I close my eyes as my insides twist again.
“I’m sorry for looking. It wasn’t my business, but I’ve been in that position so many times and had to know what level of asshole behavior you were dealing with.”
“Yeah?” I sigh out. “So what level was it?”
He seems surprised I spoke at all and offers a quick smile. “That was an entirely new chart, my friend.”
I manage a weak twist of the lips and stare back at the darkening sky. Part of me wants to defend myself, to plead with him that I’m not what everyone says. The other part recognizes there’s no point. All I’ve seen since my return is that who you are doesn’t mean shit. It’s who they think you are that controls your existence. Besides, maybe I am what they say. I’m not a murderer, but at some point it’s all just technicalities.
An object flutters in my periphery, and I look over to see a slip of paper in Ashton’s hand. Looks like a dinner check? He holds it out, and I take it, my stomach grinding at the sight.
