[Reluctant Hearts 01.0] Caged in Winter

by Brighton Walsh

  Thankfully, she doesn’t prod anymore and walks down the hallway toward her bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  The thoughts that have done nothing all day but revolve around the firecracker at The Brewery. I can’t remember the last time I’ve let a girl get to me like she has. If I’m interested, I get the girl’s number, go out a few times, sleep with her if it goes that way, but that’s it. I’m definitely not one to sit around and fucking pine, constantly thinking about someone.

  Even so, I can’t get her out of my head. She held so much confidence, so much poise in her small frame, even when she was telling me exactly where I could shove my chivalry. The details of our encounter kept me up last night, and have kept me company all morning as I replayed it over and over again. The fire in her words, backed with heaps of pride. Watching her dead eyes spark with life.

  I need to see her again…if only for the completely selfish reason that I want to.

  I mentally flip through my schedule for the next few days. As always, it’s packed between school, my part time job, and watching Haley when Tessa’s working. I don’t have much leeway, but it doesn’t matter.

  I’ll be back in that pub before the end of the week.

  winter

  I rank talking to my boss lower than cleaning the toilet bowl. With my toothbrush. He’s an asshole, and it’s like he takes this perverse pleasure in seeing me—seeing any of us, really—struggle and ask him for his help. Part of me thinks that’s why he hired me in the first place. So he could keep me under his thumb, knowing the job he could take away at any moment is the only thing keeping a roof over my head. Keeping me fed.

  I’d rather swallow a handful of razorblades than ask him for anything, but I don’t have a choice. When I talked to him last night, I had to clench my hands behind my back, gnawing on the inside of my cheek as I asked if I could pick up an extra shift. By some miracle, he agreed, and even though it’s only three hours, it’s something, and I’ll be able to make back what I lost in tips last night. At the expense of time allotted for schoolwork, but when making the choice between an A or a B in the class or eating, sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

  The professor dismisses my last class for the day, and I grab my laptop, stuffing it in my bag as I glance at the clock while the rest of the students shuffle out. I have forty-five minutes to get home and change before I need to head to the bus stop. I usually stay behind in this class, work on coding and designs and get a head start on next week’s classes, but I can’t today.

  So wrapped up in getting out of here, I nearly rush right past the couple standing at the bottom of the steps outside. A guy is leaning against the railing talking to a girl I recognize from my class. His face is familiar, and it only takes me a moment to realize where I’ve seen him before. He was the loudmouth from last night at the pub—the one who’s friends with Prince Charming. I stuff my hand in my pocket, clenching my fist around the money there. And before I know what I’m doing, my legs have carried me forward until I’m standing directly in front of him.

  “Excuse me.” I butt in mid-conversation, and I can’t even dig up an apology, too fueled by righteous indignation. I slide in between the two of them, and the girl gives me a narrow-eyed glare, the guy looking at me quizzically.

  “Uh, yeah, hi?”

  “You were at The Brewery last night, right? With some friends?”

  “Yeah,” he drags out the word, his eyes flicking to the girl he was talking to before returning his gaze to me.

  “You friends with the jackass who left me this?” I hold the bills between two fingers, waving them in front of his face.

  “Umm…” He scratches his head, looking at me quizzically. “You’re—wait. You’re the pissed-off waitress?” His eyes travel the length of me from head to toe, and I don’t blame him for not recognizing me. My hair’s not down like I wear it at work, instead pulled back into a messy ponytail, and I’ve got on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. The fact that he doesn’t recognize me without all my skin showing tells me loud and clear exactly what parts of me he was focusing on.

  “That’s me.” I slap the money to his chest, a thousand retorts running through my mind. A thousand things I’d say to Prince Charming if he were here in front of me. But he’s not, and his friend wasn’t the jackass who cost me three hours of work, so in the end, I sigh and settle on, “Give this to your friend. And tell him I don’t need his goddamn money.”

  I wait until he reaches up and takes the bills, nodding slightly, before I spin around and leave.

  I weave my way through the sea of bodies, zigzagging around the slow walkers and the meanderers and the talkers, adrenaline driving my path. My pride has always been my downfall, and it’s bitten me in the ass more than once. For as long as I can remember, it’s the one thing I don’t bend on. I do everything on my own. I want to do everything on my own. If I count on no one but myself, I’m not going to get let down. The minute I start relying on others is the minute I’m undoubtedly disappointed. The minute everything I’ve built comes crashing down around me.

  And even though this isn’t new to me, I still wonder if what I did was stupid. I think of all I could’ve bought with that. Milk and cereal and a whole fucking case of ramen, but even with these thoughts running through my mind, I don’t care.

  I straighten my shoulders as I march home, confident in my decision.

  I don’t take handouts.

  cade

  “Good work tonight, Cade,” Chef Foster says, patting me on the back. “I loved the addition of the Sriracha sauce. Bold choice.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, offering him a nod. “I forced Tessa to be my guinea pig at home. Took me a few tries before I got the right balance.”

  “Well, you hit it out of the park. Everyone loved it. Nice job.”

  I can’t keep my grin from spreading. If there’s one thing I love to hear, it’s that people enjoy the food I make. In the kitchen, there’s no better compliment; nothing makes me feel higher than that. And hearing it from him, from someone who’s known me most of my life and whose professional attributes I strive to emulate, is the highlight of my week.

  I clean up my station before slipping my knives into their carrying case and tucking it all away in my bag. Shouldering it, I wave to a few people, then head out the door and into the cool night.

  It’s late—just after ten—so it surprises me when a voice cuts through the dark. “Cade.”

  My head snaps to the right, and I spot Jason sitting on the steps just outside the building. He stands as I descend the stairs two at a time until I’m in front of him.

  I jerk my chin toward him. “Hey. What’re you doing here?”

  “I talked to Tess earlier. She told me you where you were.” He leans against the cement pillar at the base of the stairs and reaches into his pocket, pulling something out. “I have a message for you from an admirer.”

  Raising both eyebrows, I rock back on my heels. “Admirer?”

  He laughs outright. “Okay, not really. She’s definitely not a fan of yours.” He holds up some cash and slaps it in my hand. “The girl from The Brewery. She found me this afternoon after class. Did you know she goes to school here?”

  I shake my head at him, my eyebrows drawn together.

  “Yeah, well, she told me to tell you to fuck off.”

  My mouth drops open and I widen my eyes as I stare at him. The asshole’s smirking. “Seriously?”

  He laughs, hitting me on the shoulder. “Basically. I think her exact words were she doesn’t need your goddamn money. But damn, it’s a good thing she found me and not you. I think she would’ve killed you with just the fire coming out of her eyes. Either that or had an introduction of her foot to your junk.” He shakes his head, smiling. “She does not like you.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that.” I stare at the cash in my hand, my brow furrowing. After the tirade she went on about the money she lost thanks to me, I’m genuinely perplexed as to why she
would go out of her way to give this back. When she was calculating how much those assholes left her, I could’ve sworn I heard her mumble something about buying groceries. She obviously needed the cash. Why didn’t she take it?

  But if anyone can understand exactly why she didn’t, it’s me. I know why she didn’t. It’s the same reason I’ve worked so hard, scrimping and saving since Mom died so we’d never be in that position. I don’t want to take anyone’s help. I can do this on my own.

  It seems the two of us have something in common.

  Jason starts walking, and I follow, striding toward the parking lot. I clear my throat. “She say if she’s working tonight?”

  A choked laugh comes from him, and he stares at me, his eyes wide. “Are you serious?” He shakes his head, focusing on the sidewalk in front of us. “Dude, just drop it. She doesn’t want the fucking money. Let it go.”

  I know he’s right. I should let it go. I should forget about her and her dead eyes sparked to life and the passion I saw boiling under her skin. Should forget about her touching me, forget about the fact that it was done in pure, undiluted anger.

  But I can’t get her out of my head, and whether she knows it or not, she’s just given me the perfect excuse to see her again.

  Four

  winter

  Classes are killing me this week. I lost out on a solid four hours of study time since I had to pick up that shift, and I’m suffering for it. My entire schedule is out of whack now, and I’ve had to shuffle everything around so I still have time to get in what I need. Working full-time and going to school full-time is more demanding than I ever thought it would be. But I’m in the home stretch now. Fantasies of moving away from here, going to New York or Miami or Chicago, flood my mind. Seventy-three more days, and I’ll be free.

  I grab the handle and pull open the door of The Brewery, the smell of grease and beer nearly choking me. I shuffle in, keeping my head down until I’m out front again, stripped of my armor and ready for my shift.

  Once I’ve gotten my tables settled and am at the bar, getting drink orders, Annette says, “Someone was in here looking for you earlier.”

  “Who?”

  She shrugs as she mixes a drink for me. “Guy, about your age. Really tall. Big and kinda tough looking—tattoos on his arms and a barbell through his eyebrow, I think.”

  I furrow my brow. I don’t know anyone who remotely matches that description. “Did he leave a name?”

  “Nope, said he’d stop back.”

  I try not to think about it as I work, pasting on my smile and flirting, putting more into the act than I normally do. Fridays are always busy, and I’m more grateful for that than ever, desperately needing the money to make up for what I lost earlier in the week. I let myself be distracted by the monotony of my job, in the customers who come and go, the drink orders and the innocent flirtatious smiles and the not-so-innocent passes.

  Ten tables and two hours later, Annette waves me over to the bar. “Your guy came back.” She nods toward the back corner, and I turn to see where she’s gesturing. It’s dark in the pub, so it takes me a minute of looking before I recognize the hulking shadow of a guy leaning over the pool table as Prince Charming from the other night.

  Heat infuses my cheeks, my hands clenching at my side. I should’ve realized from her description it was him, but I never thought he’d come back here. I’m not sure if he’s got a death wish or if he’s just fucking with me, and I hate that he came to the one place I feel off my game. If he approached me on campus, ran into me on the street, I wouldn’t even think twice before I gave him a piece of my mind. But being here is different. For one thing, while this isn’t the classiest place of employment, it’s my place of employment, and—especially after the other night when I lost my cool—I cannot do anything more to jeopardize that. For another, it’s hard to be taken seriously, to demand respect when my bits are barely covered.

  Turning away, I go about the rest of the night as if I never saw him. While I’m waiting on my tables, I fantasize about what it’d be like to stomp over and spew the retorts I’ve had days to perfect. I imagine the look on his face, what he might say back…

  By the time last call comes around, a hundred different imaginary arguments have sprouted up in my mind. I glance around, a part of me hoping he’s still here so I can use one or two on him. I come up empty, though, the pub nearly bare, save for a couple groups loitering at the tall tables and an older guy at the bar, finishing up his drink.

  I tell myself the disappointment I feel is strictly because I’ve had three days to think about what I was going to say to him, and all night to roll the retorts over in my mind. There’s no telling what his friend actually said to him. For all I know, he told him to come back because I said I wanted his number.

  Blowing a strand of hair out of my eye, I go about my nightly duties, finishing up quickly. It’s pitch black by the time we head out, the only illumination in the parking lot coming from the tiny sliver of moon. I wish Randy would put up some floodlights, but the bastard’s too cheap.

  “Sure I can’t drive you to the bus stop?” Annette asks.

  I smile, shaking my head. It’s the same thing she’s asked every night since my first night here. And just like that first time, I tell her the same thing as always. “S’okay. It’s only a block away.”

  “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Winter.”

  “’Night.” I wave, turning and heading in the direction of the bus stop. This part of town is brimming with college students, many still wandering around even this time of night, so I usually feel pretty safe making the short trek to the stop.

  Just as I round the corner of the building, a tall form steps out from the shadows. I startle, one hand going to my throat where a scream is lodged, the other clutching my bag and the pepper spray I keep there. As I fumble with the flap, the guy steps toward me again, his face close enough to make out, and my fear quickly dissipates, immediately replaced by irritation.

  cade

  Despite Jason telling me over and over what a stupid idea this was, I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. Not when I couldn’t get this girl out of my head. I figured I could just talk to her at work…try to figure out why she got under my skin so much. Not just that, but to apologize. Except she hadn’t been in when I got here. And when she did show up, the place was so packed, there wasn’t time for a conversation. So, of course, the next obvious thing to do is to stand outside in the dark like an idiot and nearly give her a heart attack.

  I hold up my hands before stuffing them in the pockets of my jeans. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  The look she shoots me is made of pure disdain. “Then maybe you shouldn’t lurk around in parking lots at fucking midnight. Are you a jackass and a stalker?”

  “I’m usually neither. You just bring out the best in me, I guess.” I offer her a smile, hoping to coax one from her, or at the very least, soften her up a bit.

  It does neither.

  She stares at me for a minute before shaking her head and looking toward the ground. She’s changed into a sweatshirt and fitted pants, her long, dark hair pulled away from her face, and even though she’s ninety percent more covered than she was the last time I saw her, she’s still beautiful. When she looks back up at me, her eyes spark with the fire I saw that first night. “I’m not sure how else I can say this so you get it, but here goes. I don’t want or need your help. Got it? Stay away from here, or I’ll tell Annette to add you to the Wall of Assholes.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Wall of Assholes?”

  “Yeah. Assholes who aren’t welcome back.”

  “You actually have one of those? Did you put those guys from the other night on there?”

  She throws her hands in the air. “They didn’t do anything!”

  My mouth drops open, and I stare at her, shocked silent. When I find my voice, my words come out sharper than I intend. “He grabbed your ass!”

  Turning, she walks away from me, shaki
ng her head as she goes. She mumbles just loud enough for me to hear, “Believe me, that’s not the worst thing they do.”

  I catch up to her quickly. “Then why do you work here?”

  “God, you’re like a flea that just won’t go away.” She gives a quick glance in both directions before she hops off the curb and hustles across the street. There are a few students roaming, but it’s a Friday night. How secluded is it on a Monday? The idea of her out here, walking by herself, bothers me more than it should. “Are you intentionally being this obtuse? Why do people usually work? So I can pay for things.”

  “I get that. But why there?”

  She glances at me out of the corner of her eye before moving her attention once again in front of her. There’s a weighted silence between us, almost as if she’s deciding how much to reveal to me. Finally she says, “Because a partial scholarship only goes so far, and this pays the best for what’s available with my schedule. Unless I go down to Roxy’s.”

  My jaw locks, hands clenched at the idea of her working at a fucking strip club. If I thought a guy grabbing her ass got me pissed, it has nothing on someone staring at her while she struts naked on a stage.

  Not seeing my reaction, or ignoring it entirely, she continues, “I’m not quite that desperate yet.”

  Thank fuck for that.

  “What about your parents? Why don’t they help you?”

  “I have a better question: Why are you still here?”

  “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I’m not such an asshole that I’d knowingly let you walk to the bus stop by yourself after midnight. You do this every night?”

  “Careful, stalker, you’re starting to sound creepy.”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “Seriously, though. I can…I could come by tomorrow and give you a ride home, if you want.”