Show Me the Money

by Sloane West

  And that he wore a blue T-shirt.

  Ashley.

  Jen blinked. It couldn’t be. Ashley was not a man. But as she stared at his dark, tousled hair, she knew that her sponsor, her potential BFF in addiction, was a dude. She stood frozen, holding her coffee and debating whether to meet him or run and never look back. She didn’t have anything against men, but her experience with them had been less than charmed. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Amy she was giving up on the opposite sex. Jen was a recovering addict and, frankly, a poor decision maker. Aside from her friendship with Wayne, Jen’s forays into dating had inevitably resulted in drugs, sex, or worse—none of which she was currently interested in dabbling in. Not that the man sitting across the room from her was looking for love—probably the opposite. But she was in a state of limbo at the moment. Tough as nails and weak as a wet paper towel. Throwing a man into the mix, strictly business or not, was dangerous. She had walked in prepared to face-to-face it with a woman, which had been intimidating enough. That Ashley turned out to be a he only added to her anxiety. She was far from a delicate flower, God knew, and she sure as hell wasn’t afraid of him, but Jen and men had always spelled trouble, and trouble was the last thing she needed. Still, walking out felt cheap. Like giving up. And she didn’t need that, either. She was a grown-ass woman, and being a functional adult meant dealing with potentially uncomfortable situations without running for the hills of cocaine.

  Wishing her Golden Cream Bitter was bourbon, she drank deep and walked over.

  3

  Without asking if he was, indeed, Ashley, she sat in the booth opposite him and said, “Hi. I’m Jen.”

  He’d been staring outside, and when he looked over, her mouth fell open.

  “You,” she whispered, feeling like she’d stepped into the Twilight Zone.

  His handsome face froze. “You.”

  As Jen stared at the man she’d both slept with and robbed on the same night seven years ago, she couldn’t imagine how this could have gone any worse. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said, her heart hammering. “Ashley?”

  She’d never gotten his name when they’d first met. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. Now, she was regretting her epic lapse in judgment in more ways than one.

  He looked as t-boned as she felt. “You’re . . . Jen.”

  Memories of the reckless, hot, law-breaking night they’d shared poured into her mind like a river of sin, and for the first time in a long, long time, she blushed. Abandoning her coffee, she stood and started past him.

  Recovering from his surprise, he grabbed her wrist and growled, “Sit down.”

  She gritted her teeth and did as he commanded, sinking into the booth once more. She glared. “Are you going to call the cops?”

  He said nothing and stared at her as if trying to decide what to do.

  He’d looked younger the last time she’d seen him. Skinnier. Wilder. It had been that wildness that had drawn her to him in the first place. Now, he’d hardened into something sterner, though no less handsome. He was broader, his muscles more defined, and his jaw more rugged. In fact, aside from the basics, he looked nothing like the strung-out man she’d fornicated with in a grimy bathroom stall. And, in fact, if she hadn’t been so astonished, she would have been more than a little attracted to him. As it was, her fight-or-flight reflex was two-stepping inside her. He had every right to call the cops, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to. She’d been given a chance to set her life straight, and she was sitting across the table from a drug-induced mistake that could ruin everything.

  “It’s been a long time,” he finally said.

  She eyed him warily and nodded. “Yes.”

  His gaze was unreadable as he studied her, and she couldn’t tell if he was angry or still in shock. “You stole three hundred dollars from me.”

  She looked out the window, clasping her hands into a tight fist on the tabletop, her face warm. “Yes,” she said again.

  “Everything I had to my name,” he went on.

  Regret trembled inside her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t . . . right back then.”

  “No excuse.”

  Her ire sparked, and she glared at him. “Did I steal your drug money?

  His gaze hardened. “That’s not the point.”

  She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Just do what you’re going to do, okay?”

  He leaned back and stared at her. “Got somewhere you need to be?”

  “I don’t know,” she asked. “Do I?” Like the police station, for example.

  He seemed to consider it, a muscle in his jaw ticking. Finally, he took a drink of what appeared to be black coffee. “You pay me back, and we’ll call it even.”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. It was all so unbelievable. Not only that, but she was as broke as a can-carrying corner wino. She could ask her mother, but that would result in a conversation Jen wasn’t prepared to have. The idea of telling lily-white, holier-than-thou Lydia Huntley what happened made Jen want to dive into a vat of alcohol. Wayne paid her a decent wage at the clinic, but everything she’d earned to date had gone toward rent, utilities, replacing the threadbare tires on her car, and groceries. She didn’t have three hundred dollars to spare.

  And it shamed her.

  Both because she couldn’t pay her debt and because she had once been low enough to create it in the first place. Still, she raised her chin. She’d committed the crime, but she wasn’t about to let him intimidate her. He’d been in no better shape than she had been that night, and she still had some pride. “I don’t have it,” she said. “But I have a job. I can pay you. Just not today.”

  He considered her. “Seven years of interest adds up.”

  She stared at him, trying to determine whether he was serious. When his expression didn’t soften, she stood once more. “Forget it.”

  “Wait,” he said. “I’m kidding.”

  She hesitated and then sat, shaking her head. “You got jokes. I find that hard to believe.”

  His mouth curved reluctantly. “My daughter would agree with you.”

  Jen’s heart stuttered at the word daughter. She ignored the dull ache in her chest and asked, “You have a daughter?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his thumb tapping the handle of his coffee mug. “She’s eleven.”

  Jen tried to picture him as a dad. He would be the overly protective type that wouldn’t allow his daughter to date until she was thirty. If then. “Do you bully her, too?”

  A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth. “When the situation calls for it,” he said and then added, “I don’t remember you being so feisty.”

  She hesitantly retrieved her coffee. “I don’t remember you being so sober.”

  He seemed to realize he’d let his guard down and cleared his throat. “Indeed,” he said. “Which is why we’re both sitting here today, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “It is.”

  He took a drink of his coffee and studied her. “Have you started going to meetings?”

  She nodded. “Twice a week.”

  Though the meetings were a necessary evil, she couldn’t deny that they also helped. Immensely. In the real world, where people were mature, responsible adults, she was an outcast even though she tried damn hard to pretend otherwise. At the end of the day, most folks went home to their families and didn’t burn with the need. The craving. For a hit. For a drink. For an escape. They worked, slept, ate, lived in the open. They didn’t walk under a cloud. They didn’t hear a dogged, unrelenting voice telling them that just one would be okay. That they could handle just one. To take the edge off. Fighting that voice was a constant battle. There was no end. Only ebb and flow. Her meetings were vivid reminders that she wasn’t alone in that riptide. That there were other outcasts, too. That wasn’t to say the meetings weren’t sometimes boring as hell. There were only so many bottom-of-the-barrel stories a girl could listen to before her eyes glazed over.

  “How
long clean?” he asked.

  She resisted the urge to reach into her pocket and grip her coin. “One hundred and seventeen days,” she said, pride rising in her even though it was such a small number. She had bled and clawed for those days. She’d earned her coin, and with any luck, she’d earn many more.

  “That’s good,” he said, and she got the distinct impression that he wasn’t in the habit of doling out praise. The idea amused her, and she hid her grin in her coffee cup.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “Three years clean.”

  She set down the cup. “Does it get any easier?”

  “No. You’ll fight this battle every day for the rest of your life.”

  She swallowed and looked out the window. Some days, the naïve, hopeful girl inside her imagined that, eventually, she would be wholly normal. That she could think about drugs or liquor without wanting them. That she could walk past a bar without feeling the urge to go inside. But the jaded, haggard part of her knew it was a lie. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I figured.”

  She could feel his eyes on her as he asked, “Have you used since you got out?”

  She looked at him, her cheeks growing hot. “No,” she said, clenching her jaw. “I told you I’m clean.”

  He studied her as if judging her sincerity and finally nodded. He pulled something from his pocket and slid it across the table to her. “You feel weak, you call me. You feel unstable, you call me. If you in any way, shape, or form feel you’re going to slip, call me. Anytime. Day or night.”

  She picked up what turned out to be a business card and eyed it.

  Ashley Danvers

  Senior Forestry Manager

  Blue Hollow State Park

  There was a number and an email listed as well.

  She pocketed the card. There was nothing compassionate or cajoling about the way he’d said it. No frills. No sugar coating. His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he expected no arguments. And, while she understood he wasn’t here to hold her hand, she didn’t appreciate his superiority. “Yes, boss.”

  He paused and gave her a stern look that, to her surprise, thrilled her. He went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “If you can’t reach me, call Healing Hearts.”

  She saluted him. “Aye, aye, captain.”

  “You think this is a joke?” he asked with a frown. “Because if you’re not serious about staying clean, find someone else to sponsor you.”

  She sighed. “Are you always this uptight?”

  “When it comes to sobriety I am. And you’d better be, too, or you’ll be back in the center before the month is out. Or worse.”

  Jen wasn’t sure how she could ever experience anything worse than what she already had, but she relented. “Of course I’m serious. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

  He considered her. “We’ll meet twice a week.”

  Though she’d never been more dedicated to staying sober in her entire life, she couldn’t help but rib him. “Not sure I can handle your bubbly personality twice a week.”

  He maintained his frown, but she didn’t miss the glint of amusement in his brown eyes. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

  She sipped her coffee. “So, a forestry manager?”

  Now that the unpleasantries were out of the way, he seemed to relax a little. “Yeah,” he said. “I oversee the timber production and conservation department at Blue Hollow State Park.”

  The job fit him. Though he only wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, he had the rugged build of a man who was meant to wear flannels and heft axes. “Sounds fulfilling,” she noted.

  “The fresh air keeps my head clear,” he agreed. “What are you doing for work?”

  “Cleaning kennels and walking dogs.” She smiled. “It’s not glamorous, but I love it. The animals don’t judge you for your past mistakes, you know?”

  “Probably why I like working with trees,” he chuckled.

  She brought her cup to her mouth, laughing quietly. “Amen, brother.”

  Their mutual stand on the subject seemed to disperse the cloud of tension, and they both exhaled. “So,” he said. “You got family and friends supporting you?”

  “My best friend, Amy,” Jen confirmed. “She’s been amazing. And my mom. She’s been . . . better than expected.”

  Jen and her mother had railed against each other for as long as she could remember. Lydia had always wanted a daughter just like herself. A carbon copy. Proper, spotless, and ladylike. And Jen had failed on all accounts. Miserably. Still, despite their tumultuous past, Lydia had been trying. And, while they might never be the ideal mother-daughter duo, Jen could appreciate her efforts.

  Ashley’s mouth curved. “Mothers tend to frown upon drug use.”

  Jen laughed. “My mom’s frown has lasted thirty years. I think she’ll need surgery to get it removed.”

  He chuckled, and she realized that his face wasn’t nearly as hard as she’d thought it was. “She’ll come around.”

  “Yeah,” Jen agreed with a smile. “I convinced her to eat a pizza with her hands. If you knew her, you would know how monumental that is.”

  This time, he laughed out loud. “Sounds glorious.”

  “It was,” Jen said. “I think she made an appointment with her psychiatrist afterward.”

  His grin lingered. “You’re different.”

  “Being fully clothed and fully conscious will do that to a girl,” she said dryly.

  He gave her a disapproving stare that made her grin. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know,” she said. “And, yeah, I am. You are, too.”

  He looked down at his coffee. “Yeah.”

  “So.” She cleared her throat. “About that night—I think we should talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “It happened. It’s over with.”

  “It happened,” she agreed. “That’s my point. There’s a conflict of interest, don’t you think?”

  He sipped his coffee. “There’s no conflict if there’s no interest.”

  Though it had been seven years ago and only one felonious night, his words stung. “I just think it could make things a little awkward is all.”

  “Look,” he sighed. “We’re both adults here. We made a mistake. No reason why that should come back to haunt us now.”

  She considered him. It was true she didn’t have romantic feelings toward him, but she could remember that night vividly despite the haze of drugs. It had been hot, sweet, and surprisingly intimate. While they’d behaved like animals, there had been tenderness beneath all the panting and grabbing. He’d touched her as if she was something special, and that was hard to ignore while sitting across the table from him now. Still, she could see that he wanted to forget it ever happened, and part of her did, too.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “Let’s do it.”

  For a moment, he looked startled by her words, but then he frowned. “You’re going to be trouble.”

  She grinned. “You have no idea.”

  4

  It took six weeks and dozens of coffees for him to let his guard down and keep it down. By then, she had grown so used to teasing him and intentionally making him uncomfortable that she felt as though they were truly friends rather than just sponsor and sponsee. While he still scowled at her inappropriate jokes, he’d lost that hard edge. Sometimes, he even joked back. She looked forward to those moments. And, though he’d never admit it, she could tell he felt the same. Getting to know him and his personal struggle with addiction had strengthened parts of her she didn’t even know were weak. Nobody could ever replace Amy as her best friend, period, but Jen now considered Ash a close second despite their rocky beginning.

  She’d had to text and call him more times than she cared to admit when she’d been on the verge of breaking her vow. And, each time, his stern, steady voice had talked her down from her ledges. He’d become her safety net, but she was beginning to feel like she could walk the tightrope on her own. Sh
e would always need support, of course, but the confidence she’d gained from the experience was worth more to her than barrels of gold.

  Or whiskey.

  Chuckling, she jogged onto the sidewalk and headed into Roust. The act was so familiar now that it almost felt like going home. Chatter and the bitter, beautiful smell of coffee greeted her as she walked inside, and she bypassed the counter, heading straight for their booth. Ashley was waiting, as usual, with his back turned to her, his broad shoulders stiff. She smiled wickedly, knowing he would scold her for being late and that, in turn, she would scold him for being obnoxious. It was what they did. He would try to maintain his glare, but he wouldn’t be able to, and satisfaction would soar through her because she’d made the stone man grin.

  “What’s cooking, good looking?” she asked, sinking into the booth and shaking the wind out of her hair with her fingers. She’d driven there with the windows down, blasting Madonna and singing along at the top of her lungs, and she had the hoarse voice and tangled hair to prove it.

  “Hey,” he said, sliding her Golden Cream Bitter across the table.

  She accepted it with satisfaction. Normally, she bought her own, but last week, he’d insisted on getting the next round because it was her birthday. Which made today doubly special. Not only was she officially thirty-one years old—her favorite number—but she had finally saved up the three hundred dollars she owed him. And, after coffee, he was introducing her to his daughter—something Jen was both excited about and intimidated by. Today would be a good day.

  She sipped the icy, delicious coffee, which had become her favorite thing to drink in the entire world despite its astronomical price tag. “Happy birthday to me.”

  He gazed at her a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, then he cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”

  Here we go. She set down her coffee, ready to spar. “Did that giant stick get lodged in your ass again? One of these days, you’ll need an excavation team to get it removed.”