by Jayne Frost
“Can I help you find something?”
Shifting my feet, I forced myself to meet his gaze as I pulled the title for my Civic out of my back pocket.
“I need to see about a title loan.”
To my surprise, his expression didn’t change. He just nodded, took my registration, and motioned to the counter. “Step over here, and we’ll see what we can do.”
I pretended to check out the jewelry in the case while he busied himself punching data into his computer. Wedding rings, gold lockets, and other trinkets glinted under the harsh lights. I felt like an intruder, glancing over someone else’s memories. And their misfortunes.
Abandoning the pursuit, I turned to a woman a couple of feet away with a baby propped on her hip. Her voice was strong as she haggled with another employee over the best price for the ring she intended to purchase.
But no. She wasn’t buying. She was selling.
They finally agreed on a number, and she kept that stoic look in place until he turned for the register. Only then did I see defeat marring her features. Our eyes met, and she gave me a little shrug.
“Miss Howard.” Shifting my focus back to the clerk, my heart did a nervous somersault. No longer smiling, he sized me up with narrowed eyes. “We can’t make a loan on your vehicle since there’s already an outstanding debt.”
I glanced down at my registration, then up to his face. “I don’t understand. That’s my car. It’s paid off.”
Maybe it was the tremble in my tone. Or the way my hand started to shake. But his features softened. “The debt is with us,” he said quietly as he slid another paper in front of me. “It’s right here.”
He pointed to the date. Six months ago.
“H-How? It’s my car. And I have the title.”
Shrugging, he tipped his chin to a sign above the register.
Get money today! Keep your title! Easy terms!
“The loan was made to a Christopher Howard. He’s on the title.” His voice lost the rough edge. “Is he your…?”
Silence swelled. But I couldn’t bring myself to admit Christopher was my father. It felt like a betrayal. Or proof he didn’t care about me.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah…Sorry. I must’ve forgotten about that.”
Cocking his head, he rested his forearms on the glass. “If you’ve got something else, I’ll try to make you a deal.”
I had nothing. The notion hit me like a ton of bricks, and my shoulders sagged. Twenty-two and I had nothing of value to bargain with. His eyes fell to my right hand—to the ruby and diamond ring that never left my finger.
No.
I took a step back. “I can’t sell this. It’s my mother’s.”
Was my mother’s.
“A loan then? You’ve got three months to pay it back.”
I darted a gaze to the jewelry case full of other people’s abandoned mementos. And I wondered if the owners had willing parted with them, or just ran out of time.
Don’t do it.
But I was already sliding the band off my finger. I felt naked without it. Stripped bare.
Dropping the bauble into his waiting palm, I said, “Just a loan.”
He nodded with no conviction. “Sure. Sure.”
My skin crawled as the clerk took out a loop and examined the ring for flaws. There weren’t any. To me, it was perfect. But I kept my mouth shut.
“How much do you need?” he finally asked.
In my periphery, the woman with the baby watched our exchange. Recalling her determination, I infused steel into my spine and lifted my chin.
“I won’t go less than five hundred.”
Scrubbing the tears from my eyes, I ran out of the pawn shop and slid behind the wheel of my mortgaged car.
For all my determination, I’d ended up with only three hundred dollars. The flash of courage did me no favors when it came to negotiations. Not that there were any.
“Three hundred. Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”
Worse yet, I still didn’t have all the money for my passport, my whole reason for pawning the ring in the first place.
Seems there was an interest payment coming due on the title loan. And since my dad had been suspiciously absent lately and not returning my calls, I didn’t trust him to take care of it. That wiped out one hundred and ten dollars.
I drove through town in a daze, my thumb sliding back and forth over the indentation on my finger.
Was this really how life was supposed to be? Did crushing defeats always follow triumphs?
As if to answer my own question, I turned onto the quiet street and coasted to a stop under a tree in front of the house where I’d once lived with my parents. Before things turned bad. Before my mom died and my dad lost himself to booze and gambling. When he could still look me in the eyes, because now he saw his dead wife’s face.
Pulling out my phone, I checked Dad’s whereabouts on the tracker he’d installed. A red blip in New Orleans, Louisiana. The dot hadn’t moved since last night. And since my dad was a truck driver, I surmised that he was holed up in the Crescent City. Lured by twenty-four-hour booze and gambling. I couldn’t compete with that.
Sniffling, I swiped my finger over his name. Straight to voice mail.
Instead of telling him I knew about my car or berating him for spending the two days he was off a month getting lit and blowing our money one state away, I forced a smile he couldn’t see.
“Hi, Daddy. I was expecting you last night. I guess you got tied up.” Cursing the tremble in my voice, I pressed my lips together. “Anyway. I’ve got some good news. Give me a call, okay?”
I ended the call before another plea slipped over my tongue. He didn’t deserve it.
My gaze lingered on the white house my mama had purchased with the last of the money she’d made from her endorsements. All gone. Along with the proceeds from her life insurance policy.
All that was left was the ring.
Digging my thumbnail into the vacant spot on my finger, I leaned on the gas and sped away. Leaving the memories of my better life behind.
Miles
What has your life become?
Normally, when that kind of shit floated through my head, it was time to call my shrink. Because esoteric questions about the meaning of life usually foreshadowed some type of breakdown.
But not today.
Today, as I stared out the window of my truck at Daryl, looking ridiculous in his faded blue T-shirt, board shorts, and flip-flops, I really wanted to know what the hell had gone wrong in my world that this dude was my only ride and die.
“Fuck my life,” I muttered as I grabbed my gym bag.
Daryl fell into step beside me as I headed for the entrance to the Y. Because he did that now. Not in front of me. Or behind me. Right beside me like we were BFFs.
Jesus.
Cutting in front of him to pull the door open, I gave a pointed look to the floral print board shorts as he passed. “Flowers, dude? Really?”
He didn’t bother to respond, just pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and did a slow perusal of our surroundings. Doing my best to hide my annoyance, I flashed my membership card to the kid at the counter. He had that deer in the headlights look.
“How’s it going, bud?” I asked as I shoved my wallet back into my gym bag.
The column of his throat bobbed. “Fine,” he squeaked. “Good, I mean. Really good.”
“Awesome.” I rapped my knuckles against the desk and then headed for the locker room, passing a smirking Daryl.
“I hear there’s an aerobics class for seniors,” I said, hitching a thumb at one of the workout rooms. “Sweating to The Oldies or something like that. Feel free to join. I got this covered.”
My shit-eating grin froze when we rounded the corner and came face-to-face with a small mob. Mob might be overstating it, but the narrow hallway was packed with bodies.
At first, I thought someone might have keeled over in one of the classes. But then I felt the electricity as
several sets of eyes turned my way. The hackles on the back of my neck stood up in response. Not that I thought I was in imminent danger. But the power balance was definitely not in my favor.
Before I could get my bearings and plow through the crowd, Daryl stepped in front of me. “Stay or go?” he asked, shooting me a serious look over his shoulder.
I rolled my eyes and made to pass him. “Don’t be so overdramatic. It’s just a bunch of soccer moms.”
One of Daryl’s meaty paws wrapped around my bicep. For fuck’s sake. Rather than start a fight, I let him do his thing.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said gruffly as he waded in with me in tow. “Coming through.”
Grimacing, I put my head down. “Take it easy, dude.”
I’d had bodyguards in the past who were a bit overzealous. Daryl didn’t seem like the type, but I didn’t want to give him a reason to go all Rambo.
Parting the crowd with relative ease, he delivered me safely inside the locker room.
Unlike the last time I was here, the place was deserted. Except for Shannon, who spun to face me, eyes wide and skin pale.
“Oh, thank God.” She rushed forward, and I instinctively retreated. “Sorry. Sorry. I tried to call, but there’s no phone number for you in our system.”
I chuckled, motioning to the door and the fans on the other side. “You think?” I dropped my bag in front of an empty locker. “Ask me sometime about the girl who worked at my dry cleaners. She posted my cell number on her Facebook account. Along with my address. Fun times.”
Back then, it had really pissed me off. But now, I wasn’t sure how I’d react. How much longer would fans bother with me, anyway?
Shaking off the feeling of being a has-been at thirty, I yanked my T-shirt over my head.
“What are you doing?” Shannon asked, panic glazing her tone. “Put that back on.”
Damn, this chick is high-strung.
I offered a patient smile. “It’s just a few fans. No big deal. I’ll sign a couple of autographs…” I sighed. “Why are you shaking your head?”
“Steven is really freaked out. It’s more than a few fans. The bleachers around the pool are overflowing.”
Meeting Daryl’s stony gaze, I jerked my chin to the pool area so he could check it out. He nodded, then marched away, while I turned my attention back to Shannon. “Who’s Steven?”
“The facilities manager. He’s afraid someone’s going to crack their head open on the deck. Or drown. Or…I don’t know.”
Biting her bottom lip so hard it lost color, she wrung her hands.
I pushed to my feet. “Well, then. Let me talk to him. I’ll set his mind at ease.”
It struck me then, how much I wanted to be here. Out in the world. I’d known it since the morning after my talk with Dr. Reber. Takeout food and one night a week with a woman I paid just wasn’t enough anymore.
Daryl sauntered back in, slashing a finger over his throat and shaking his head.
Fucking perfect.
“Look, I get it,” I said to Shannon, my tone taking on a harder edge than I intended. “But my leg is fucked. I need the therapy. So we gotta come to some type of terms.”
She contemplated for a second. “I suppose I could try talking to Gelsey again.” When I gave her a blank stare, she shook her head, exasperated. “Gelsey Howard. The woman you talked to after the last class.”
The angry little mouse with the fucking attitude.
“She’s not interested,” I said. “Turned down a grand a week and told me to get bent. I guess she’s got another gig.”
Shannon’s brows shot up. “You must’ve really rubbed her the wrong way. And she doesn’t have another job. Or she wouldn’t be here filling out an application for a janitor position.”
“She’s here?” My gaze swiveled to the door as if she might appear out of nowhere. “Like, now?”
Shannon’s eyes widened. “Well, yes. But—”
Hopping to my feet, I tossed my gym bag over my shoulder. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go talk to her.”
Gelsey’s angry glare slid over Shannon’s shoulder and landed squarely on me.
I made a sweeping gesture around the messy room.
That’s right, little mouse. All of this could be yours.
Sweaty rubber mats. Overflowing hamper filled with dirty towels. And the trashcan looked especially ripe.
Surely, spending a few hours at my place was preferable to cleaning up this pigsty.
Or maybe not. Her scrunched up brow and pursed lips told me she was a minute away from turning down the deal. Again.
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Daryl when I pushed out of my chair.
“Well, you ain’t me,” I shot back. “Just keep propping up the wall and mind your business, leaner.”
Gelsey straightened when she saw me coming. Which maybe added a half inch to her height. Making her eye level with my Adam’s apple.
“Twelve hundred,” I growled as I skidded to a stop beside Shannon. “And I’ll send a car for you.”
The angry little mouse glanced me over with eyes the color of blueberry jelly beans. I hated blueberry jelly beans. Usually. Almost always.
“I have a car,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“But you don’t have a damn job. At least not one that pays thirteen hundred bucks a week.”
Her lips parted slightly, and I bit down a satisfied grin. If everyone had a number, this was hers.
But instead of agreeing, she flicked her gaze to Daryl. “Boyfriend?”
I felt my lips twitch. Good one. But not good enough. “Husband. We’re deliriously happy. Are you going to take the job, or what?”
Shannon inched out of our semi-circle. Away from the line of fire. “Y’all have got this covered. So I’ll just…”
Waving her off, I kept my eyes glued to Gelsey, who’d yet to say yes.
“Fourteen hundred,” she countered.
I was about to agree when I noticed her fingers, balled into fists at her side. She wanted the job. But she also wanted to win. But then, so did I.
“Thirteen-fifty.”
“And you’ll send a car?”
“An Uber.”
The smallest one I could find. No air-conditioning? Super.
Gelsey peered up at me through her lashes. It wasn’t a sexy look. More like she was ready to flay my balls. “I’ll take the job if you can answer one question. What’s my name, Miles?”
Angry mouse.
“Gelsey Howard. Now, do we have a deal?”
She jerked a nod. “Yes.”
“Good. You can start in the morning. I’ll leave my contact information with Shannon.”
I’d just about made it to the door when Gelsey called my name.
I spun to face her, wondering what the hell else she was going to ask for. “Yeah?”
“I would’ve done it for a thousand,” she said, a smile tugging her lips.
Gelsey
I looked up from my dinner when Shannon slid into the seat across from me on the patio at the Moonshine Grill.
“You really must be upset,” she mused, eyeing my plate of chicken-fried steak, baked macaroni and cheese, and garlic mashers. “Keep eating like that, and Micha won’t be able to lift you.”
She was right, of course. And I rarely indulged in comfort food. But at the moment, I was too busy being terrified to worry about it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I hissed as she picked up her menu.
“Tell you what?” She looked around, presumably for a server. “I need a drink. Do you want a drink?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know I don’t drink.”
“You also don’t eat complex carbohydrates. Yet, here we are.”
She had a point. Maybe I could use a drink. Maybe if I got drunk enough, I’d forget about the fool I made of myself this morning. Or the rock god I’d agreed to work for. At his mansion no less. No, no…his estate. That’s what Architectural Digest had called it. Was
an estate bigger than a mansion? Probably.
Shannon finally noticed my distress and put down the menu. “Jeez, honey. I was just kidding. What are you so worked up about?”
Before I could answer, the server appeared. Shannon quickly ordered a raspberry Cosmo, whatever the hell that was, then turned her attention back to me. “Well?”
“He gave me his address. I looked it up. It’s…been in magazines. Multiple.”
Austin was teeming with musicians. You couldn’t drive down Sixth Street without seeing a bunch of guys who looked exactly like Miles with drumsticks hanging out of their pockets or guitar cases slung across their backs. But I had no idea that most of them were actually trying to be Miles.
I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my palm, willing away the headache attacking my frontal lobe.
“He’s paying you thirteen fifty a week,” Shannon said, unable to hide the amusement in her tone. “That didn’t clue you in?”
When she put it like that, it made me feel even more foolish.
Straightening in my chair, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well. I’m not going to do it. I’ll just call and tell him he has to get someone else. End of story.”
“Gelsey—”
“Don’t even try to talk me into it. I’m not going to be responsible for breaking a national treasure at the largest estate in Austin.”
She snorted. “You’re not going to break him. It’s water rehab, the same thing you’ve been doing since you were twelve. If it makes you feel any better, I told Dr. Reber I recommended you and he thought it was a great idea.”
“He did?”
She smiled at the server who dropped off her Cosmo, then slid the cocktail my way. “Of course, he did. Now take a drink and relax.”
Reluctantly, I picked up the martini glass and sniffed the purplish liquid. The last time I’d sampled one of Shannon’s drinks, I’d nearly spit it out.
“Bottoms up, I guess.”
To my surprise, the berry flavored liquid went down smoothly, with just a hint of warmth. Smacking my lips, I evaded Shannon’s grabby hands when she tried to reclaim her glass.
