Maybe it was a sign. My salvation. A gift hidden in the mirage of mockery.
I didn’t belong here. Didn’t want to be. We all had choices in how we lived our lives, and I knew the choices I wanted to make for mine were out of tune here. The fact the fine hairs prickled at the back of my neck when I felt the shift in the air was proof enough.
The way my stomach flipped at that seething intensity that rippled through the air and covered me from behind. The way they wrapped me in these chains that I refused to become hostage to.
“Kitten.” His voice was a rough scrape.
My teeth ground harder. “What can I help you with, Sir?”
I spat it like my own insult.
“Your shift is over. Tom will finish loading the washers and cleaning the floor.”
I tried to draw a sane breath into my lungs and not lash out. I pinned on the fakest smile ever faked, but I was sure I still looked like a lunatic when I whirled around and shot it his direction. “Great.”
I started to wind around him. He grabbed me by the hand.
Fire streaked.
Flames that screamed up my arm and jumped into my veins.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I froze, barely looking at him, and then my brow curled when he extended an envelope for me to take.
A very fat envelope.
With a shaking hand, I warily accepted it. “What is this?”
“Your portion of tonight’s tips.”
Confusion flashed so quickly I couldn’t keep it out of my expression. “What?”
“Servers and bartenders share a cut of what they make with the rest of the staff. What you do allows them to do what they need to do. That’s how it works around here.”
Stunned, I blinked, still held by his hand on my arm. The whisper coming from my mouth was shocked. “Thank you.”
He leaned in closer, his aura taking me whole, the words a rough threat when he uttered them an inch from my jaw. “Don’t thank me just yet.”
Then he turned and stalked for the swinging door, not bothering to look back when he said, “See you tomorrow night at nine, Kitten.”
I swore, I felt the ground shake beneath my feet.
Tentatively, I peeked at the contents of the envelope. My heart nearly seized. Inside, there had to be at least three hundred dollars in cash.
Oh god.
My hand went to my chest, and I struggled to take in a cleansing breath.
To make sense of this stupor.
This feeling that I should run against the temptation that whispered I should stay.
And as I peeled off the apron and went into the locker room to get my bag, my head still spinning, I wondered if I’d finally, finally caught a break, all while praying I wasn’t being lured into the deepest pit in Hell.
Three
Trent
Groaning, I buried my face deeper into the pillow when my mattress was hit by a Richter eight. So much energy comin’ from the pint-size tot it was a wonder he didn’t bring down the house.
“Dad, Dad, Dad! You’ve got to get up and hurry it up quick.” He jumped at my side, his little feet creating a cataclysm on the bed. “It’s the very first day of school, and no way can we be late because I don’t want to go gettin’ into trouble. Gettin’ into trouble is bad, right, Dad?”
I hugged that pillow and willed myself to shake off the fog. The exhaustion. Because truth be told, three hours of sleep just wasn’t gonna cut it.
But he was the one thing that made it worth it.
One love.
One loyalty.
One reason.
“Right, Dad, right?” He kept bouncing away.
That time, I buried the groan into the down feathers before I forced myself to roll over, peeling my eyes open to the dawning day.
And there he was, the kid all sunshine and love and exuberance smiling down at me.
Gage.
My son.
Only thing brilliant and big enough to fill the crater burned through the middle of my black heart.
Only thing bright enough to give me a glimpse of the light.
He was the one good thing I had in my life. One thing I protected with that life, too.
He was dressed in jeans, a short-sleeved button up, and his checkered Vans. Looking like the budding badass that he was.
Except the skin of his arms and neck were covered in squiggles and lines and crude shapes drawn in ink.
What the fuck?
Sitting up, I stabbed my fingers through my bedhead, squinting through the blinding light. “What’s goin’ on there, little dude?”
I gestured at the shit he’d scribbled all over his body.
He stretched his arms out—far too proud. “What d’ya think, Dad? You like ’em a lot? Now I look just like you.” His caramel-colored eyes widened in anticipation. “’cept not as big yet, but I’m gonna be soon! Right, Dad, right?”
He started jumping again, little legs propelling himself as high as he could go, arms raised above his head with all that golden hair bouncing around his chubby face.
Kid cute as fuck.
A slight chuckle rumbled out, and I snagged him around the waist and tossed him onto his back on the bed. I started tickling his sides. “You think you’re gonna be as big as me, huh?”
Gage howled with laughter, clutching his stomach and kicking his feet. “You know it, Dad! I got to be.”
“You gotta be, huh?” I kept tickling him, but soft and with all the love I had for him.
He batted at my hands, laughing and squirming all over the place. “Yes, Dad, yes! I got to be! Otherwise, my uncles are gonna call me shorty for my whole life!”
“Rude.” I widened my eyes with the tease.
“The rudest,” he said with a jerk of his chin, resolute.
I slowed, unable to do anything but gaze down at this kid who was looking at me like I was his hero. Most precious grin spreading across his face, so massive it dimpled his cheeks.
Wanted to be that for him.
His hero.
His rock.
Kind of dad worthy of someone looking at him the way my boy did.
Like I wasn’t covered in scars and sin and shame.
Like my soul wasn’t shrouded in the blemish of the things I’d done.
I ran my hand over the top of his head, pained affection bleeding out. “I do know it. You’re gonna be so big. So strong. So good,” I promised.
Caramel eyes shined. “Just like you.”
Old grief clutched my chest, and I forced a smile. “No way. You’re going to be way better.”
“Those seem like really too high standards, Dad.” He said it all kinds of serious.
Laughter fumbled out, and I ruffled my fingers through his hair.
Fucking Logan.
“Sounds to me like you’ve been spending too much time with Uncle Logan.”
He sat up, more of that earnestness infiltrating his voice. “You crazy? There’s never too much Uncle Logan time.”
My grin was wry as I sat back and hooked my knuckle under my kid’s chin. “I bet he told you that, too.”
Gage scowled. “Bettin’s bad, Dad, don’t you know?”
Kid was a stickler for the rules.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I shook my head, my lips softening as I stared at the child who I’d do anything for. “You look super cool, man, but I think we’re gonna have to ditch the tattoos for your first day of school, yeah?”