The Closer You Come

Of course, on the other end of the spectrum, doing what scared her today often led to happiness tomorrow. So... Yes. For a chance at improving her life and finally having fun, she could put on her big-girl panties.

She would go see her doctor tomorrow after her shift at the RC, get on birth control—just in case—and then go to Brad’s shop. Her stomach began to twist into a thousand tiny knots of nervousness already.

“My office, Brook Lynn.” Her boss’s voice echoed through the empty restaurant, startling her from her thoughts. “Now.”

Mr. Calbert sounded gruffer than usual. Was he going to yell at her for Jessie Kay’s absence or the plates Brook Lynn had broken or the orders she had screwed up—or all three? Yeah, probably that last one. The knots in her stomach tightened. But at least the new implants were doing their job, leveling out the noises around her while allowing her to distinguish certain nuances.

“On my way,” she called. She trudged into the break room to grab her purse from her locker.

Heart hammering, she entered Mr. Calbert’s office. He was in his midfifties with thinning hair, glasses as thick as her wrist and a build that suggested he enjoyed tasting the foods he served.

His office was small, crammed with file cabinets and a desk too big for the space. He was already seated, drumming his nails impatiently. When she eased into the chair across from him, he got straight to the point.

“Your sister was a no-show. Again.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” When Brook Lynn had seen Jessie Kay this morning, she’d been hunched over a toilet, vomiting her guts out from too much to drink, her mascara running down her bright red cheeks.

You going to be okay for work? Brook Lynn had asked.

I’ll be there. Jeez! I’m not a total slag.

Mr. Calbert shuffled papers around, saying, “Why do you put up with that girl?”

Because Jessie Kay had done whatever was necessary to keep Brook Lynn fed after Uncle Kurt had taken off. Because she’d comforted Brook Lynn when they’d lost everything. Because her sister was all she had left.

“That has no bearing on our conversation,” she said, raising her chin.

“Actually, it has everything to do with our conversation.” He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his forehead in his palms. That did not bode well. “Look. I like you. I do. I think you’re a good girl with bad problems, and that’s what makes this so difficult, but this is a business, and it has to be done.”

Dread slithered through her, a boa with every intention of choking her out. She could guess where this was leading and vehemently shook her head. “Don’t do this, Mr. Calbert. Please. I need the money.”

He lifted his head, his hazel eyes bleak. “I’m sorry, Brook Lynn. I loved your parents. They were nice people, and I respected them, but I can’t rely on you anymore. You’re too tired to work as much as you do, but I can’t cut your hours because you always beg me for more. You break things—”

“I’ll pay for them.”

“—and you get a ton of orders wrong.”

“I apologized to everyone.”

“You put peanuts instead of croutons on Mr. Crawford’s salad, and he had an allergic reaction. I have to pay his medical bill and for his mental anguish!”

“Anyone could have made that mistake.” But okay, all right. Yes, her mind had been zapped by all the extra hours and tasks she’d taken on. “At least now Mr. Crawford knows his EpiPen is working properly,” she tried.

Mr. Calbert shook his head. “I need to be able to rely on my staff.”

“But—”

“I can’t rely on you or your sister. You and Jessie Kay are fired, Brook Lynn. Effective immediately.”

* * *

JASE HAD JUST finished off his third beer of the evening, knowing it wouldn’t be his last. He had seriously dark emotions to drown, and by hell, he was going to drown them. If he failed, he’d get in his car and head into town to see her.

The new bane of his existence, Miss Brook Lynn Dillon. He hadn’t been this obsessed with a woman since Daphne.

Daphne. Yeah. He’d think about her. Unlike Brook Lynn, the thought of her actually mellowed him.

He let his mind drift to the night he and Daphne had met. They’d both been sixteen, and while he’d earned money repairing and washing cars, she’d worked at a fast-food joint. He’d gone in for a burrito and had come out with her phone number. They’d spent the next two years together, inseparable, and had been saving to rent an apartment together.

She’d represented the future. Stability. And unlike most of the foster families he’d lived with, he’d wanted her to stick.

“Want a beer?” Beck asked West.

They were congregated in the game room, their sanctuary. Beck and Jase were playing pool, while West watched. Or, more accurately, thought about something; the guy had been lost in his head for the past half hour.

“No,” West finally replied, and Beck breathed a sigh of relief.

Jase observed the entire exchange with a frown. Beck had been testing West’s resolve to remain sober more and more lately, and he couldn’t figure out why. But then, the two had a history he knew nothing about. So many years’ worth of memories made without him.

He never had a problem convincing himself he was fine with it—until moments like this.

“You aren’t an alcoholic, West,” Jase pointed out.