I try to bring the can't-be-Trey couple back into my line of sight, but people have moved in front of them. As Gloria approaches me with two flutes of champagne I stumble against a small table as the pictures of Trey from my Internet search flash in my memory. It was over a month ago, from a computer in the Atlantis Resort, but the woman he was featured in photograph after photograph with was a redhead. Could it be a coincidence?I plan to take two steps toward the couple to try and confirm my suspicions when the Trey look alike turns around completely. My stomach twists and I worry I might vomit. Thankfully, Gloria grabs my arm before the-man-who-is-most-definitely Trey sees me. It's with her help that I make it back to the area we left Roger and her husband.My breathing is shallow, but my heart beats rapidly as I race to work through my thoughts. Trey is here and with the girl from all the pictures. The girl who definitely isn't his sister or some other family member. Have I bee
Ugh. Thoughts of Trey kept me up half the night and without enough sleep, the warmth of the water from the shower spray isn't helping to energize me for the waiting day. I'd turn it cold if I had more self-control, but who in their right mind makes the decision to take a cold shower? Not even learning Trey's an asshole of epic proportions can make me that insane.Trey stalked away from our group and I spent the rest of the night being the perfect companion to Roger. I smiled pretty and shook hands like nothing was wrong. But Trey's look of betrayal before he turned and left played on repeat in my mind. By the end of the night, I regretted my final words to him. It was never about getting his account to Lowry, Lowry, and Fink, but in a time of weakness I played on his insecurities.I press my head against the cool tile of my shower as water flows over my eyes. I'm not sure why I'm even concerned with how he feels. Why do I feel miserable and guilty over what I said? The man has a gi
I buckle my seatbelt before the flight attendant walks the aisle and my mind wanders back to my earlier conversation with my father. I can't remember anything concrete after he said my mother, the woman who brought me into this world, had thirty days to live.I brought a bag on the plane with me, but I'm clueless to what's in it. Hopefully clean underwear or socks, maybe some pants. I move a hand to my temple and push on the space in frustration at myself. Isn't it amazing that in a time of turmoil my damn brain is worried if I packed clean underwear? Is it my feeble attempt to try and keep it together?I've done well so far. Maybe this is what people call shock. Thirty days to live. How can doctors calculate thirty days? Where does this number come from? Is there some demonic cancer calculator floating around the Internet? My other hand reaches up to rub the opposite temple as I lean both elbows on my knees. Who has the right to tell my mother she only has thirty days left on Eart
IT'S ONLY the first week of November, but there's an extra chill in the air as I'm the last to exit the car back at my parents' house for the post-funeral luncheon. The cold set into my bones as we stood outside at the gravesite and I worry I'll never be warm again. Of course I've been cold for more than the last month, so this might be my new condition. Cold. A little dead to the world.The three of us are silent as we walk in the house we once shared, but never will again. My sister continues to the kitchen while my father and I stop in the living room to our right. He sits in the old green chair he's called his for more years than I remember, and I take a place on the matching couch. It doesn't actually match, but its close enough in color that when my mother found it a few years ago she bought it on sight. Then sent me pictures and text messages for the next week about how amazing it was to find a piece of furniture the exact hideous pea green color of Dad's favorite chair. She l
The neon green cup with the cat in the center sits on the edge of my kitchen counter. Right below it on the floor, my trash can waits. It will take one quick flick of my hand to send the cheap souvenir container over into the bin. Then it's a simple tie job before I walk the bag to the trash and throw away a piece of Trey. I should do it.I lean with my back against the opposite counter and stare at the cup with narrow eyes. My lips pucker as I visualize the cup falling off the edge with a small clink as it hits the glass container of spoiled mayo. Cleaning out my fridge was not a top priority before I jumped on a plane almost two months ago. All I need to do is reach across the space and tap the cup in. I can do it.A sigh escapes my lips and I grab the cup and toss it on the top of my kitchen packing box. I'm weak. What am I going to do about it? Plus, the kitchen box wasn't even close to full, so one more item won't hurt it. Besides a few favorite mugs and the cat cup, everythin
I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose both my pinkie toes after today. Regardless of how comfortable your shoes look, they all hurt after six hours on your feet. I'm not sure what's worse — only having eight toes after I finish my first shift at Bonnie's Café or the possibility I may have to buy a pair of those ugly lunch lady shoes.I limp behind the black counter with my empty coffee pot in hand and start the task of making a fresh batch. In order to keep some weight off my aching feet, I switch from foot to foot to find a small amount of relief."You need more support in your arches," Jamie, my trainer and coworker for this shift, tosses my way when he comes to stand beside me at the coffee pot.Jamie throws the white towel he used to clean off the tables in the sink to our right and leans a hip on the counter, turning his body to face mine. His upper arm muscles bulge stretching his official black Bonnie's polos shirt at the hem of the short sleeve. It takes me a minute to pry my
"Do you need a ride to work today?" Aspen asks as she enters the small tiled kitchen."No, it's two blocks and I'm not due in for a while." I don't admit my secondary reason, a promise to myself that I would interrupt Aspen's life as little as possible while I'm here. The woman barely knows me, but she's opened her place without anything expected in return. It's more than I asked and I'm clueless as to how to repay her. The $500 in rent I'll force her to take doesn't feel like enough.Aspen peeks her head into the living room where I sit on top of my makeshift bed now a couch again. When she looks back at me, her face is scrunched up on one side in question. "I hope the couch was okay. You folded it out, right?""Yeah, I picked it up already, but I slept great. Thank you."I set my alarm for six to make sure the area lacked all evidence of my sleeping here before she left her room."Don't worry about it every day. No one is ever here." She points to the refrigerator. "Rule 4:
"We're tag teaming lunch again?" Jamie's question comes from behind me, and I jump jerking the coffee pot but without spilling any of the hot liquid inside.By the time I turn around to face him, there's a genuine smile in residence on my face. "Yup, it's the dream team together again." I smack him on the arm with a move that's so reminiscent of my mother my breath hitches.My new coworker doesn't notice my slip and turns back to the other side of the counter to start our prep for the upcoming lunch rush. He balances on the heels of his feet and leans into the case, his muscles flex stretching his black polo shirt as he moves plates around. I might spend a few too many minutes watching him with my back against the opposite counter.The restaurant is peaceful now so my time isn't interrupted with a needy customer. It's the quiet time of day, the time that pays the least in tips. People stop in for a muffin or coffee — quick orders that don't require them to sit. Then as we get clo
Six months later"I thought you were painting this room silver?" Hudson asks dropping his half of the couch inside of our brand-new tiny living room. That's not fair. It's bigger than the apartment when I lived with Marissa. Living here will be like me having my own special mansion. Except this time the rent is higher.I put my end of the couch down and then promptly sit at the end of it. I've done my part of moving. This is why we hired movers. I don't know what it is about men wanting to lift heavy objects. Plus, it's not like there's much furniture to move. The old apartment came furnished. This stuff is new.I look at the wall, which shimmers in the bright light from our large open window in the new living room. "I did. It's Silver Fox.""This color is gray.""No, it's Silver Fox.""It looks gray to me."I shake my head in dismay. "Gray is darker."He nods slowly. "Uh-huh. Whatever you say."Hudson and I have been living together since he made the permanent move t
A few weeks later"Wow, Finn hooked you up." My eyes blink a few times trying to adjust to the overpowering glare of so many television screens in one room.Hudson laughs as he steps behind me. "Ridge taught me you can never have too many cameras.""Well, you definitely put his words into practice." No less than thirty flat screen TVs line a wall in the room Finn and Hudson started calling the war room. I'm pretty sure Finn has a camera everywhere Aspen may go in San Francisco. There is even one in the comic shop. The transition has gone well for the most part. Finn and Aspen had a heated debate over her bodyguard situation.Once Hudson accepted the position, he didn't waste time. It's been less than three weeks and he has a war room set up and is spying on half the residents of the city. My man gets shit done."Are you happy?" I ask turning around so we are face to face.Hudson rolls his eyes and says something silently to the ceiling of the room. He's recently taken up pr
The glass automatic door at the airport entrance slides open and I saunter in with a purpose. No woman has ever been as determined as I am to put a man in his place. Full Marissa style.And then maybe win him back. It depends on his response. I've been through tons of shit the last few weeks. I need someone who can handle me and won't chicken out.Aspen and Finn checked me out of the hospital and then took me back to my apartment making me promise I wouldn't leave when I asked to be alone. My mother even listened when I told her it was a great time to visit my brother in Washington. He'll love it.Besides my shattered heart, I'm medically fine. There's no reason for people to be stuck hovering around me. Hurt or not, I've still peopled too much these last few days, so it wasn't hard to press that I needed quiet time. I promised to head right into bed and sleep for a few more days.But I've broken many promises lately. And kept secrets. I am not the same girl I was last year. An
I hate to be a bad friend — who am I kidding, I'm always the bad friend — but Aspen could not have picked a worse time to make her visit. And I love her. She was here all day yesterday. Getting water, refilling water, fluffing my pillow and accidentally pulling on my IV before doing it again while apologizing for pulling on the IV. Hudson and I haven't had two minutes to ourselves. I tried to fake sleep yesterday afternoon, but then they stood around the bed looking and me and whispering."Do you need your pillow fluffed?" she asks for the thousandth time. It's become her filler question. What she asks me if she doesn't know what else to ask.I shake my head, giving Finn my best "calm her down" look, but he doesn't notice. He's so madly in love with Aspen he thinks everything she does is adorable. "I'm fine, Aspen. Relax."My best friend is definitely more put together than Hudson in the last two days, but not by much. Her hair is flat on one side, a little curly on the other, an
A STEADY STREAM of beeps wakes me up to a stream of light.A hospital. It's the place I've woken up the last two days. I can't complain. It's one hundred times better than a concrete floor in an abandoned factory in Oakland. Even still I fight the panic as my brain comes into consciousness. The hospital therapist says eventually there will come a day when I don't wake up ready to flee, but I'm not sure I believe her.My awake body is heavy and sluggish. Yesterday I spent most the day sleeping as my conscious mind worked around what happened after I was taken from the sidewalk in front of Cosmo's.Hudson was shot. I watched it with my own eyes. What I didn't know at the time was the bullet grazed the side of his body and most of his injury was due to the shock of being shot. Even though my mind didn't want to believe it at the time, he led the charge to rescue me. And yes, he absolutely shot Jimmy in the head — a scene I never ever want to see again, but one that plays on repeat e
Breathe. I hit reality with a start. Tears form as I blink my eyes to open them. My shoulder hurts, a tingling stiff sensation like I slept on it wrong. At one point I must have broken out in a cold sweat and my skin is clammy, moist yet chilled. My knuckle scrapes the hard ground underneath my body as I sit up and the events of what happened flood back. It wasn't a bad dream. I've been taken right from the front of Cosmo's. Kidnapped.They shot Hudson.I have no idea how long I slept or where I am. No longer in the van, the room is dark around me and it takes longer than I want for my eyes to adjust. Of course, there's no positive to be found when they do. Sawdust and dirt smells permeate the air. On the ground there's not only cold hard concrete but sharp pieces of wood. I wipe a few from my pants legs only to have them stick to the skin of my fingers.As I try to stand, there's a clink of metal. I tug my foot to find it doesn't move. My leg is bolted to the ground with thick m
"Are you sure you won't walk in there and start crying?" Hudson asks as we stop in front of Cosmo's Comics and Café.I take a deep breath and check myself before I answer because frankly he's probably right to be worried. It's been two days since we met with Drew at the restaurant in Oakland and I spent most of that night crying. I haven't talked to anyone since then. More than likely they think I've been taking this time to apologize to Hudson. He promises he's forgiven and forgotten and even understands why it took so long.Hudson spent the last few days consoling me as I came to terms with finally admitting what happened that night and saying goodbye to Drew if only in my own mind. He's been perfect. He didn't push or yell at me to do it faster or tell me I was being ridiculous. He listened and held me when I needed him. I couldn't ask for a better man.Hudson is everything I've ever wanted in a guy. Sensitive enough to figure out when I'm hurting, but strong enough to tell me
"That's your answer?" Hudson's eyebrows lift.I hit my knee against his. "Hudson."He sighs in agitation."Well, Drew, the way I look at it Amanda doesn't have much to tell. It sounds to me as if in her story you were a friend who was there to help her out. Who didn't want to get involved in a police investigation. But before I can trust her opinion that you're a nice guy, I need proof."Drew laughs even though it's inappropriate for the time. "I don't think I'm a nice guy, but thanks, Amanda.""Um, you're welcome?""I started working construction jobs part time when Clare and I were in foster care." He stops talking right as the story gets good."But you don't do construction work now, do you?" Hudson asks the exact question I've been thinking.It's like pulling teeth to get facts out of Drew, but what he doesn't understand is Hudson will have no qualms telling Ben if he's not satisfied with his answers."Yes and no. From time to time my boss asks me for extra favors
"Sorry, Dean, I've got to get home. Lots of Christmas prep to do."There's no time to chase another raid with so much work to do for Aspen's Christmas celebration. They overdo it for most holidays, but the big ones are the worst.He nods, accepting the answer. I rarely take him up on offers for more raiding or the hundred times he's asked me out for coffee. "Okay, see you next time." He waves, following a large group of people making their way to cars and bikes before heading toward the wharf.I step onto the sidewalk outside the baseball stadium to look for a cab. The road is eerily quiet since there isn't baseball in December and the people from the raid snatched up the cabs. Even though Grant, Clare's boyfriend would kill me, I scroll through my phone and find the Uber app. If I have to call for a ride anyway, I should at least make it a cheap one. He'd be pissed over how close I am to his neighborhood without someone here with me, but it's too late to worry about that now.