The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) (29 page)

Maya is strange this morning. I’m not sure what it could be, other than morning-after regret. She seemed interested in reuniting last night, and I thought I’d followed all the right signs before entering her bedroom. Maya seemed to radiate green lights across the board, ready even before I was.
 

But this morning, she’s different. Like she wishes we hadn’t. Like she’s lost some of her forgiveness. The night is its own intoxicant, and this wouldn’t be the first time I did something in the evening that I realize I shouldn’t have done in the sun.
 

If I’m reading Maya right, that’s exactly how she’s feeling now.
 

You left me,
I hear her eyes and body saying to me.
You left US.
 

I loved you once, but then you betrayed us.
 

I thought you cared about us, but I can’t forgive what you did.

What was in the past should have stayed there.
 

I had an itch last night, but now that it’s scratched, I can see that we made a mistake that’s best forgotten.
 

I try to keep my happy face just in case I’m wrong, but by the time we part, I’m sure I’m not. She won’t meet my eyes. She won’t return my banter. I feel stupid for saying I’d stay in town, but even as I get into my truck, I feel reluctant to take it back, even in my own mind. That felt like a grand declaration, and I was sure she’d be delighted when I dared to say it. But now I’m sure she’s shaking her head as she drives away, sorry for me and my delusions.
 

How could I think that one night would make up for ten years of neglect?

Why would I make such a grand gesture when she was clearly just blowing off steam? She must think I’m pathetic. She must not respect me. All my life, I’ve wanted to travel. But what I said this morning, it’s like professing my love after a mediocre first date. We have all this history, and God help me, I felt sure last night that we still had the chemistry. But I was wrong. And now I feel like an idiot for speaking my mind, for not playing it cool, for not moving slowly and instead acting as if all is forgiven and forgotten when of course that is impossible. Not in one night, and maybe not ever, now that I’ve made things so awkward.
 

I drive away, about to face another day of nothingness. I have no agenda, and now it’s a workday. Joe is probably on call at the fire station, and I’m sure Brandon is working as any self-respecting non-drifter would be in the middle of a Monday.
 

With nothing better to do, I call the auction company to see if I can nudge something forward. I have no idea if I’ll stay in Inferno or not, but Ernie’s house is an albatross around my neck regardless. There’s an excellent chance that the house and his crap will make enough to fatten my pockets after his loans are taken care of, but I want to be done with the chore even if it merely breaks even.

I get someone on the phone who I’ve never spoken to then pull into a parking lot, waiting while she shuffles for Ernie’s file.
 

“Oh, yes,” the girl says. “It’s being shown to a prospective buyer today.”
 

I blink. That doesn’t make sense.
 

“It’s an auction,” I say. “It hasn’t gone up yet.”
 

“It looks like someone is interested in the baseline price.”
 

Baseline
. Yes. Now I remember. The guy I first talked to said they sell houses like eBay sells lamps and other stuff. The sale is advertised as a scheduled auction or a cash purchase at a set price, called the baseline — or the Buy-It-Now price. I remember the explanation, but I was barely paying attention. Ernie’s place is a hole, and the baseline was a non-hole price. The idea that someone would stop by, see that house, and decide to buy it outright at a price that assumed it didn’t suck was so far-fetched as to be unworthy of my attention.
 

“Are you sure you have the right place?” I spell Ernie’s name then give her the street address.
 

“Yes, Mr. Dade. There was interest.”
 

“Someone kicking tires.”
 

“Actually, because auction prep is our major business, our policy is that there are no showings unless the prospective buyer submits a bank statement.”
 

“What, for financing?”
 

“No, sir. To show they have sufficient funds for a cash purchase.”
 

“You’re telling me someone has ninety grand sitting in their account to drop on my uncle’s crap-shack?”

“Ninety-nine with our fees and commissions. Yes, sir.”

“Who the hell would want it, though?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but the girl must think I’m actually asking. I guess there’s no confidentiality or even discretion at this stage, too, because I hear her rustling, and I know she’s looking up the name of the person who’s making the offer.

I wonder if it’s Brandon. Not personally, but in his company name. Life of Riley has developed a lot of land around here, and although their main thing is developing raw land into large communities, Brandon mentioned they diversify a bit into flipping single properties from time to time. Inferno Falls is a happening place, but it’s still hard for me to imagine anyone recouping their investment in turning a place like Ernie’s — even though it’s admittedly in a growth area. But if Brandon is behind this, it almost makes sense. He may be rich now, but he used to be as poor as I was. I need a break, and even though I kept swatting away his hints about helping me out, buying my uncle’s house at an above-fair price seems like the kind of underhandedly kind thing my old friend would do.
 

Yes, of course. Of course that’s what this is … and that annoys me because now I’ll have to pin him down and yell at him until he stops giving me charity from Mason James’s coffers.
 

“Brandon Grant,” I tell the phone. “It’s Brandon Grant who wants to buy the place.”
 

“No, sir,” says the girl, her rustling finally coming to an end. “It looks like the buyer’s name is Finch. Mr. Thomas Finch.”
 

CHAPTER 34

Roxanne comes up to me and says, “If I have to clear one more of your tables, I’m going to have a serious talk about you with Ed.”
 

I respond, “If you want to suck Ed’s dick, go for it, Bitch.”
 

Roxanne is so shocked, I walk away without so much as a snippy rejoinder. I know my victory is short -lived because the Pit’s head waitress is an evolved bully. You can usually stand up to a bully, and they’ll leave you alone. Stand up to Roxanne, and she digs in deeper. And though I’m sure that nobody, anywhere, will trade sexual favors for Ed’s allegiance, Roxanne is plenty vindictive (and creative enough) to get me in other ways. She’ll wrangle control of the schedule and assign me the worst shifts. She’ll throw her weight around and wrestle command of the hostess station then give me the terrible tippers and perverts. She might even take burned food from the kitchen and deliver it on my behalf then blame me when the diners complain. It’s happened before, and now I’m sure it’ll happen again.
 

But I don’t care. I’ve been at the end of my rope for a while now, and even though the Nosh Pit seems trendy on the outside, it’s a butthole to work in. Other than Roxanne and the cooks, no one stays longer than a year, usually far less. Everyone’s already sure that Abigail’s escaped with her musician, Gavin, and isn’t coming back. I’m already hearing dissent from Jen even though she’s new. So what if I get fired — I won’t have to deal with Roxanne or Ed or the dickheads she’ll give me to serve. I’ll be out of money fast if I don’t mange to land one of the other, surprisingly rare jobs in town that I’m qualified for, at least on paper. But I’ll ask my parents if I need more money. Hell, I’ll live with them if it comes to that. I’ve never been willing to do that before, but I’ve reached my limit.

Beyond Roxanne’s general bitchiness, something wrong is in the air — today, yesterday, this whole week.
 

I swear, word has spread. The code of silence, with me and the men I’ve been with, might turn out to mean nothing. Chadd came at me as if he knew I’d succumb to his charms, as if he knew he’d score in advance. That’s happened a few times lately. I’m either radiating something, or I’ve earned a reputation. Even the word reputation makes my skin crawl. I
swear
I’m not one of
those girls
; I’m just fucked up beyond my ability to resist — or have been, until today. But then again, I guess I’ve been one of
those girls
plenty over the past years. Really, why should Grady ever want me?
 

I try to breathe and think. I’m on edge. Paranoid.

But paranoia aside, the Nosh Pit has been nothing but trouble. Ed makes me pick up shifts when others get hurt or can’t make it. He tries to grope me and calls me Sugar Tits. Roxanne sees me as a cruel experiment, seeing how far I’ll bend before breaking. Customers, I swear, are getting worse.
 

And now this.
 

Tommy visiting the Nosh Pit out of the blue, talking about the daughter he’s abandoned.

And now his time bomb of a text message, which I’ve already spent the first half of my shift worrying might be prelude to an appointment I don’t want to have.
 

Get together?
Tommy’s use of that specific phrase has to be a wink-wink, maybe blackmail. I’m not sure what he wants, appearing now of all times, but he’s nothing but slime. Yesterday, I felt myself attracted to him, yes, but that’s just my trigger. In the clear light of reason, I see Tommy differently.
 

He’s an ass.
 

A worthless piece of shit.
 

I’d never want anything to do with Tommy, socially or physically, ever again.
 

But, still, there’s the presumption in his text:
Get together,
assumed as compliance, when I made it clear I wanted nothing of his offer. What does he expect, for me to let him into Mackenzie’s life or suffer the threat of a threesome as my only alternative? And if so, why? He’s been worse than absentee so far. Who
does
that, and how does it make sense? He’s only allowed to wield one hammer over me, and I guess it’s the knowledge of what I did in the bathroom with Chadd. He can’t use that same weapon twice: trying to curry sexual favor and also … also doing
whatever this is
with my daughter.
Our
daughter, by blood if by nothing else.
 

He can’t possibly want to be Mac’s father now, after all this time. Tommy isn’t the kind of guy who has midlife epiphanies, mainly because I’m sure he thinks he’ll never die. He hasn’t checked in with Mac once before now; I told him I was pregnant, and he went darker than North Korea. I could have pursued him for support, but I was glad to have him gone and ashamed to admit I’d been with him. Sure, I’d yearned. But reality was so different from the fantasy, and while I would have welcomed an encore with Tommy in my panties before now, I never wanted him anywhere else.

Regardless, I make my way through my shift with grim determination, sure that Tommy won’t text again but will instead simply appear. I’m not sure
exactly
what he’s after, but I know this isn’t a problem that will simply go away.
 

And then, of course, there he is. Right by the window. Looking like his usual, cocky self. Staring directly at me with sex in his eyes as if he knows what I look like naked, because of course he does.
 

Roxanne comes up beside me. I can tell she’s been waiting all shift to say the wrong thing to me, but what gets me most — and embarrasses me on her behalf — is that I can tell she’s drooling over Tommy. Her breath is a bit too deep and slow, and she’s spending more time looking at him than me, which is unusual. Roxanne has the eye of a tiger. Nothing gets in the way of her bitchy vengeance — except, it seems, one of Inferno’s hottest eligible bachelors.
 

She’s in my way. I try to pass, but she won’t move.
 

“Excuse me,” I say in my least polite voice.
 

Roxanne looks back at me with scorn.
 

“I need to get to my table.”
 

“That’s not your table,” Roxanne says. “That’s mine.”
 

It’s been my table all day. But right now, she looks like a jungle cat. Her eyes are hard. Her cheeks are blushed. I look back to see that Tommy is now giving her his sexy look, and I’m shocked to realize my first instinct is to step between them — not because I want Tommy more, but because not even Roxanne deserves to be taken in by him. He’s claimed enough victims. I feel like I now have an inoculation against him, so like the lone soldier outfitted with body armor, it’s my responsibility to jump on the grenade.

“Get out of my way, Roxanne.”

But of course she doesn’t listen. I’ve nudged up beside her, but she’s pushing me away, not subtle at all. I see Tommy smirk. Because of course, this is how women debase themselves around him daily.

Roxanne moves ahead, and I do the first thing that comes to mind. Jen just filled a pitcher of iced tea, so I shove it off the counter to spill it down Roxanne’s front.