Chapter 5 (Breslin)
I clutch the phone in my hand and close my eyes.
I hate it when he calls me.
I have ten guesses what it is he's calling me for but I only need one.
To say he was pissed about me not coming home for the summer would be an understatement. His little cash cow finally did something selfish and left him stranded.
Guilt slams into me and for a moment, I hate myself. I left him just like my mother did. No wonder he's such a mess.
Swallowing back my tears I manage to utter, “Hello?”
“Breslin,” he snaps and I steel myself, preparing for the battle that hasn't even started yet.
“Hi, Dad,” I say cheerfully, mostly because I know it will piss him off.
I love my father. Or rather, it's not so much love...it's pity.
Once upon a time he wasn't such an incorrigible and bitter drunk, but my mother leaving took a toll on us, most of all him.
But I'm the one who lives with the side-effects of her departure.
“I'm late on the rent again and that dang electric company is threatening to shut my power off if I don't pay them soon.”
Well, at least he got straight into it this time instead of placating me by asking how my classes were going...and then cutting me off mid-sentence when I started to tell him.
My stomach knots. I have a little money saved, but it's mostly for after I graduate. As it is, I try to send him half my check every pay day, but of course I didn't send him any money from my last two checks.
Because I quit my second job.
Because I didn't want Landon to find out about my second job.
Because I think I might be falling for him.
I press my forehead against the dingy wall of the supply room and force myself to breathe. “How much do you need?”
“A little over a grand.” His tone is clipped, aggravated even and it takes everything in me not to yell at him and say things I can't take back.
Things like—maybe if he got off his lazy, drunk ass and got a job of his own, he wouldn't be in this predicament. And that his 21-year-old daughter who's busting her ass in college shouldn't be responsible for putting the roof over a grown man's head. And maybe if he got help for his 15 beer a day habit, the money I send him would go further.
I've forked over my paychecks to him ever since I started working at the age of 14, and for once; I'd love to only have to worry about myself.
But I don't say any of that, instead I mentally calculate the numbers and cringe because sending him a grand is going to put a huge dent in my meager savings account.
I open my mouth to tell him that I'll write the check and send it out in the morning, but he clears his throat and says, “Listen, Bres. I've been thinking.”
I hold my breath because lord knows no good comes when my father starts to think.
“It's still not too late for you to come home this summer. I talked to Johnny over at the Tease and Please and he said he's got an opening for you.”
Anger burrows deep in my gut. My father has said some really fucked up things to me in the past, but this is without a doubt, in the top five. “You want me to work as a stripper?”
I fight back the shame that slams into me when thoughts of taking off my top and serving drinks for high class businessmen at my former job swirl through my head.
“Stripper is such a harsh word, sweetheart. Johnny says the term they use ‘round there is exotic dancer. You used to like to dance, remember?”
No, that was my mother. I hate dancing and don't have rhythm to save my life.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him just how much he's had to drink today, but to my dismay he continues, “Granted, you'll have to lose about 10 or so pounds to fit in and really make a killing there, but we can get you some diet pills or something. You've got your mother's looks and it's time you used it to your advantage. You won't be young forever you know.” I'm too flabbergasted to speak as he rambles on. “Come back home and work for Johnny, Bres. Then you can put this college bullshit on hold and—”
Prove everyone in that God forsaken town right about me? Not a chance in hell. “I'll put the check in the mail tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone before he can protest or continue this shitty conversation.
My eyes sting with tears and I hate that I'm letting him get to me. I have to remind myself that I'm not the shy and weak girl that I used to be...but right now?
Right now, I feel like her.
I feel someone’s presence behind me and I already know who it is before I turn around.
Kit doesn't say a word, because she doesn't have to. Instead she rests her head on my shoulder and squeezes my hand.
“I swear sometimes I hate him,” I whisper, a second away from losing it.
“And I hate him even when you don't.” She wipes the tears from my eyes and cups my face. “What did the asshole want this time?”
“He's late on the rent and electric. Says he needs a grand.”
“Wow he's a real piece of—”
“He also offered me a once in a lifetime job opportunity at the Tease and Please. Says his friend will hire me and make all my dreams come true.”
Her mouth drops open and I laugh. “All I have to do is drop out of college and drop 10 lbs.”
“Jesus,” she mutters, then she glares at me. “Please tell me you're not going to send that piece of shit a dime.”
I shrug and start organizing some supplies on a shelf. “He's my father, Kit.” She puts a hand on her hip and I don't have to look at her to know she's scowling. “He wasn't always this bad.”
I draw in a shaky breath. “He really loved her. But that love ended up destroying him in the end.”
Because that's what love does. I know that fun fact first hand.
It's why I should be putting an end to things with Landon...not letting myself fall further down the rabbit hole.
“B,” she starts and I know the next words out of her mouth before she says them.
Kit's the only person I ever confided in about Asher. Or rather, the truth about what happened.
We met when the powers that be at Woodside University decided to pair us up as roommates.
I counted my lucky stars and knew the moment we met that making the rash decision to attend Woodside University instead of Falcon University like I had originally planned, was the right call in the end.
Kit is crazy, unpredictable, and her hair color changes with her mood.
But she's one of the kindest, coolest, and best people in the world and I honestly don't think I would have made it through the last three years without her by my side.
“He didn't deserve you,” she continues, jabbing her finger in the air.
I start dusting the shelves, not wanting to hear the same words I've heard from her too many times to count.
She lets out a frustrated sigh. “B, you need to stop wasting your golden years on the ghost of assholes’ past.”
When I stop what I'm doing and give her a look she adds, “You have a good thing going with Landon. He actually realizes what's right in front of him. Don't pull away from him and make him pay for that dickhead's mistakes.”
When I stay silent, she stomps her foot and exclaims, “Asher Holden is 6'4 inches and 234 lbs.of pure Douche Canoe.”
Here we go. The one-woman Asher Holden is an asshole brigade has officially started.
I ignore the way my heart does a double take at the sound of his name...because Kit's right. He is an asshole.
I'm more than grateful that we managed to avoid one another in town during our breaks for the past three years.
Of course, I'm basically a hermit whenever I step foot in that town so it really wasn't all that hard.
Plus, I tend to use any excuse not to stay with my father in the trailer and rent a motel a few towns over, blaming my lack of a visit on having found a job at the said motel.
But hey, as long as my father had a steady flow of cash in his pocket for his 24-pack, it didn't matter to him where his daughter spent her nights.
She cocks her head to the side, grips her now platinum blonde hair with bright pink tips, and groans.
Her eyes—which are only a shade off from my green ones—narrow into tiny slits and she takes a step forward. “As far as I'm concerned, anyone who could cheat on you and hurt you shouldn't be breathing.” Her expression turns serious and her voice cracks. “I don't care what his reasons were. I'm always going to want to rip off his balls and put them in a blender.”
My heart pulls, because again, she's right. I remember back when I told her what happened, I automatically thought she was going to side with Asher seeing as she herself is gay.
Hell, part of my heart even secretly wanted her to side with him—the weak part of my heart where Asher still resides wanted an excuse to forgive him for the unforgivable. Because I once loved him so much.
But that wasn't the case—complete opposite. Kit was outraged for me and she picked me up when I fell apart.
And she keeps picking me up whenever I fall apart.
Not many people understand what it does to your soul when you've been cheated on...by the one person you gave everything to.
The one person you trusted.
And the fact that it was a guy—a guy I hated? Causes a swell of self-doubt of epic proportions to come crashing to the surface constantly.
It doesn't just make it hard to trust men...it makes it damn near impossible.
Asher Holden emotionally disfigured me with his betrayal, and even after three years; I'm still not sure how to move on.
There's a place deep inside me, underneath all the hurt and pain— a place that just can't manage to cut the cord that desperately needs to be cut.
Asher wasn't the one who got away...he was the one who left a grisly scar on my heart for the entire world to see.
He's my own aching and constant reminder of the cold, hard truth—real love can hurt like hell and it's just not worth the risk.
“Say it,” she prompts, her face breaking out into a grin.
When I shake my head, she stomps her foot again. Kit's all of 5'2 to my 5'4 but the girl is a tiny tyrant. One who's pretty much broken every boys heart on campus because she plays for the same team they do. It also doesn't help that she usually ends up going home with the hottest girl in a room at parties.
When she doesn't look like she's going to relent, I do. “It was his loss,” I grit through my teeth. “Because I'm beautiful and smart—”
She crosses her arms when my words drift off. “And?”
“And I have a really nice ass.”
“Fuck yeah you do.”
She wraps her arms around me and I take a deep breath. I hate these little mantras that she swears by, but sometimes...sometimes they're not so bad.
She grabs me by my shoulders. “Now you're going to go out there and spend some time with that hot as fuck genius who can't keep his eyes off you, okay?”
“I can't I'm at work—” I shove her back, panic now rippling through me. “Kit, there's no one at the counter.”
She says something but I'm too busy running back out to the front.
Where I find Landon manning the station, much to the confusion and annoyance of the ten or so grumpy customers in line.
“I want a double mocha venti, steamed skim milk, 3 ½ pumps of vanilla syrup, light whipped cream, extra hot, no foam, and a dash of chocolate and cinnamon sprinkled on top,” the man on the other side of the counter barks to him.
I roll up my sleeves, preparing to jump into action, but Landon pushes his black rimmed glasses up his nose and makes a face. “Yeah, you can have coffee and milk. Take it or leave it, guy.”
The man looks ready to argue, but I'm used to this customer's order since he's a regular. “Coming right up, Mr. Finnegan. Just give me a second.”
“Sorry, Landon. You can sit, I've got this.” He starts to protest but I turn my head and shout, “Any time today, Kit.”
She slinks back out, cradling her cell phone between her cheek and shoulder, talking a mile a minute to who I'm sure is Becca, her new girlfriend.
When three more customers take a spot in line, I hand Mr. Finnegan his order and snap my fingers. “We're working, Kit.”
She waves me away and continues jabbering on her cell phone.
I love her, I really, really do...but her work ethic truly sucks. But then again, her family is as rich as the day is long so money isn't exactly a problem for her.
She thinks having a job is akin to that of an accessory.
Landon gives me a wink before he takes the next customers order, which lucky for us both isn't anywhere near as complex as Mr. Finnegan's.
Ten minutes later, all the customers have their drinks and Kit finally gets off the phone. “Do you mind if I take my break?”
Landon takes off his apron and throws it on the counter. “You just had one.”
“Careful, Landon,” she tells him, picking up the apron. “I'm rooting for you.”
Landon rolls his eyes before focusing them on me. “You alright?”
I nod, stuffing down the ball of pain working its way through my chest. “Yeah.” I look at Kit, silently begging her not to bring up my father or the phone call. “Nothing I can't handle.”
He takes a few strides, until he's standing directly in front of me. My mouth goes dry and my heart flutters when his thumb grazes my cheekbone. “Will I be seeing you tonight?”
“Yes—” I pause, because the lack of funds in my bank account and the check I need to write my father is something I can't ignore.
I don't really have a choice other than to beg for my old job back for the time being. I disregard the look Kit's shooting me and I'm thankful Landon can't see it.
Kit might be the worst coworker in the world, but she's a great friend. Therefore, Landon has no idea where it is that I used to work up until four weeks ago.
“I can't. I totally forgot I have this thing that I need to take care of and I won't be done until 2 am.”
Kit makes a slitting motion across her throat, but I don't have time to deal with her little temper tantrum about me going back to work at the topless bar.
The disappointment is more than evident on Landon's face. And when his chocolate brown eyes turn sad, my heart aches.
I seriously don't deserve someone like Landon.
As per usual, Landon knows something's a bit off with my statement, but he squeezes my hand and kisses my cheek before he whispers, “Okay, no problem. You have my key, let yourself in whenever you're ready.”
His lips touch my forehead and I close my eyes and breathe in his addicting scent. I want to fight my attraction and pull to him, but it's like telling my heart not to beat.
“I'll have tacos waiting for you,” he murmurs against my skin and I giggle.
“Jesus, Landon. Even my pussy wants to turn straight and crawl into bed with you now,” Kit mutters, much to the customer who's now standing at the counters horror.
“Eyes on the menu, lady,” she snaps, gesturing to us. “This is an A and B conversation. So I suggest you C your way out before D meaning me, jumps over this counter and F's you up!”
“Well I never,” the lady gasps, putting her hand over her heart.
“Yeah I bet you haven't.” She makes the peace sign and sticks her tongue between her fingers. “Trust me, it shows.”
“Kit,” I growl, pushing Landon away so I can apologize.
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Carter. She's new.”
“She's here almost every day.”
I start preparing her order and give her a smile. “I'm working on making her more civil, I promise.”
Kit bristles and I hand Mrs. Carter her tea. “The world needs more do-gooders like you, dear,” she says before leaving.
I turn to face Kit. “Are you seriously trying to get me fired?”
She looks offended. “Of course not, B. It's not my fault Mrs. Carter is a frigid bitch.”
I rub my temples and Landon squeezes my shoulder. “I have to run, Bre. I have a tutoring session starting in 20 minutes.”
“Well if you were serious about those tacos, I guess I'll be seeing you later.”
He grins before pulling me in for a kiss. My toes curl and I melt into his lips. But the second my mouth parts and his tongue meets mine, he pulls back. “If you want more of that in addition to the tacos...make sure you stop by.”
I bite my lip as I watch him walk over to one of the tables, grab his laptop bag, and walk out the door.
“You're not showing your tits to a bunch of pedophiles at a bar again,” Kit says behind me.
Of course, it's when Mr. McGillicutty and his two grandchildren are standing at the counter now. His face pales when one of his granddaughters asks him what a pedophile is.
I shoot Kit a death glare and quickly pour two hot chocolates and a cup of black coffee. Then I toss three glazed doughnuts in a bag and hand it to him. “This ones on the house. Sorry about that.”
He huffs and gives me a curt nod before leaving.
I don't have the energy to yell at her anymore, so I start wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor.
She hoists herself up, sitting on one of the counter tops I just cleaned. “B, please look at me.” Her tone is pleading for me to hear her out and I stop mid sweep, gripping the broom handle.
“Look, I'm like the least judgmental person in the world.”
When I make a face she sighs. “Okay, that's not exactly true,” she amends. “Point is—I hated when you worked there. I was so damn proud of you for walking out of that hell hole and never looking back.”
She nods in the direction of the door. “Landon is good for you, B. And I know you don't want to admit it right now, but I can tell you care about him. And Lord knows, he cares about you. Don't do that to him.”
I go back to sweeping. “I'm not doing anything to him. But I'm not putting my father out on the street, either.”
She jumps off the counter. “But why—”
“Because he's all I have left, Kit.” I pick up the pan and bring it to the garbage can. “My father isn't exactly father of the year, but he was there when she wasn't. He was there when she walked out.” I go over to the sink and wash my hands. “He could have given me up after she left, but he didn't.” I look at her. “I know you don't understand—”
“You're right. I don't.”
She reaches underneath the counter and takes out her purse. Before I can stop her, she's writing a check and handing it to me.
I back away. “I'm not taking that.”
“Then I'm mailing it to him.”
“Kit, it's not your responsibility.”
“It's not yours, either. And I'm hoping one day you finally realize that, but until you do; I have no problem taking care of the issue for you.”
“Kit—”
“I love you and I have more money than I know what to do with. I'm not taking no for an answer. You want to do something nice for me? Then don't go back to that fucking bar. Don't do things that you don't really want to do in order to make ends meet for him. Don't let another man take another piece of you that he doesn't deserve.” She smiles. “Go curl up in bed and eat tacos tonight with the guy who does.”
“I can't—”
“You can and you will...because it's non-negotiable.”
I open my mouth to argue again but my phone rings. This time, it's the college calling, which causes my stomach to somersault.
With shaky hands, I bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Breslin Rae?”
“It is.” I look at Kit who shoos away the next few customers in line and puts the closed sign on the counter top.
I don't have time to yell at her because my stomach is in knots. I say a silent prayer my scholarship isn't in jeopardy. “Is everything okay?”
“Absolutely,” the lady on the other line assures me and I can practically hear my lungs sing when I start breathing again. “I was calling because someone had to drop out of the European Architectural study tour last minute and you're listed as the next alternate student.”
I clutch the side of the counter because my head is spinning. I was so disappointed when I wasn't one of the students originally chosen. I had even saved up money working triple shifts through the holidays in preparation last year because I was so certain I would be chosen.
Money.
Most of my savings consists of what I had saved for this trip, and now I have no choice but to hand it over to my father.
“I—” A piece of my heart cracks and I blink back tears. “I'm sorry, I can't—”
I don't get to finish that statement because Kit snatches the phone and says, “Hello, this is her personal assistant speaking. Of course, she'll be going, just tell me where to send the money.”
I start shaking my head but Kit runs to the back with my phone and I have no choice but to follow her.
“The tour is for three weeks. Got it.” She starts jotting things down on her notepad. “And she leaves when?” There's a pause and then. “Shit.”
There's murmuring on the other line and her eyes widen. “Nope. That won't be a problem at all. I'll make sure she has everything she needs and is ready to go in two days.”
Two days?
Kit rattles off what I'm sure is a credit card number off the top of her head and I plop down on an empty crate because I'm suddenly lightheaded.
“There's no way I can go on that trip,” I tell her when she hangs up the phone and hands it back to me.
“Why not?”
“First off—I no longer have the money. Secondly—I didn't take the time off work. And finally—there's no way I can pack to go to freaking Europe for three whole weeks in two days.”
She brushes me off. “One—you do have the money because I've already taken care of it. Two—you've worked here since freshmen year and have never even once called in sick. I'm sure the—” She snaps her fingers. “What's that guy’s name? He comes around sometimes. Wears really cheap suits and reeks of gross cologne.”
“Larry...otherwise known as our boss.”
“Yeah, him. Anyway, I'm sure it won't be an issue. In fact, didn't he cut our hours last week because we're overstaffed this summer?”
When I nod, she continues. “And of course you can pack for Europe in two days. It's called a shopping trip.” When I start to protest she says, “And you're not digging into your bank account, it's my treat.”
“Kit—”
“And finally,” she says, ignoring my objections. “You have to go because I'm going.”
“You can't go, Kit. You have to be selected to study abroad. You're not even an architect major, you're a business major—”
She looks like she smelled sour milk. “I'm not going there to study. Hell no, this trip would be strictly for my pleasure.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Actually for Becca's pleasure. I want to show her the sights...amongst other things.”
I place my head in my hands. “I can't let you pay—”
“It's happening,” she says, and the look in her eyes tells me there's no point in arguing anymore.