KASEY

The sound of my phone buzzing stirs me from my dreamless sleep. I tiredly reach for it, knocking down my alarm clock in the process. I groan when it collides, loudly, with the floor. 

“Hello?” I murmur, burying the side of my head into the pillow.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Rosie answers.

That’s always how she greets me when she calls on my days off. It seems like the new help we hire never lasts, which means I get to pick of their shifts.

“I have Taylor, Rose.”

“You can bring her along,” she replies. “I know you’ve been working for a week straight, but we need you. I wouldn’t ask if I thought I could handle it on my own.”

Brushing frizzy pieces of hair away from my face, I sigh.

“Plus,” she bargains, “Adam is working. You know he loves making Taylor Minnie Mouse pancakes.”

I blow out a long breath. “I can only stay for a few hours. I promised Taylor we’d have a girl’s day today.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

I mutter a good-bye and quickly get dressed. After brushing a comb through my messy hair, I decide it’s too far gone to be left down. I throw it into a ponytail, put some eyeliner on, and slip into my sneakers.

Feeling bad for waking Taylor up at seven thirty in the morning on a Saturday, I make sure the first thing she hears about are the pancakes. Adam, the chef at Birdseye, is famous for making the kids that come in special pancakes. Usually it’s Mickey or Minnie Mouse, and occasionally he’ll make other cartoon characters.

It keeps the kids happy, and it made Taylor bounce the minute her little feet hit the carpet.

As soon as we’re in the diner, Taylor runs over—purple tutu and all—to Rosie, arms wide open for a hug. Rose kisses the top of her head and rustles her hair, looking up at me with a silent thank-you in her muddy eyes.

I give her a nod and guide Taylor to the counter. Helping her on the stool, I pull out a coloring mat and crayons for her to occupy herself before clocking in.

“Morning, darling,” Adam greets from where he stands in front of the grill. 

“Hey, Adam. Taylor’s looking forward to those pancakes, so you better put an extra on.”

He shoots me a wink. “I’m already ahead of you. Even added extra chocolate chips.”

I snort, tying my apron on. “Great, then I’ll get to deal with a sugared-up five-year-old. Thanks.”

He chuckles. “Mine are too old to spoil with something as simple as pancakes. I need to get my fill where I can.”

I pat his shoulder as I walk past him, going to one of the side booths to take orders.

After the first hour, Taylor gets restless. She colored two different placemats, and took a third one to start doodling on. I smile at the stick figures she draws, scribbling on what appears to be blonde hair.

I lean forward. “Who are they?”

She peers up at me with bright eyes. “It’s us!”

She points to the different figures and explains who each one is. She even drew Adam, showing him as a stick figure with a big circle as a belly and no hair.

I snicker. “That needs to be hung up in the kitchen.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

I tap her nose. “Of course. Adam would love to see that every day.”

Rose looks at the picture and laughs. “Very nice, sweetheart.”

Taylor beams.

My eyes take notice to something that one of the figures—Taylor says it’s Mom—is holding. 

I point toward it. “What’s that, Tay?”

“Candy!”

I squint at the picture. It looks like a bag of something with dots in it. Mom never liked candy, she barely ever let us have it.

“What kind?” I inquire, curiosity taking over.

“Adult candy.”

Adult candy?

“Taylor, what do you mean?”

She shrugs. “Mommy said it was only for her. She told me it was a gift from her boyfriend. I couldn’t have none.”

A bad feeling bubbles in the pit of my stomach, because something tells me the “adult candy” isn’t actually candy at all.

“What did it look like?” I ask urgently. “I need to know, Taylor. This is important, okay?”

“Mommy said not to tell.”

“You can tell me. We’re family.”

“She said …”

I hold her hand. “Please? What did the candy look like?”

Her lip trembles. “Sugar.”

My eyes close, and I try to hold back my anger. But my blood is now past bubbling. It’s boiling, and my free hand is in a tight ball by my side.

“Don’t be mad, sissy!”

Rose comes over. “What’s going on?”

I point toward the picture. “Apparently Mom’s prescription drug problem runs a little deeper than we thought.”

Her face pales as she stares at the picture.

I pull her away from Taylor. “According to Taylor, Mom calls it adult candy. She says it looks like sugar. You don’t think …”

My jaw ticks at the thought of Mom bringing drugs into the house. It was bad enough when she had anti-depressants. At least they were prescribed. But something as hard as cocaine? 

“Sweetie, your Mom is a piece of work. I don’t know if I’d truly doubt it.”

Something inside of me bursts. “That’s it,” I growl, taking off my apron.

Rose grabs my arm as I walk away. “What in the world are you doing?” she chides. “Do not even think about going over there, young lady!”

I yank my arm away. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Rosie? If Mom brought you-know-what into the house,” I glance over at a stricken Taylor, whose eyes look glassy, “I’m not going to let her get away with it.”

“Let me call Jake,” she pleads as I walk toward the door. “Kasey Marie Miller! Don’t do anything stupid. This isn’t your responsibility!”

I open the door. 

“Think about Taylor!” she adds pleadingly. 

I glance over my shoulder at her, our eyes meeting. Where hers are full of worry, mine are full of determination.

“Don’t you get it?” I ask, shaking my head. “I am thinking about Taylor. It’s time to end this. She’s not going back there.”

“Kasey—”

I’m out the door before she can say anything else.

Charging into my mother’s house isn’t what I thought I’d be doing, or ever do, willingly. But as soon as I saw that picture, I knew it had to be done.

What kind of mother brings drugs into a home with a child in it? If I knew where she was, I’d call the cops on her. I don’t care anymore. The version of me who wanted to help her get better is gone, because she’s beyond help now.

There’s no getting past that.

I rip through the kitchen first, a girl on a mission. Feeling my hands shake, I try reining in the irritation that rattles my body. 

I could scream. I could cry. I could break down. But none of it is worth it. The pain she’s caused … that she’s always causing isn’t worth it.

There’s a hole in my heart where my mother’s love should be, and not even an inkling of a memory of when she cared is there to fill it. It’s like the half-dead version of her now has consumed every part of my memories just to remind me that I’m on my own.

If it were possible, a piece of my heart would crack away from the rest, floating into the bottomless pit of my chest. I always imagined it would be easier that way, because at least there wouldn’t be a hole in my heart—just a piece missing. A single entity that doesn’t need to be associated with the rest.

But it’s never that easy.

Once the kitchen is destroyed with no luck, I move into the dining room. Each room looks like a tornado went through it by the time I’m done. It’s when I’m upstairs entering my old bedroom, a room that looks too innocent for half the shit that went on in this house, that I hear the front door open. 

My heart picks up in my chest in panic mode as I search the room for a weapon. Grabbing my old titanium baseball bat from the corner, I grip it tightly in both hands and creep toward the door.

Footsteps are sounding from downstairs, quiet and slow. I let out a soft breath, trying to calm my racing heart before it propels from me.

When I hear whoever on the stairs, I press my lips tightly together to hold my breath in. This is like the part of a scary movie where the dumb blonde calls out “Who’s there?” to the psycho killer, then runs and locks herself in a closed-off area.

I may be blonde, but I refuse to be that dumb.

There’s no time, or place, to hide in my small bedroom, so my best chance is getting a hard swing at the person and then running.

I’ve seen the people Mom brings home, and I refuse to have to associate with one of them.

As the footsteps near my bedroom door, I count silently to myself and then bolt.

“Holy shit, Kasey, stop!” Jake yells, putting his arms up in defense and dodging the swing.

My jaw drops when I see him in full uniform, one hand on his gun, and the other still in the air.

I instantly drop the bat on the ground and cover my mouth with my hands. “Oh my God! Jake, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you!”

He deadpans, “I’d hope not, or else I might feel a little offended you’d want to hit me with a damn bat. I’ve seen you play before. You’re brutal with one of those.”

My whole face heats. “I thought you were a drug dealer …”

Sighing, he puts his gun back in his holster. I can’t help but let my eyes scope out the way his body fills the blue uniform he wears, just like I do every time I see him in it. It’s not often, since he usually changes before we see each other, so I always soak it in when I can.

I blink a few times and drop my gaze to the dirty hardwood floor.

“Speaking of which,” he replies, voice dry with disapproval. “What the hell were you thinking, Kasey? When my mother called and said you were doing this, I just about lost it!”

It doesn’t surprise me that Rosie would call him. She probably raced to the phone as soon as I stepped out of the diner. 

I don’t back down or apologize. “I had to, Jake. If there’s any truth to what Taylor said, then I had to know. If I find something here, it could be exactly what I need to get Taylor full-time. I could get custody of her!”

He puts his hands on my arms, giving me a calm-down smile. Looking into his eyes is like looking into Rosie’s, both are the same muddy brown color that are warm without trying.

It eases some of the anger.

“If you do find something here, it’s evidence,” he explains, guiding me back downstairs. “If you touch it, it’ll have your fingerprints on it, and it might not hold up in court. You have to think about these things, Kasey. And what if I were a dealer looking for shit like that? You brought a damn baseball bat to a gun fight.”

I sigh dramatically. “If I got a good swing, it would have hurt any potential dealer.”

“Yeah, if they didn’t shoot you first,” he retorts, frowning at me. “For the love of my sanity, can you please just call me before you do something stupid? And that doesn’t mean call me and then go do said stupid thing after you hang up.”

I grin, because he knows me so well.

He rolls his eyes at my grin. “You’re a wildcard, Sparky. I just don’t want to see you get hurt because you do something like this.”

Sparky. He just won’t let go of the time I accidently set his mother’s kitchen on fire. Had I known the dish towel was next to the flame, I wouldn’t have left it there.

I ignore it though. “I need to do this for Taylor. She can’t stay here, especially now. It’s too dangerous for her.”

Just thinking of the things that can happen to her makes me nauseous. 

Jake swipes his thumb across my cheek, allowing me to come back to reality. I meet his eyes, the color of his warm with comfort, and lean into his touch.

This feeling is the one that’s void with Ian. The feeling of butterflies fluttering in my stomach, of Jake’s touch lingering on my skin like his fingerprint is engraved. I feel so much with something so little.

For the longest time, it’s been Jake. Only Jake. No other person was between us, so I knew who I would be with. Who I’d love. 

I let out a small breath. “I’m not going to apologize for coming here,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against his shoulder.

He combs his fingers through my hair. “I know you’re not. You care, and that’s what I love about you, Kasey. I’m just worried it’ll be the reason you get hurt. And I don’t …” He lets out a shallow breath, his thumb staying still on my cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt. If something happened.”

I pull back, looking him in the eyes. “That’s what I worry about with you, you know,” I admit sheepishly. “Your job is dangerous. There are always reports on TV about cops who get killed during some job gone wrong, and—”

“Hey,” he stops, tugging me into him. I bury my face into the crook of his neck and ease into the feel of his arms around me. “Nothing is going to happen, Kasey. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

He brushes my hair again with his fingers, letting us stay in the moment for a short time more.

Stolen moments like this are what I live for. It’s like nothing bad can get you when you’re being held by somebody you know cares. All the bad things go away from just one touch—the slightest, warmest brush of his fingers can ease all tension.

I know I have to come back to reality sooner or later, but the stolen times when I can forget every worry is what I soak up the most.

We pull away from each other.

“I already called a few of my buddies to stop by and help search the place,” he says, giving me a crooked smile. “So I’m going to drive you back to the diner, you’re going to get Taylor, and go home.”

I stick out my bottom lip like Taylor does. “I don’t remember you being so bossy.”

He kisses my cheek, an innocent gesture that makes my heart race in my chest. “I’m just making sure I get my point across. You need to relax, and not worry about this. If there are drugs here, we’ll find them. I know how much getting Taylor means to you. It’ll happen.”

I can hear the sincerity in his tone, and it melts away some of my worry. 

Jake gets it. He’s seen what Mom became, been there through every meltdown both she and I have had. He’s seen the worst of me, yet he still stays. 

That’s the kind of person I need in my life.

Not somebody who packs up and leaves one day without a single word. The ghost of the past still haunts me, and it’s shaped like Ian Wells.

But no more.

I let Jake walk me outside, to the cruiser parked in the driveway. 

He holds the door open for me as I get in, but doesn’t close it when I’m buckled up.

He leans down, eye level to me. “Say you’ll go on a date with me. Not like all the other times we’ve hung out. But a real date.”

And because I knew this moment would come eventually—because it made sense—I go with my first instinct. 

“Yes.”