Chapter Twenty-Three
“God but you are a lifesaver, yet again.”
Kayla smiled at Melody, shrugging off the compliment as usual. “It’s not like I have anything better to do,” she said as she grabbed a clean FitzPub shirt from the rack and headed for the employee bathroom. She’d come in to cover a shift mid-afternoon, thankful for the distraction. And when Melody had rushed up to her, panicked because two of her best servers had called in sick, which made them short for a private party in the FitzHall—the large rental space that backed up to the other side of the kitchen—Kayla had been doubly relieved.
Covering parties in the Hall was pretty easy money, most times. And she was eager to grow her tiny savings to hit a milestone that would allow her the wherewithal to move. Of course, Trent had been after her like a dog with a bone to get her into someplace safe. But she was still in polite mode with him, unwilling or unable to admit that she had to do this first step herself. If she could save the three grand she needed for a deposit and first month’s rent on a tiny studio she’d found, it hit a major goal in her independent life. Her life as a normal, non-using adult.
It had taken Melody’s firm—and loud—insistence to get Trent to back off, which he had done. Although he’d kept trying to work his way back into her good graces, something she’d continued to resist.
Tonight’s tips, unexpected and welcomed, would put her almost to the point at which she’d feel comfortable pulling the trigger on a new lease. She changed out of her beer-splattered shirt and into a clean one, pulled her hair back and splashed water on her face. Operating most days on three or four hours of sleep did not make her the sharpest of tacks by the evening, but she’d tough this one out. She needed the money. She craved the distraction. Time alone was not her friend. Time alone meant memories of Brock, which always led to a wave of disgust at herself.
The event was a big one—a going away party as best she could tell. By the time she joined the fray, the food had been consumed and ninety percent of the attendees were past the point of no return. Unsure how to deal with some of them, as she’d been trained not to serve anyone who was so obviously over-served, she sent a quick text to Melody, asking for her to step in and make the call.
Together, they poured pitchers of water and fought tiny battles with drunk assholes until they decided that it was time to confiscate everyone’s keys. Kayla climbed up on the bar to the sound of catcalls and let out a shrill whistle. “Okay, people. The only way we are going to serve another beer to any of you is if you put your car keys in the bowl that my boss is bringing around.”
Loud complaints and curses followed.
She waited. “Anyone in here want another beer?”
The crowd roared. “I thought so. Give up your keys. We’ll pour one more round for each of you then I’m calling cabs for everybody.”
“Party pooper!
“Bitch!”
She smiled. “Yes. All of the above. Keys, boys. Or no nightcap.”
Melody took the bowl of keys to her office and locked them up, then returned to help the overwhelmed staff. “Jesus, remind me never to let this guy book a party again,” she muttered as she began the daunting task of cleaning up while four male bartenders encouraged, poked, prodded and in some cases dragged people to the side door to wait for their taxis.
It was almost ten p.m. by the time they had it all cleaned up, and Kayla had been on her feet for almost twelve hours straight. Her back and knees were screaming for mercy and her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten for almost that long. She half sat, half fell into a chair, propping her feet on another and taking a proffered glass of water with a grateful smile.
“I’m ordering us some food, chica. You sit tight and let me handle it.”
“I should get home,” Kayla said, but she didn’t move. She didn’t think she could right then.
“After we feast. Bean burger, right?”
“Right. Thanks.” She finished the water and lifted her arms over her head, trying to stretch out the many kinks and knots in her back and shoulders. She’d been stuck in this windowless room for so long she felt a strange surge of panic.
Brock. She needed to see Brock. The need was so strong it forced her to her feet and across the empty floor to the bar where she’d left her phone. But a quick touch to the screen revealed that the damn thing was dead. Her ears rang. Her pulse raced. Her mouth was so dry she lunged for the pitcher of water and drank the rest of it down in greedy gulps. As she swiped her lips, Melody appeared, bearing plates of food that smelled so good, Kayla’s mouth watered.
But she was shaking as she took hers and the first bite tasted weird in her mouth, almost like smoke or ashes. Melody groaned and put her feet up as she picked at her food. “I thought I was hungry,” she said, echoing Kayla’s reaction. She put the burger down and wiped her lips as the ongoing sense of panic made every inch of her skin crawl.
“Melody!” a voice called from the kitchen. “Telefono!”
“Una momento,” she said, getting to her feet. “Mi Dios, my body hurts.”
Kayla nodded, staring down at her dead phone’s screen and wondering why she was so wigged out. As she had decided to chalk it up to sheer exhaustion, the voice called out again.
“Prisa! Es una emergencia!”
Both Kayla and Melody froze. Melody blinked fast then ran toward the kitchen while Kayla stood, gripping her phone, her mind dancing over the many disasters that might have occurred in the last few hours that she’d been cloistered in this damn room.
She listened but couldn’t hear Melody over the clanging and banging in the kitchen. Taking this as a good sign, she walked to the bar, thinking she’d drink more water to get the ashy taste out of her mouth. The sound of a door slamming against the wall behind her made her drop the full pitcher of water, dousing her lower legs and sending the plastic container bouncing merrily along the concrete floor.
A figure stood in the doorway. She couldn’t make out the face but could tell it was a male, tall, well-built, short hair. But his face seemed to be coated in a layer of mud. Confused, she glanced toward the interior door that led to the kitchen, wondering if she should call for help. The muddy guy let out a loud, throat-rasping cough, then looked right at her and said, “Kayla, is that you?”
Her heart seized up, leaving her gasping for breath as she processed that the man in the doorway was Brock. He was coughing again, hanging on to the doorway and staring at her from eyes that were white-rimmed, hollow in his dirty face. She walked out from behind the bar and toward him, even as she heard Melody’s shriek and a loud bang of something dropping in the kitchen.
Brock reached for her, stumbling forward to get at her, saying her name over and over again in that shredded-sounding voice. As he yanked her to him, the smell of smoke and chemicals filled her senses. She let him hold her as she gripped his waist, ignoring the stench and burn in her throat.
“Oh God, oh God, I thought…you were in there.” She peeled him off her and stared at him. The soot was mingled with other wetness on his face. “Kayla, honey. We have to go. We have to get Melody and get to the hospital, now.” He was tugging her, pulling her toward the open door.
“Wait…why? What burned? Who is…?”
Melody ran up to them, her eyes wild. “Can you take us, Brock? I have to be with him.”
“Be with…who?” Her mind refused to calculate this. She felt herself shutting down, backing away, wanting to escape. But Brock had a firm grip on her hand.
“Let’s go. My car’s right out there.” Melody marched out ahead of them, a determined set to her shoulders. Kayla’s feet would not cooperate and obey her mental orders to move.
Brock hesitated, turning back to her. “Kayla, honey, it’s Trent. He went into the…the…building.”
“What building?” She realized she was being irrational and causing unnecessary delay but she had to hear it for herself.
“Your God damned building, Kayla. It burned to the fucking ground about half an hour ago but Trent tried to go in and find you and he—” His sentence ended with more violent coughing. “We have to get to the hospital before—”
But she was already out of the door and climbing into the back seat of his still-running car before he could finish. Melody was in the front seat, staring straight ahead, hand resting on the shelf of her belly. Her eyes were dry, her jaw clenched as Brock got in and screeched out into the night traffic without a word to either of them.