Erin

 

I had thought that the night with Slash would give me enough money to relax a little bit, to take a load off and maybe spend some time with my mom. But after totaling up the bills and hospice care and everything, it turned out that there was only just enough to keep us from drowning. The rest was going to have to come from hard work, same as ever.

 

So here I am, back at the Dark Moon, working my second double shift in two days. I’m exhausted, and I know I look it. My hair is disheveled, my clothes are wrinkled, and I have major bags under my eyes. “You look haggard” is the way Monica described me yesterday – and today’s even worse.

 

I worked eleven ‘til eight and then closed down the bar yesterday. I’m currently in the middle of shift number two today, and I’m only barely keeping up. The tips are mostly worth it – they’re cash, and they’re helping with the debt I’m in – but there’s no big payday rescue coming the way Slash’s did. Even if there were, I’m damaged goods now; I can’t sell my virginity again.

 

These long days are wearing on me, too. I can’t make it through one shift without having a drink, or two spilled on me, and it’s not like I have time to go and change between shifts. So now my clothes are basically permanently stained, and I leave every night smelling worse than an alcoholic who’s lost his deodorant stick.

 

But it’s all for my mom. Just like everything I did with Slash, all of this is to help with stuff with my mother. And in that case, I’m happy to do it. But it’s getting more and more difficult to get through the days without breaking down in tears. I spend my nights lying in bed awake and unable to sleep, even when I’m exhausted from a hard day’s work. It’s getting ridiculous.

 

Monica kind of gets it. She asked me about how things went at the auction, and all I said was, “Fine,” and changed the subject. But when it comes to the hard work for my mom, Monica’s been immensely supportive. And every so often, she does something sweet, like running out to grab me a fast food dinner that I can stuff my face with on my half-hour break between shifts.

 

Tonight, it’s a burger and fries, which isn’t much, but it’s good to eat, even if I have to wolf it down quickly in the back room of the Dark Moon. Mom gets it, too. These days, she’s weak and getting weaker, but she’s starting to notice that I’m not around. She knows the bills are high, but she seems to be trusting me to take care of it. Which is fine – that’s what I would want of her.

 

As the night drags on, the tips get bigger, but the clientele gets drunker, so it’s kind of a wash. By the time my shift is nearing completion, I’m bleary-eyed and almost ready to hit the pillow. Then another guy comes in about twenty minutes before close, and I’m about ready to give up. He sits down at the bar and hails me. My feet throb as I walk over to him to ask what he needs. I don’t even really glance at him; I’m just waiting for the night to be over so I can go home and sleep for a few hours.

 

“Hi,” he says. His voice has a bit of a familiar tone to it, but I don’t wholly recognize why.

 

“Can I help you?” I ask, trying my best (though it’s probably in vain) to keep any trace of my annoyance out of my voice.

 

“I – uh – hi,” he says again, and I begin wondering if he’s stupid or something.

 

“Listen, mister, it’s been a long night – a long week, actually – so if you’re going to order something, please, for the love of God, order it so I can get it for you.”

 

“Erin,” the voice says again.

 

I look over to the man who’s sitting on the barstool, and I nearly fall over.

 

It’s Slash.

 

“What – what are you doing here?” I ask him.

 

He shrugs. “I wanted a drink. I was looking around for a place to go into, and this place came up. Thought it looked good, so I came in. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

 

“This is where I work, Slash,” I sigh. Then, much to my surprise, I smile. I can’t help it; he really is cute. “Were you by any chance looking for me?” I’m too tired to beat around the bush at this point, so I just ask the question directly, no muss, no fuss.

 

Slash holds his hands up defensively. “No, no,” he insists, “honest to God. I just wanted a drink.”

 

“And you just happened to come into my bar.”

 

“Seems that way.”

 

“Okay.” I’m not sure what to say to him after that. Hey, Slash, that was some really good fucking that we did the other night. Want to do it again? Or: Oh, Slash, that ten grand you gave me for sleeping with you, well, would you happen to have another ten grand to help me get my mom and me out of debt and get her the care she deserves?

 

Finally, I say to him, “Can I get you a drink? A beer, maybe?”

 

“A beer would be great, thanks.”

 

I pull out a bottle from the fridge underneath the bar, take the bottle cap off of it, and hand it to him.

 

“Cheers,” he says, giving me a big, toothy smile. “So,” he adds after swallowing his first swig, “how… uh, how have you been?”

 

“Okay,” I reply, blushing a little. This seems so, so awkward, and I’m not entirely certain how to talk to him – or any guy, really. Besides, what I just said was a lie – things are most definitely not ‘okay.’ They suck. They’re terrible. Everything is awful right now. I’m still a good ten grand in debt, my mom is dying, and I’m here having a conversation with a guy who just paid me to take my virginity a couple of nights ago. What about this makes me think that things are okay?

 

I can’t help myself: I start to cry. This breakdown has been close to the surface all day, and I should’ve seen it coming, but trying to hold it back only makes things feel that much worse. I don’t know how to stop; the tears just keep coming and coming.

 

Slash stands up and puts his arms around me over the bar, which only makes my sobbing worse. I cry for a good minute, letting the tears flow. It actually feels kind of good, in a perverse sort of way – like I’m letting go of all these emotions I’ve had pent up inside.

 

“Hey now,” Slash murmurs. “Come on. What’s wrong? How can I help?”

 

“I – I’m sorry, Slash. I didn’t mean to break down like that. Things are just… a little… rough right now. That’s all.”

 

“Rough? How so?”

 

“Things are… problematic. With my mom.”

 

“Your mom? Well, I can understand that. Me and my mom got big problems between us. I haven’t talked to her in weeks.”

 

“No, that isn’t what I meant,” I say, shaking my head. “My mom and I are close – very close.”

 

“Then what—”

 

“She has cancer,” I confide in him. “Terminal. Stage 4. She’s got to have round the clock hospice care and between that and the bills that are all in my name… I’m drowning, Slash. I’ve been looking for an easy way out, and when Monica… when this friend of mine told me about the… about the auction… I realized it was something that I could do to help keep my head above water. And it worked, thanks to you. But things with my mom are so difficult right now, and I still have bills to pay, so I’ve been working double shifts to try to make enough money to survive.”

 

I take a deep breath and sigh. I haven’t laid it all out there like that for anyone – not my mom, not Monica, not even myself. Now, I have just given my life’s story to a guy who’s practically a stranger. I don’t know what he’s going to think of me after this. Fortunately for me, he pats my shoulder kindly. He’s always so kind to me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.

 

“Hey, take it easy,” he says consolingly, “it’s going to be okay.”

 

“It’s not though.” I sniffle. “It seems like everything that could possibly go wrong in my life is going wrong, and I don’t know how to make it right again.”

 

“Well, maybe you can start at the beginning. It’s like when you get into an accident on your bike. Sometimes, you can swap out a few parts, and fix it up, and everything’s fine again. Other times, though, the damage is too severe, and you have to jettison the whole damn thing and get a new bike.”

 

“I’m not sure I follow,” I say, doubtful.

 

“What I mean is that you have to take a look at your life. Whatever is working, make it work for you. Whatever’s not, get rid of it.”

 

“But what if nothing’s working?”

 

“Then you start over, from scratch,” he explains.

 

“But I can’t, Slash!” I practically scream at him. Then, regaining at least a little bit of my composure, I continue, “I have nowhere to turn. My mom is in hospice that I can’t afford, and the loans we took out to cover her medical costs are all in my name. Our house is going to get repossessed. I’m going to lose everything, and it’s all because I can’t make enough money to just survive.”

 

“No.” He says it so simply, so flatly, that I don’t even have a chance to disagree with him. “No, Erin, that’s simply not true. You have it in you to survive and thrive. Look what you’ve accomplished already. You should be proud that you’ve gone as far as you have to help your mom and fix your situation. I know if you were my kid, I’d be proud of you.” Seeing the look on my face, he quickly adds, “Okay, bad example. I don’t want you to be my kid. That’s...”

 

“Gross?” I venture.

 

“Yeah, let’s go with that.” He laughs. It’s such a great laugh, full of life and vibrancy. “Look, I know you’re closing up here soon, but I want to see you again.”

 

“What do you mean, you want to see me again?”

 

“I want to take you out. You know… on a… on a date.”

 

“A… date?” I’m flummoxed. I haven’t been asked out on a date by anyone except the drunken idiots at the bar in years – certainly not by anyone who meant it, let alone a hot biker who had just paid to take my virginity. “Are you – are you serious?”

 

“I’m completely serious. Erin, I like you. I think you’re great. I’d like to take you out on a real date, like to dinner or something. You can choose where we go, if you want.”

 

I smile inwardly as well as outwardly. He really is a sweet man. Unfortunately, there’s absolutely no way it can happen. “Slash, you’re really sweet,” I tell him, “but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asks, seeming both indignant and a little hurt.

 

“I’ve got… I’ve got responsibilities. With the bar, and with my mom… I just don’t have a lot of time.”

 

“Well… what if I could make time?”

 

“Huh?” I reply, again flustered. I didn’t expect him to answer me with a question like that.

 

“Listen… my mom is a nurse. An RN. She’s more than capable of taking care of your mom in hospice. She’s… she’s a…” He seems to cringe as the words fall out of his mouth. “... good lady,” he finally finishes, “and I’ll bet she can make your mom really comfortable.”

 

“I – I—” I don’t know what to say to that level of kindness. Then something occurs to me. “Didn’t you say you hadn’t talked to your mom in weeks?”

 

“That’s my business,” he says sharply. Then, clearly realizing he’s overstepped just a little, he softens his tone and continues, “My mom and I… we don’t really see eye to eye very well. Or at all. But I know underneath it all, she cares about what she does, and I’ll bet all the money in my pockets that she’s going to be willing to take your mom on.”

 

“How much would it cost?” I ask, wary. I can barely afford hospice as it is, let alone from an RN.

 

“Nothing,” he says simply. “If my mom wants payment for it, I’ll pay.”

 

“Are you kidding?” I demand.

 

“No.”

 

“Are you kidding?” I ask again, this time almost frantic.

 

“I – Erin—”

 

“Slash, I...” I don’t know what to say again. I’m speechless. What he’s offering is a way to shut down another huge portion of our bills, so that I’ll only have to pay off some of the house bills. If his mom is able to help us out here, I’ll be in the clear. I can’t believe this kind of generosity is coming from an MC guy who goes by the name Slash.

 

“Don’t say anything,” he says. “Just wait until my mom says yes. When she does, you can pay me back by having dinner with me.”

 

“I would… I would love to, Slash,” I finally say, letting the warmth of his kindness wash over me.

 

“Great!” he says with exuberance. “Just one more thing I need from you.”

 

“What’s that?” I ask, somewhat suspicious.

 

There’s a goofy grin on his face. “Can I have your number?”