Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
I wouldn’t.
Not until that shit-hole, dump I was now the owner of was good enough.
I thought it would mean something, signing all those fucking papers yesterday, getting my name on the deed, walking out with the keys in my pocket, I thought I would feel…something. Anything.
I’d done it right. Saved up and sacrificed. I fucking did it, the way I was supposed to. The way you’re supposed to do it.
So how come I didn’t feel a fucking thing?
Maybe because the house didn’t look worth jack shit, had more holes in the wall than actual fucking wall space, carpet that was stained and ripped, a roof that leaked, jacked up plumbing, a shoddy heater. The room sizes were shit. The yard was shit. The kitchen was shit.
The house? Yeah, you guessed it. Fucking shit.
But it was all I could afford, and I couldn’t wait any longer.
Lucky for me, I could fix it up. I knew how to do everything that needed to be done, and what I didn’t know, I’d figure out. I’d learn. But it was a lot of fucking work, and I couldn’t have this taking a while. It had been long enough. Too fucking long. Meaning this wasn’t going to be the last time I rolled up to Whitecaps feeling like ass. I had a lot of long nights ahead of me. I’d give up sleep entirely if I could.
Fuck it. That house was more important.
I rolled my neck from side to side, stretching it, as I headed for the back door. Fourteen hours on my feet was going to be a bitch after last night.
No way was I passing on another shift, though. I couldn’t do that.
The restaurant lights were on inside, bright fluorescent and unforgiving, but it was quiet. Nobody was here yet. Nobody except Nate, my boss. Sometimes I thought the poor bastard never left.
I rapped my knuckles against his closed office door, noticing the dried compound still caked on my fingers and the back of my hand. Scowling, I picked it off.
Real fucking sanitary, dick.
“Yeah?”
I opened the door and walked inside.
Nate sat at his desk with a shitload of papers scattered in front of him, dressed in a shirt and tie like usual, his head down while he studied some order or whatever the fuck as his fingers dug into his temples.
Not once had I ever walked in here not seeing damn near close to the exact same scene in front of me. I didn’t think there could’ve been that much shit to do when you stayed on top of it the way he did, but what the fuck did I know? I didn’t own a business.
I had a feeling part of it had to do with keeping his mind off his dead wife.
Nate was a good guy. I had mad respect for him, for a lot of reasons, but most of that respect stemmed from our first meeting and the shot he gave me when he didn’t have to. When nobody had to.
And when I didn’t think anybody would.
* * *
December 2015
Arms pulled across my chest and jaw tight, I breathed deep through my nose as I waited for the question I knew was coming.
The guy, Nate—the owner of Whitecaps Restaurant—was reviewing my application. Currently on the second page and scanning the bottom of it. Lingering there. Not flipping to the third page.
Which fucking sucked for me. I was hoping this guy was the type to check work history and experience only.
But now? I should’ve known before I even walked in here.
I didn’t deserve this job. I didn’t deserve shit.
Never did. Never will.
So what the fuck was I even doing standing here? I was wasting my time. Nobody was going to hire me.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you purposely skipped over this question for a reason?” Nate’s eyes came up and leveled me.
We had to be around the same age. I wouldn’t peg this guy for much older than thirty, but he looked beat the fuck up, like he’d lived twice as many years as I had. And worse ones too, which was pretty fucking impossible.
“You got a record?” he asked curtly.
Lie. Lie. Lie.
The word no danced on my tongue.
The truth wasn’t in my best interest. Maybe this guy wouldn’t verify. Maybe I’d get away with it for a few months and make a little money before I had to split.
“I’ll check,” he added, like the bastard could read my fucking mind.
Shit.
I inhaled a deep breath through my nose and nodded once.
“This a recent thing?” he asked, resting his elbow on the desk.
I hesitated to share, but thought…fuck it. Didn’t matter one way or the other now if he knew my history. No way was I getting hired.
“Just got out yesterday,” I told him. “Can’t really get much more recent than that.”