She sees me approach, and her eyes light up a little. She opens her mouth to say something, but I speak first.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Did you have a good night?”

She cocks her head, faltering a little. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

So nothing bad happened then. She’s in one piece and seems happy enough.

“Did you and Cole have fun?” I press, my pulse starting to race.

She drops her head, avoiding my eyes as she sticks the glass under the bar. “Yeah.” She nods.

And I flex my jaw, my temper rising. She just lied again.

“Yeah, Cole seems to think he never picked you up.” I plant my hands on the bar and lean in. “He says one of his friends picked you up, but he didn’t see you the rest of the night, and you didn’t come home.”

She stares at me, a blush crossing her cheeks. “Um…Yeah, it…I… I was…”

She stammers, flustered, and I stand there waiting for the easy, simple explanation I know will come, but…

It doesn’t.

She opens her mouth to say something again, but then closes it, a slight wince in her eyes like she knows she’s been caught.

I even out my tone, trying to sound calm. “Where were you all night, Jordan?”

Her gaze flashes everywhere but on me, her shoulders tense, and her breathing gets heavier. She can answer the question. She just doesn’t want to.

“Jordan?”

“Is Cole home now?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Then we’re both fine. The rest isn’t your concern,” she states.

I narrow my gaze on her. “And my house isn’t a hotel, little girl.”

She could’ve stayed with her sister or a friend, but why lie about that? She’s hiding something.

She lifts her chin, continuing, “Where I slept last night is between Cole and me.”

I keep my face straight, but all that floods my head are the images of a very young and stupid me catching my girlfriend screwing some guy in a car in front of our apartment at three in the morning. If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck…

Yeah.

I push off the bar and cross my arms over my chest. “I honestly don’t care what you do, Jordan,” I tell her, my heart slowly icing over, “but I’m not stupid, either. Cole may be distracted, but I’m not. Whoever picked you up last night didn’t bring you home, so if you’re screwing around on my son, I’ll take offense to that,” I warn her. “And then I’ll ask you to leave my goddamn house. I’m not paying to support someone like that. You understand? Don’t you ever lie to me again.”

Her jaw flexes like she’s as angry as I am. I expect her sharp tongue to come flying back at me, and I think it will for a moment, but then it doesn’t. Instead her eyes start to water, and her chin trembles as she breathes small, shallow breaths. She looks away, blinking.

“Yeah, got it,” she says quietly. And then she puts the towel down and lifts up the partition, leaving the bar. “Excuse me, please.”

She walks away down the hallway and out of sight. I stare after her.

I might be wrong. I could be wrong.

But I’ve ignored my gut so many times, and I know better now. I thought she was one of the good ones, but I’m not going to be made a fool of again. If she wasn’t doing anything, she would’ve answered the question.

Turning around, I head back down the bar toward the door. But a voice stops me.

“Screwing around on your son…” a female voice mocks my words. “Your precious son.”

I stop and look at Shel Foley, the owner, who stands behind the bar, a cigarette in her hand and smoke billowing in front of her face.

“You got something to say?”

She pushes off the back counter and sucks in another drag before snuffing the cigarette out in the ashtray and planting her hands on the bar. She glares at me. “Your dumbass kid was supposed to pick her up from work last night after she worked a ten-hour shift,” she tells me. “He got drunk at a party, and guess who came to get her in his stead? Jay McCabe—her ex—who thought it was fun back in high school to smack her around after he lost a game.”

What?

“She refused to be in a car with him,” Shel snarls at me. “Instead, I found her curled up, sleeping on the filthy pool table this morning, because she didn’t have anyone else to call last night.” And then she narrows her eyes. “She didn’t want you to find out what a loser your son is.”

I remain still, unable to move.

I don’t breathe, and I can’t blink, rage threatening to overflow.

He hit her. He fucking hit her? My fists curl, and my lungs ache. Every muscle burns.

Motherfucker.

And Cole was at the same party? Did he send him to pick her up? What the fuck? How can he stand to be anywhere near a shitbag like that?

A vision of some cowardly little punk grabbing Jordan, hurting her, making her cry… I…

I close my eyes.

I just made her cry.

“She’s a good kid with a really good heart,” Shel continues. “And she deserves a hell of a lot more than the assholes in this town, including your son. I hope she leaves you all to it and never looks back.”

Jesus Christ. What was I thinking?

I spin around and follow to where Jordan disappeared down the hallway. I have to talk to her now. Everything in my gut that made sense minutes ago now seems ridiculous. Why would I jump to conclusions I have no proof of?

Dammit, Cole! I can’t believe him.

I trail down the hallway, seeing the restrooms, an office, and another room with the door slightly ajar. She’s probably in the bathroom, but before I decide to wait, I inch open the other door to check there first.

She stands in the center of the small room with her back to me, but I can tell she’s wiping her eyes. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line the walls, stocking bottles of liquor, mixers, and juices, and other supplies like napkins, straws, and candles.

I stand in the doorway and hear her sniffle.

“Jordan?” I say hesitantly.

She instantly straightens, turning just enough for me to see the side of her face. “Seriously?” she says, trying hard to harden her voice. “Just leave. You want me gone? You got it, okay? I’m gone.”

I take a quiet step forward. “Jordan, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Just go.”

“You should’ve called me,” I tell her, taking another step forward. “I would’ve been here in a heartbeat. I’m sorry. I just—”

But she suddenly whips around, glaring at me. “You know the thing about men?” she asks, wiping her eyes with a hardness to her jaw. “They think they can treat you badly, because you’ll take it. But you win when you never let them do it again.” She steps up to me, adding, “You can kiss my ass.”

And then she swings around me and leaves the room.

I deflate. I want to follow her. I want to set the record straight and let her know that I was wrong. I want to have it out and make it right, but…

I don’t know.

This is the second time we’ve argued, and both times it was my fault. We shouldn’t be fighting. It’s what a woman does with her boyfriend, not his father.

And that’s what I am. Her boyfriend’s father.

Nothing more.

But deep in my heart, the small ember growing bigger and bigger every day knows that’s a lie.

It is more. I didn’t lose my temper for Cole’s sake. It was for mine.

She’s become important, and for the first time in a long time, I found myself actually enjoying talking to someone. I started to let my guard down.

She feels good to have around.

And I just sent her packing.

Jordan

Shel tries to send me home early into my double-shift, but after the episode with Pike, the last place I can be right now is in his house. I have nowhere else to go, not to mention I need the money.

How could he do that this morning? Barge into my work like he knows anything? I don’t belong to him.

And if he has a concern, why can’t he convey it nicely? Not every lie is meant to hurt someone. I was covering Cole’s ass.

Yes, I understand suspicions. I get it. He doesn’t know me well, and he’s concerned for his son, but how can both Lawson men suck so badly at mature, adult conversation?

I rub my eyes, my mind drifting back to the moment he told me he wouldn’t support someone like that and to get out of his goddamn house. In that moment, I felt unwelcome. Again. Unwelcome somewhere else. By someone else. I felt like a burden. Like I did with my parents, and even with Cole and Cam sometimes.

Why do I always let myself feel like I don’t deserve better? I thought he was nice. I thought we were friendly, and I started to relax.

I groan, trying to keep the tears at bay. I hate that I cried in front of him.

I work until the night shift arrives at six and stay long enough to eat the other half of my sandwich from lunch as my dinner, pocket my tips, and count out my drawer before slipping on my sweatshirt and grabbing my bag. I haven’t showered in over twenty-four hours, and a headache presses between my eyes from lack of sleep. I just want to sit under a hot shower and drown out everything else.

My stomach sinks a little, remembering I have nowhere to go to take that shower. I’m not taking a damn thing from Pike Lawson ever again. Not to mention I’m still pissed at Cole. He texted to make sure I was okay and to apologize again, but I didn’t text back.

I wave bye to Shel and the other girls and leave the bar, stepping out into the welcome evening air. The sun has set, but there’s still some light as I strap on my backpack and head left, down the street.

I need my own place. My own and no one else’s. I need my own home that’s all me where I can feel like me and never be pushed out or crowded or unwelcome. Where I feel safe.

And that means I need money.

Without thinking, my legs carry me forward down Cornell Street and over to Lambert, the sky growing darker and the lightning bugs glowing in the trees above. The traffic has lessened, but it gets heavier over the next hour as I trail farther and farther toward the outside of town. Houses line the streets, as well as a few corner shops and gas stations, but there’s less light out here, so I stick to the sidewalk and the welcome porch lights to the left and right.