Page 26 of Tell Me It’s Right

I wait, but a heavy silence descends like the one in the truck earlier. It’s so foreign I don’t know what to think. She was always the more talkative of the two of us, spilling every detail you never needed—or wanted—to know.

“So do you work around here?” I ask slowly.

“No, it’s up almost near Newark. A little less than an hour commute, but I’m only there a few nights a week, and I like having some…space from it.”

We’ve stopped walking now, and she stares out at the ocean, the gentle crash of the waves filling the silence. I step up beside her and chew on my lip. Years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated topush for more. But we’re not close like that anymore, so I don’t feel like I have the right.

“I guess it’s better that you hear it from me,” she murmurs. “It’s not public knowledge around here, but with how gossip gets around, I’ve always figured it’s just a matter of time.” She rolls her coffee cup between her hands. “It’s one of the gentlemen’s clubs.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. I nod slowly, trying not to stare at her, but I can’t help it. My eyes trace over every difference as if I’ll find something there to make processing this easier.

“The money’s good,” she says quietly. “A lot of the finance guys from the city come in pretty often. Some nights are worse than others but, I mean, you know what it costs to live around here. And without a college degree, finding a decent job…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I say quickly. “I’m not judging. At all.”

She gives me an unconvincing smile. “I guess I just want you to understand. I didn’t plan this. I was looking for roommates at first to try to afford moving out—if I had to spend one more day with my parents, I swear one of us was going to commit murder—and I met this girl off a Facebook group, and we grabbed coffee. We got along really well. She’s the one who introduced me to the place. Said she’d vouch for me to get a bartending job there. When I went in to interview, they said I could have a job, but not behind the bar. I guess I figured, what was the harm? If I tried it out for a week? And the money was so good those first few days…I was hooked.”

“Are you…safe? The guys there, they don’t try anything?”

She purses her lips. “The security there is good, but I’d be lying if I said there weren’t some bad nights. But it comes with the job, I guess.”

My stomach does a little flip, but I try not to show it on my face. I can’t wrap my head around it. “I—thank you. For telling me.”

She turns to look at me, and her eyes get a little misty as she smiles.

I’m the first to lean in and pull her into a hug. She falls into it like she was desperate for one, and I tighten my arms.

“I’m sorry we fell out of touch,” I say.

“Me too.”

“Maybe it was fate running into you today,” I say as I pull back.

She smirks. “Maybe it was.”

Chapter Eleven

LIAM

“You get stood up?”

I give Fletcher an unamused smile as he refills my beer. “Very funny.”

So Leo’s half an hour late. He’s never been particularly punctual. He’s always lived in his own little world that way. I’d be surprised if he knew what day it was. Add a new marriage into the mix, and I’m lucky he still agrees to meet up on a weekly basis.

I fear it’s genetic with the Collinses. Even as kids, no matter if it was a playdate, a summer camp, or school, five minutes late was early for whoever was dropping him off.

Gracie being the exception, of course. Now that she’s been getting herself to work, she’s beaten me to the door nearly every day this week.

Fletcher disappears to clean up the other end of the bar as a group of women shoves their stools back and heads for the door. I check my watch. Ah, 6:00 PM.

Once the High Dive’s three-dollar happy hour ends, it loses most of its appeal for people.

Not for me. It’s one of the few places around here without my last name on the front, so I’ll happily take sitting on a shittybar stool that might break at any moment and sipping watered-down beer in near-darkness.

Light spills through the door as Leofinallystumbles his way in, highlighting the dust swirling in the air. He ditched the coveralls before coming, but there’s no mistaking the grease coating his hands.

“Dude,” I say as he slides onto the stool next to me.

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