Page 41 of On the Line

That isn’t why the hallowed sadness lingers …

It’s because of the festering wound that I’m still trying to avoid.

The one Zachary and Spencer created six months ago.

At least I gave it a name the night we broke up. I allowed it space to grow, but like vines squeezing my lungs too tightly, it threatens to choke me to death if I don’t do something about it soon.

How do I move past this?

Hell, I can’t even say the word.

As if the word itself will slice my tongue like a too-sharp blade, and I will bleed and bleed and bleed until my veins dry out and I turn to dust.

I’m not even sure I can heal from it …

How do I stop it from becoming a part of me forever?

The kitchen bell dings, ripping me out of my demoralizing thoughts, and I jump into action, delivering hot plates to my table while I try to avoid the angst sticking to my clothes like cheap perfume.

“Still comingwith us to Stanley’s?” Michelle asks while she grabs her bag out from the locker.

I nod eagerly, stepping out of my work skirt. “I just need to change.”

“Great! I’ll wait for you out back,” she says with a wide smile before she disappears down the hall.

When I first started working at Orso, over a month ago, I was surprised to find out how much the majority of the staff would party on any given day, considering most of us worked, on average, six days a week.

But I quickly learned that letting off steam after a grueling shift was necessary if not mandatory. My coworkers have become friends in a short amount of time. We trauma dump, our version of small talk, between punching in orders. And like soldiers, we celebrate surviving another shift by swapping war stories over copious amounts of alcohol.

And the next day, we do it all over again.

Tonight’s no different.

Admittedly, I’ve been a little apprehensive about going to Stanley’s after discovering Zachary was cheating on me with Marguerite. She’s not the one who bothers me, it’s the possibility of seeing my ex there that irks me. But I decided to overcome the unease.

Stanley’s ismyskeezy little bar. And he can’t have it.

After I’m done changing, I meet up with Michelle outside and wait for the rest of the crew to join us.

My stomach does a little flip when I see Ozzy in street clothes again, strutting out into the Orso back parking lot, lighting a cigarette as soon as the door is closed behind him.

He’s wearing another one of his cropped band tees, a few inches of stomach showing, just long enough to cover his belly button while his black jeans ride low on his hips. The jangle of his keys clipped to his belt loop is becoming Pavlovian, I salivate at the sound.

“Ready, Jimbo?” His tone is a lot less loaded now that we’re surrounded by the rest of the staff who are joining us.

I can feel Michelle staring at me, but I force myself not to look directly at her as I give Ozzy a quick nod. I catch him wanting to put his arm around my shoulders but he stops himself at the last second.

I pretend not to notice.

When we get to Stanley’s, I spend most of my time talking to Michelle at the bar, while Ozzy plays a game of pool with Alec. Eventually, Michelle dips outside for a cigarette with Gustavo, and as soon as she leaves, I feel a body slide close to mine.

“Do you like to party?” Ozzy says close to my ear.

I turn around to face him and smile. “I thought that’s what we were already doing.”

“No.” He chuckles low, looking me hungrily up and down. “I meant …” he trails off, giving his nose two taps with his index finger.

“Oh!”God, I’m an idiot.“Um?—”

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