Page 7 of Just My Luck

My back tightened. “Yeah, I heard.” I’d quickly learned that rumors were just as much a part of small-town Michigan life as the gossip in LA. The commonality was that Abel had served jail time, but the reason varied greatly—drug trafficking, espionage, and my personal favorite, smuggling chickens across state lines.

Like, what the fuck?

Layna looked around and leaned in to whisper. “Russell King did everything he could to keep it under wraps, but there are some things you can’t completely hide. He killed a kid.”

My stomach plummeted as my mind raced to catch up. “What?”

With wide eyes, she shrugged. “That’s the rumor I heard, at least. The records are completely sealed, so no one really knows the truth.”

My eyes flicked back to where Abel had disappeared down the hallway toward his office.

He had harmed a child?

My mind didn’t want to believe it. Sure, he was surly and antisocial, but I would have never guessed he would actually hurt someone, let alone a child.

And your track record makes you an awesome judge of character?

I tamped down the judgmental voice inside my head and focused on my friend. Layna pulled the guitar strap over her head and went back to playing as though she hadn’t just dropped a bit of universe-tilting, bombshell news.

The brewery hummed with the joy of community, a stark contrast to the struggles Abel faced in fitting into his own town. The melodies shifted, the tempo of Layna’s music adapting to the ebb and flow of the night.

Eventually I found a moment to slip into the back hallway, my sanctuary away from the energetic chaos of the brewery. Addressing the previously dim area, Abel had installed a few more overhead lights after catching one too many customers fooling around in the darkened space.

At the far end of the hallway, Abel’s office door was slightly ajar. After looking back over my shoulder, I quietly tiptoed closer to the door.

Abel’s rough voice quietly spilled into the hallway. “I tried, Syl. He wouldn’t budge. Said I was a liability to the bank.”

I knew eavesdropping was wrong, but I was pinned in place by the urgency—thesadness—in his voice.

“If I want to buy Dad out, the money will have to come from somewhere else. It’s that or I walk away. I’m not sure I can do this much longer.”

For heavy moments, Abel was silent, presumably listening to his sister on the other end of the telephone. I knew from Sylvie that Russell King was a hard man to have as a father. Sure, he put on the appearance of a kind and benevolent businessman, but those close to him knew the truth—he’d give up his ownchildren to maintain his pride. I hated him for how he had treated my friend, and to hear the sadness seeping from Abel, Mr. King had officially planted himself into enemy territory.

I was a loyal friend and just petty enough to hate him on principle.

Abel’s solemn sigh was heartbreaking. “Yeah, I’m leaving now. I’ll fill you in on the rest at dinner. I have some news from the private investigator too.”

Private investigator? What the hell?

Hearing the conversation was a peek into a vulnerable side of Abel that I suspected few were privy to. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man who bore the weight of his past and present struggles.

Why did he need a PI? Had he really killed a child?

Sylvie was my best friend, and she’d never spoken a word about any of it. My brain couldn’t wrap itself around the idea that it was true. I carefully exited the dimmed hallway and resumed my duties with a knotted pit in my stomach. The town’s heartbeat thrived in the brewery, each interaction a testament to the interconnected lives that shaped this close-knit community.

All the while I considered Abel’s unspoken burdens and wondered if the rumors were true. At some point I realized that maybe sometimes the loudest stories were the ones left unsaid.

My shift came to a close, and I never did see Abel slip out to leave. After cashing out, I left the lively atmosphere behind, driving home under the soft glow of the streetlights.

Thanks to Granddad, the kids were already in their bed when I entered the cabin, though they’d waited up for me to finish their nightly tuck-ins of back scratches and cuddles.

I steadied my breath and plastered on a smile before cracking open the door to our bedroom.

Ben and Tillie were too old to be sharing a bed, but we had limited options. They’d constructed a wall of pillows between them and were currently tugging at the shared covers.

“Stay on your side!” Tillie groaned. Ben took the opportunity to fart loudly, and he laughed as Tillie squealed in disgust.

I shot him a serious look. “Benjamin.”

---