Page 1 of Bear the Burden

Chapter One

“Here you go.” Wesley set the tray of pizza on the table, ignoring the throbbing ache in his leg and hoping it didn’t turn into one of his bad days. Luckily, working at Papa’s Pizza Nest didn’t require a lot of walking, except when he had to take orders to the six tables in the dining area.

“It looks so good,” the woman said. “Thank you.”

The guy sitting across from her just smiled at Wesley before the couple turned their attention to their food. Wesley headed away, his sole focus on the chair behind the counter and the little bit of relief he would gain when he took a seat.

“Oh, hey, excuse me,” the guy called out.

Gritting his teeth to stifle the cry of pain from turning so quickly, Wesley stared at him. “Yes?”

“We didn’t get our drinks,” he pointed out with a friendly smile.

“Sorry, I’ll bring them right away.” So much for my small reprieve.

The guy nodded before Wesley once again headed toward the counter. Each step felt like a sharp needle was plunging into the sole of his foot, the pain radiating all the way up his leg and curling around his hip.

By the time he made it to where he’d left their drinks, Wesley was coated in a fine sheen of sweat and taking shallow breaths.

Definitely a bad day and getting worse. He curled his hand around the edge of the counter, lifting his leg to take some of the pressure off of it.

“Hey, Mike,” Wesley said when he spotted the parttime employee who pitched in wherever needed. “Can you take these drinks to the table with the couple?”

Looking past Wesley, Mike squinted until his blue eyes had become slits. Did the guy need glasses? “There’s several tables with couples, Wes.”

How many times had he asked Mike not to call him that? It was the name his dad used when he was in one of his foul moods. Jackson Miller had ruined the nickname for Wesley.

“The one with the dude wearing the black shirt.” Wesley grimaced, the pain still not easing even though he stood with one leg raised like he was about to perform a kick to someone’s chest.

“Yeah, all right, but you owe me.” Mike grabbed the drinks and walked around him, wearing an expression that said Wesley could’ve done it himself.

How did he owe the guy just for carrying drinks to a table? And if Wesley could have done it himself, he would have. He hated relying on other people, and Mike’s attitude made him feel like a burden.

As soon as he walked away, Wesley limped to the side room that held the utility sink and a hodgepodge of items Cyrus, the owner, stored in there. It was basically an oversized closet, but it afforded Wesley the privacy he needed to pull out his prescription bottle of pain killers.

He didn’t like taking them while he was at work, but the pain in his leg was getting worse the longer he walked on it. On the large metal storage shelf was a bag of plastic cups tucked among an array of other things. Wesley wrestled one free and filled it with water from the sink then downed two pills.

They usually took effect within thirty minutes, which meant he had another half an hour of pain to deal with.

After tossing the cup into the small trash can, he limped out of the room and headed straight toward his stool, still thinking about Mike’s expression.

The guy knew Wesley had a limp, though he didn’t know why. Only Cyrus did, but even his boss had no idea how he’d been injured.

Wesley hadn’t gone into details when he’d applied for the job, though he’d brought the letter from his doctor with him. It gave a generic description of his disability, which Wesley had done on purpose.

That was one good thing about developing a friendship with his doctor of two years. He could ask Dr. Baldwin to do him small favors. Wesley didn’t want everyone knowing the tragedy he’d survived. It was no one’s business.

With everyone in the dining area taken care of, Wesley set to work slicing fresh mushrooms on the lower half of the raised bar counter. Normally, this task would be done in the kitchen behind him, but Cyrus had made exceptions for Wesley due to his difficulty standing for long periods of time. Although it was a simple task, it brought Wesley a sense of calm.

Cyrus took pride in using only the best and freshest ingredients in his pizzas and other menu items, evident by the incredible flavors that filled every bite. Wesley had gained at least three pounds since he’d started working there a month ago.

That might seem like an insignificant number, but it wasn’t to him. Since the “incident” two years ago, Wesley struggled to gain weight. Between his medications, dealing with Jackson, and his own fluctuating moods, he rarely had an appetite.

His hand stilled when he felt eyes on him. With a frown, he glanced up to find a man standing there, his beefy arms crossed on the upper portion of the raised counter. His smoky-gray eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Never startle someone with a sharp knife in their hand,” the stranger said with a teasing smile. His deep voice was like honey dripping over velvet, and Wesley was instantly in lust with the sound.

“Um, one moment.” Setting his knife aside, Wesley lifted the small cutting board and scraped the sliced mushrooms into a small food pan then covered it with a lid.

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