Page 31 of Chasing Danger

Even so many years later, the memory of him was still as sore as a fresh bruise.

It might not hurt so bad if he’d always been a terrible father, but the first years of my life were actually filled with happy memories. He wasn’t the most present parent. He was often busy with work, so I didn’t see him as often as I would like, but when he was home he acted like a proper father should. Helping me with homework, teaching me how to play catch, and that kind of cliché father-son stuff.

Mother also hadn’t worked so much back then as well, so I had plenty of her attention whenever Father wasn’t around.

All in all it had been a normal, happy childhood.

For the first seven years.

Everything seemed to unravel when Rowan was born.

No, it was before that. Even before Rowan was born, when Mother was still pregnant, Father started acting even more distant than usual. It was like he knew something bad was coming, and he already had one foot out the door. When Rowan was born with SMA, it seemed to be the last nail in a coffin I hadn’t even realized we were building. Then the house fire buried that coffin six feet under so it would never be seen again.

“Stupid Bastard,” I muttered against the window as I watched the familiar streets roll by. A light summer rain dotted the glass with small drops of water and turned everything a milky gray color. “You can’t just leave when things get hard.”

CHAPTER 14

Oliver

Creatingdesigns on top of hot chocolate was harder than on a latte, since whipped cream didn’t behave the same as milk foam, but I did my best. The little girl standing before the counter of the coffee shop wanted a fairy on her drink, and I was determined to deliver a fairy.

The end result wasn’t perfect. One wing was bigger than the other and the leaf I wanted the fairy to be standing on looked more like a surfboard, but the little girl didn’t seem to care as she squealed in delight all the same. Her tired looking mother flashed me a grateful smile and stuffed a few extra dollars in my tip jar.

All in all, it hadn’t been a bad day. We’d been busy, thanks to the drizzly weather, but none of the customers had been too difficult, and I welcomed the distraction. Focusing on making coffee, and keeping track of any “green” orders that came through, stopped me from thinking too much about the conversation at breakfast.

There was an hour left in my shift, and I wasn’t scheduled to work at the club tonight. If I was lucky, I might be able to swing by Ashes’ place tonight for a combination of ranting and bragging.

Ranting about my Grandmother, and bragging about my night with D’Angelo.

The bell above the door rang, and I looked up to see a pair of men walk in. At first glance, they looked like standard businessmen. Not the most successful based on the fit of their suits—definitely off the rack rather than tailored—but they did well enough for themselves to walk with confidence. I would have completely overlooked them, but something nagged at my brain. A deeply buried instinct screamed words I couldn’t understand, but it put me on alert.

The men ordered a pair of basic black coffees. No cream, no sugar, and no opportunities to have any fun. I was determined to get them their drinks and send them on their way as soon as possible.

I’d just finished the first drink when the bell over the door rang again. The mother and daughter left, pulling up the hoods of their jackets as they stepped out into the rain. At first the cute sight made me smile, until I realized that I was left alone with the two strange men.

I handed the first man his drink and was about to start on the second, when I finally realized what had caught my attention about them.

Their shoes were wrong.

There were a selection of shoes that could be worn with suits, but heavy black boots that laced up above the ankle weren’t onthat list. No self-respecting businessman would be caught dead wearing such shoes. These were the shoes of a laborer. Someone who wasn’t afraid to get dirty, and needed footwear that could keep up with their rugged lifestyle.

I realized I was staring and quickly looked away, turning back to the coffee machine to finish the second drink.

I was thinking too much. They were just shoes. An odd choice of shoes, yes. But at the end of the day, just shoes. Maybe there was a special reason they needed that kind of footwear. All I needed to do was give them their drinks and stop worrying so much.

“Busy day?” the first man asked, swirling his coffee in the cup without actually taking a sip. “Isn’t it hard to handle this place on your own?”

The coffee machine made a loud beep as it finished filling the cup. “My co-worker is around here somewhere cleaning up. We’re closing in less than an hour.”

That was a lie. I was scheduled to close the shop on my own, like I was every night I worked the closing shift, but they didn’t need to know that.

Placing a lid on the second cup, I turned around to hand off the drink, only to feel something hard and metal pressing into my chest. I’d never seen a gun up close before, and it took me a moment to realize what was in front of me.

The cup slipped from my hand, spilling plain black coffee all over the floor. “Sir, what...”

The bell rang again as several more people stepped into the shop. The last one locked the door, and like a coordinated unit, they started closing the blinds over each floor length window.

It was probably a dumb idea, since there was a gun pointed right at my chest, but the moment I saw them start closing the blinds I panicked and bolted for the shop’s backroom. There was a back door through the supply cupboard that I might be able to escape through.

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