Page 51 of Verses

Dying didn’t seem so bad…except for my younger sister Ashley. My mom wouldn’t protect her any better than she had me.

Meaning…it was up to me and me alone.

Jesus Christ.When I awoke the next morning, it was to the realization that writing and singing painful lyrics in an attempt to let shit from my childhood go had done nothing more than bring it all to the surface—and instead of keeping those memories buried, what those lyrics stirred up became fodder for my dreams.

I definitely needed to learn to write superficial shit.

Tired or not, I had to work at Early Rise, so I got in the shower. I couldn’t tell if or when Kyle had come home last night, but I figured he was still at work—now that I knew he held more responsibility there nowadays. In a way, though, it was nice not having to worry about him like I used to. But that was how I knew for certain that I still cared about the man on some level. I wanted him to be okay.

To behappyeven…and if it took a while to get there, that’d be all right.

But now that we’d been roommates rather than boyfriend/ girlfriend for a few days, I could feel how a weight had lifted off my shoulders.

I was no longer responsible for him.

Not that I’d ever really been—but something inside me had made me feel like a caregiver on some level, and it was a relief letting that go.

Soon, I was walking to Early Rise, fully aware that our part of the world was making its way toward the winter solstice. Even though we had some time before then, the days were getting shorter. It wasn’t even light out, so all I had were streetlamps guiding my way. In the summer, the sun was already out when I made my journey to work.

I consoled myself with the reminder that this would not be my forever job.

The morning was much like any other. There were a couple of customers I didn’t know, but we were clearly outside the tourist season where most of the customers were brand-new faces. For the most part, I knew each face that came through the door, even if not by name—and I knew their preferred drink.

We had Walt, the school superintendent, who came in between opening and six-thirty, and without fail, he got his usual large Americano. Then there was Jess, the manager of the bowling alley. She usually came in around ten and ordered a vanilla latte. The one thing I could say about this job was that I got to know a lot of people I never would have met otherwise—and it was another thing that made me love Charlotte. The school superintendent, for example—I knew that, had I been a freshman when I’d first met him, I might have found him intimidating. That was his vibe. But I knew from serving him coffee for over a year that he was actually a softie. Two or three times a year, he’d bring in the entire school administration building, treating them to cinnamon rolls and a cup of coffee of their choice.

I loved seeing each regular customer and giving them a positive start to their day.

But on this particular day, a Tuesday in mid-October, no different from any other day of the month, I hadn’t expected the customer who came through my door a few minutes after eleven.

“Wolf Jackson. What brings you here? I didn’t know you even drank coffee.”

Had my heart been an iceberg, his smile would have melted it in seconds.

“Are you kidding? If I’d had any stock in a coffee company, I could have funded my own caffeine habits.” When he reachedthe counter, he said, “I just don’t usually drinkthiskind of coffee.”

I loved that he was trying to be respectful of my one current customer sitting in the corner, but nothing would have pulled her attention away from her laptop. She attended some university online and did most of her homework here—with her earbuds in so nothing could make her focus waver.

“If you don’t like this type of coffee, you should probably go to Dixie’s. They serve regular stuff.”

“Ah…but I don’t want donuts. And I’d be tempted to buy one if I went there.”

“That’s fair, but here you’re just getting a liquid donut. Think of it as a donut in a cup.”

“Oh, I wanted something sweet—but it was yourcompany, not the drinks you serve.”

Had I heard that right?

Yes. I knew I had. But I must have misunderstood…right?

Somehow, my reflexes picked up my brain’s slack, and I was speaking before I was even fully aware that my mouth had started moving. “I’m not sure how much company I’ll be standing up here at the counter.”

“We’re just reversing roles, songbird. You and I do just fine talking at the bar.”

“Fair enough,” I said, as adrenaline started rushing through all my veins, making my senses more alert than coffee could ever make them, while causing my nerves to prickle with anticipation. “What do I have here that interests you?”

The way he raised his eyebrow nearly made my knees buckle. “What would you recommend?”

It was funny how the tables really had turned, because I could remember asking him a similar question dozens of times having to do with alcohol. “You don’t want anything sugary?”

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