Page 12 of Something that Could Last

That's the last time I talked to my mother. I have no idea where she is. She could be dead, for all I know, but I hope not. Even with all the horrible things she has done and said to me, she’s still my mother. I want her to get better, to be the person she was before Dad died. I don't have any illusions about her fate, though. She'll never be that person again. She’s broken beyond repair, just like our relationship.

All the tension I worked so hard to get rid of has gradually built back up, just thinking of her. The muscles in my neck and back tighten with pent-up frustration, so I push myself harder, running faster than I usually do. Running until my lungs feel like they’re about to burst and my legs won't take me any further is the only way I've found to deal with the anger, hurt, and disappointment. I collapse on the side of the road breathless, tears welling in my eyes.Oh, hell no. I will not cry over her again!

I manage to suppress the sobs but I can't control the dry heaves. Running on an empty stomach after consuming countless shots of whiskey last night was a bad idea. I need to get up and pull myself together before somebody drives by and sees me like this.

I finally get my breathing regulated and swallow down the bile clogging my throat. Regaining my composure, I stand back up and stretch my muscles. Unscrewing the lid on my bottle of water, I hesitantly take a sip. I don’t want to put anything in my stomach right now, but I need to rehydrate. Sweat drips from my brow, perspiration soaking my tank top. Tentatively, I take another drink of cool water. It goes down easily, so I gulp half the bottle before taking off back towards Tiff's. I keep my pace steady this time, not wanting to risk another spell like I just had. Once I've established a rhythm and my breathing evens out, I relax a little. This is the reason I run. Everything fades away when I'm in my zone. It's just me, nature, and the air I'm breathing. There's a certain peace that comes with running, something that chases the demons away. Perhaps it's the endorphins, the runner's high. I don't know what it is, but I love it.

Since I ran further than usual trying to clear my head and make up for skipping yesterday, I’m pressed for time when I finally make it back. Tiff tosses me a spare uniform when I step out of her bathroom, steam from my shower billowing out through the open door. She takes her time, carefully applying her makeup as I hurry to get ready. She’s still seated in front of her mirror, cosmetics scattered across her vanity when I head outside to meet Jack. Tiff’s car is out of commission so her stepdad has agreed to drop us off at my truck on his way into town. Several minutes go by as Jack and I wait for Tiff to emerge from the house. If she doesn’t come out now, we’ll never get there on time. I consider going back inside and dragging her out of the house, but she finally walks out the front door.

MY HAIR ISstill a little damp from the shower when we arrive at Rosie's. I gather it to one side and braid it loosely to keep it out of my face. We clock in right at eleven, not a minute to spare. Of course, there never is with Tiff. One of these days, she’s going to make us late for work.

My BFF is hungover and grumbling incoherently as we set to work, placing napkin-wrapped silverware on all the tables and ensuring the salt and pepper shakers and condiment bottles are full. We also check to make sure the room is clean and ready to receive customers. Kayla and Mary Beth are the other two servers working today, so they arrive at eleven-thirty when it's time to open the doors.

It's past noon before we get our first customers, but people soon begin filling up the tables and booths, all of them in their Sunday best. By one o’clock, there's not an empty seat in the place and there are people packed into our small waiting area. I'm glad we’re busy. It keeps my mind occupied, and I desperately need that today.

I'm gathering empty glasses off a recently vacated table when I sense someone behind me, a familiar surge of electric heat coursing through my veins when he touches my waist.

“Abby.” I melt into his touch, nearly dropping the glasses in my hands at the sound of my name on his lips. His sexy rasp and the heat of his hand on my body has my legs wobbling and my nipples standing at attention. When I turn to look at him, his intense blue gaze pierces straight into me, a look of thinly veiled lust on his handsome face.

“Jacob,” I reply breathlessly. “What are you doing here?” It comes out harsher than I intend, but I didn’t expect to see him again so soon. A look of confusion passes over his face, and I immediately try to recover. “I mean... I just...” I stumble over my words. “I didn't expect to see you here. You caught me off guard, is all.” At this, a grin pulls up the sides of his mouth.

“I told you I'd see you later,” he says, stepping closer to me. He leans over me a little and I catch the scent of his body wash. He smells clean and fresh and a little woodsy, a delicious combination.

My stomach clenches as he flashes his perfect white smile at me. “You see, I realized I didn't get your number last night, and I don't think I can go another day without it.”

I can't think clearly enough to even respond to him right now. I want to yell out the digits of my phone number, but I suddenly can't remember what they are. He takes my twitter-pated state as reluctance, and his smile fades as he starts to back away from me. “That is, unless you don't want me to call you,” he begins, more of a question than a statement. “Or you’re already seeing somebody?” He awaits my response, looking hopeful that I’ll deny it. When I remain silent, he lifts a hand up to scratch the back of his neck nervously, peeking at me from under his lashes. When I fail to respond and just stare up at him like an enamored mortal gazing upon Adonis for the first time, he continues, defeated, “Okay, um, I'm gonna go back to my table and let you get back to work.” He turns to walk away, but I reach out and grab his arm.

“No!” I say a little too loudly. He raises both brows in inquiry. “No, Idowant you to call me. Ireallywant you to call me.” Uh oh, now I sound desperate, but I was afraid he would walk away and I'd never have another chance. He must not notice the desperation in my voice because his face lights up.

“Damn,” he says, scrubbing his hand over the day-old stubble covering his jaw. “You had me sweating there for a minute. I thought I’d done something wrong and you were just too nice to tell me to get lost.”

“There was nothing wrong with anything you did last night,” I assure him, blushing a little at my candor.

“So, does that mean I'll get to see you again?” I’m rewarded with another sly smile as he steps closer to me.

“Yes.” My breathy reply is barely louder than a whisper. He reaches for me and removes a pen and order pad from the front pocket of my apron. The light pressure of his fingertips on my stomach has my head reeling and my abdominal muscles tightening. He flips to an empty page and scribbles something on it before handing it back to me. When I open it up, his name and phone number are written diagonally across the ticket.

Jacob Daniels. Even his name sounds perfect.

“Just text me your name, and then I'll have your number.”

“Okay,” is all I can say in reply.

“See you later.” He flashes me his signature Hollywood smile and walks off towards his table.

I look around to make sure nobody is watching, and pull out my phone. I punch in the number Jacob just gave me and follow his instructions, typing out a short message:

Abby Harris

I press send before I lose my nerve. I look over at Jacob as he pulls his phone from his pants pocket. He slides his finger across the screen and his face lights up, a grin curving up the corners of his mouth. I turn back to my waitressing duties, trying to suppress my own elated smile.

“What the hell are you so happy about?” I lift my gaze to see a pissy Tiff glaring at me through bloodshot eyes. Framed by perfectly winged eyeliner and impeccably applied eyeshadow, but bloodshot, nonetheless.

“Oh, nothing. Just glad to be here,” I deflect. She’s an unbearable grouch when she has a hangover. It would be unwise to share my joy with her right now.

“You're full of shit,” she says matter-of-factly. She starts to walk past me but stops short when her gaze lands on something behind me. “Luke is here.” She turns and faces me, fluffing her hair. She’s always fluffing her damn hair. “How do I look?”

I hesitate for a moment. She doesn't lookterrible. That's not possible, but it's obvious she had a late night. “Hungover,” I answer reluctantly, preparing for her wrath. She just gives me a vexed look and pushes past me. I watch as she goes from Surly, Hungover Tiff to Fierce and Flirty Tiff in an instant. She begins her seductive, hip-swiveling walk towards Luke. Poor guy. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

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