Page 1 of Pet Project

1

DONNIE

THREE YEARS AGO

I never intended to set foot on a college campus again. Unfortunately, I needed to finish my business degree. When I left Tibalt University, I figured I would serve my probation and just move on with my life. The world had other plans.

At first, I tried to go back to Tibalt, but the dean there forced me out. When I applied to Pitt, I was waitlisted. Point Park would have required me to retake half of my classes. Wrenshaw was my last hope.

It turned out to be a good thing in a way that my dream school became a nightmare. I lost all of my scholarships with the guilty plea, but I gained the respect of a man who has since given me my purpose in life.

Mr. Jones took a chance on me, a kid with a record and a lot of bad press following him. He gave me a job. He taught me the ins and outs of running a coffee shopon a college campus, or rather just barely adjacent to the campus. He put his trust in me, and I could never repay that trust.

“Congratulations, Donald,” Mr. Jones says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You did what you set out to do.”

My own parents haven’t even congratulated me on getting my degree, despite being the first in my family to ever do so. They are still ashamed of the fact that I snitched on my teammates.I’mashamed that my family puts more importance on a fucking sport than on the integrity of their son.

Placing my degree certificate down on the desk in the office, I pull the old man into a hug. In the last year, this man has shown me more love and kindness than anyone else in my life, just by being present and holding me accountable to my shit.

“Now, now,” Mr. Jones chuckles as he pulls back from my arms. “None of that sappy shit, Donnie, my boy. I still gotta give you your present.”

He reaches into the safe to pull out an envelope and a set of keys. Mr. Jones always told me he was looking for someone to run the place on a more permanent basis so that he could retire, but I never thought he would promote me to manager after only a year.

“Mr. Jones, I really appreciate the promotion, but are you sure you want someone with my reputation as the manager?”

“For the last time, Donnie, call me Walt,” the old man huffs as he pushes the items into my chest. “And whosaid anything about manager? I’m making you an owner.”

Stumbling back into the desk, it takes my brain a little bit to reboot. Owner? There’s no way.

Shaking my head, I try to hand them back to Mr. Jones… Walt, but he won’t take them. He backs out of the office and heads to the front of the shop to unlock the doors.

“I’m not taking it back, kid,” he calls out when I finally manage to drag myself out of the office. “If you don’t sign, this place is closing next month. I want to be able to watch my grandkids grow up now, not be stuck here until they’re old enough to go to college.”

Pulling out the transfer paperwork, I realize, he’s not just making me an owner, he’s making me THE owner.

“I can’t take this, Mr. Jones,” I tell him as the first of what I’m sure will be many families start making their way into the coffee shop. “At least keep a controlling interest in the business. I can’t be sole owner, not with my record. I don’t want to tank your life’s work.”

The man chuckles as he hands off some fancy frozen coffee drink to a student before he turns to me.

“My life’s work isn’t this shop. That would be the two adorable munchkins about to enter kindergarten an hour and a half away from here. I know you’ll do right by this place, kid.”

I pull out a pen and sign the damn papers. Mr. Jones signs his part next. Then, the student with the over-sugared frozen concoction pulls out a stamp and signsfor the notary. At my questioning look, the old man gives me a wink and takes the papers to the office to make a copy.

“And call me Walt, young man!”

2

SHILOH

THREE YEARS AGO

“Where did he come from?”

The drag queen keeps staring at me while I slink my way over to a shady booth in the corner to wait out the storm outside. I know I look bad, I mean beyond being soaked to the bone. Michael really did a number on me this time, but I deserved it, in a way. I spent so many years keeping my head down, fooling myself that I was safe as long as I wasn’t noticed. I watched my stepbrother destroy so many people in front of me.

Like father, like son, I guess.

McKinley’s Tavern is a smaller, out of the way bar where they don’t have a bouncer at the door. I figured no one would notice me when I ducked in to get out of the storm on my way home from the police station. The officer who took my statement offered me a ride, but there’s zero chance I would be safe if Michael or one of his buddies saw me getting dropped off in a cop car.

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