Page 74 of Waiting Game

Just a few weeksinto the NHL preseason and already the drama and tension are through the roof!

And. I. Am. Here. For. It.

Last year, there were plenty of rumors about Lars Raimond floating around, rumors regarding Kyle Lewis's ex-girlfriend...

Unsurprisingly, the dislike between the Stars' players was evident, and despite Raimond's recent trade to the New Jersey Blue Demons, Lewis and he got into a massive fight in the nightclub, Russu, last night, a source told me.

Russu, a club I believe to be a front for the Sicilian Mafia, promptly had ‘security’ throw both players out where cops found themstillfighting in the parking lot.

As soon as I discover the reason for the fight, you, my darling reader, will be the first to know.

CHAPTER 15

MIA

When a knock soundsat Chuck’s back door, I pull it open with a smile for Norm who grumbles, “You need to check the peephole, Mia. You ain’t Chuck.”

“I knew it was you,” I reason.

He huffs. “What if it weren’t? You’re on your own here, chickie. Anything could happen if it wasn’t me.”

“When did you get so doom and gloom, Norm?”

The wizened delivery man scowls. “You telling me this world ain’t getting shittier, Mia?”

“No—”

“You telling me that Chuck didn’t think you was his princess? That he wouldn’t want his old pal to watch out for you?”

I sigh. “No. I can’t tell you that, Norm.”

Is it bad that I wish Chuck had thought twice about leaving his ‘princess’ close to a million dollars in debt rather than leaving me with some dubious friends who keep an eye on me?

Oh, yeah—tallied up, I owe nearly seven figures to various financial institutions.

Thanks, Uncle C.

Norm dips his chin. “Exactly. So, you check the peephole, and while you’re at it, get a door swing bar lock on these doors. No one would have broken into this place when Chuck was running the joint, but you’re a different matter.”

Norm continues his disgruntled diatribe as he offloads the day’s order.

Until my uncle passed, I’d only met Norm a handful of times, but I’ve been coming face-to-face with him for months.

Months.

How has it been months since I last saw Chuck?

The thought has me biting my lip even as I hand over a wad of cash to pay Norm for the delivery.

On his way out, he grouses and grouches and I let him, until he stops to make sure that I lock the door behind him.

Smiling at the sweet touch, I head into the back office to collect yesterday’s accounts and leave a note saying I’ll be in around eight, as I’ve given Dionne the responsibility of opening the bar.

We had a great June and July, with a record turnover since I started serving more than goddamn hot wings and we had a couple videos take off on Instagram for this massive burgerLarry and Beanpole created in the hopes that it’d be clicky on social media, but since the brief surge, it’s quieted down—toodown.

Once I’d undertaken a major accounting of all Chuck’s woes, I managed to get one of those debt consolidation loans that they advertise on TV.

While the IRS is no longer breathing down my neck, that doesn’t mean FedeLoans isn’t.

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