Page 16 of We Are the Stars

“I’ll be here.”

Her eyes shine with surprise, but she doesn’t relax her stance. “I’ll warn him.”

“I won’t blame you.” She turns away with a smile.

I grab my drink and head out, turning left once I exit the diner. I parked my car at the bowling alley earlier since it’s my first day on the job, and then I walked down to Vern’s so I could try to catch Carsen. Being able to walk everywhere is the best part of living in such a small town.

The walk back doesn’t take long and before I know it, I’m pulling open the door. I stand in the entrance, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I haven’t worked outside of the campus library since I was in high school, so my nerves are starting to eat at me.

The smell is the first thing I notice. The scent of fresh lemon and bleach hits you like a wave, not necessarily what you’d expect from an old, gritty bowling alley. I glance around, trying to find the owner so I can get started, but I’m coming up empty.

I take a few hesitant steps farther into the building. “Hello?” I call out.

“We’re closed! Come back in an hour!” a man’s angry voice bounces back.

“Um, I work here?”

I hear muttering and cursing and a few things being banged around. I have no idea where the sound is coming from.

Then, from the corner of the building, someone rips open the ajar door and emerges hastily. He stops, still in the shadows.

“You work here?” the guy asks.

“This is my first day.”

“Bryan never mentioned anyone starting today.”

I huff. “I was told to be here at seven AM today.”

He moves closer, stepping into the light. “Well, aren’t you punctual. It’s seven on the dot.”

My entire body runs cold then hot.

Carsen is standing in front of me.

And he looks pissed.

“You.” His voice is accusatory, almost as much as it was the first time we went through this routine.

“Me,” I tell him.

“You work here?” He crosses his arms over his chest and arches a brow. With the way he’s standing and how high he towers over me, he’s almost scary.

Almost.

“Apparently.”

He grins, and it borders on dangerous. “You sure you want to work with a… What did your friend call me again? Oh, yeah, amurderer.”

His words are meant to be menacing, but all I can see are the images from last night. How broken and miserable he looked. The ache in his gaze, the twist of his face, the tears that streaked down his cheeks. He looked so…desolate.

Carsen doesn’t frighten me. He makes me sad.

“I’m sure.”

He leans back, seemingly caught unaware by those two words, like that wasn’t what he thought he’d hear. His brows slam closer together, if that is even possible, and I can see the muscles jump in his toned biceps. “Follow me,” he instructs in a clipped tone before spinning on his heel and retreating to where he came from.

I glance around the dimly lit area, marginally creeped out by the dark corners amongst the hazy lights. He leads us back to a storage room of sorts and winds through the stacks of boxes lining the floor in front of shelf after shelf of shoes and bowling balls until he reaches a door at the back that’s obscured by the clutter.

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