Page 130 of When Fate Breaks
26
FIVE YEARS AGO
Annie
Ipush open the office door, the cash drawer that seems to get lighter by the day balancing against my hip. I pause in the doorway, turning back to see my dad sitting at the desk, leaning over a stack of paperwork and running a hand down his salt and pepper colored beard.
“You okay, Dad?” I ask him, even though I know it’s a ridiculous question. I know he’s not okay, but asking is both my way of showing thatI knowhe’s not okay and my way of reminding him that I’m here for him.
His brown eyes glance up at me. “Yeah, Annie-bell,” he replies. “Just trying to stay afloat.” He opens the desk drawer, refolding the paper he was looking at and tossing it on top of the quickly growing stack of what I know is unpaid bills. He catches me looking at it and gives me a tight smile. “Thank God Steph has a volleyball scholarship is all I gotta say.”
My hands tighten on the cash drawer and I swallow hard. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You’re doing more than enough by being here, Annie-bell. Thank you for asking though.” I notice the next paper he picks up from the pile in front of him has a largeFinal Noticered stamp across the top of it. He quickly throws it onto the bill stack, face-down. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, not sounding nearly as reassuring as I think he wants to. “We always do.”
“Yeah,” I croak.
Dad’s eyes fall back to the papers and, as much as I want to hover, I know that’s not what he wants. It wouldn’t be what I would want. I let the office door fall shut behind me, making sure it clicks closed as quietly as possible. I blow out a steadying breath, starting to make my way towards the front of the store.
I keep my head forward, avoiding looking at the once beautifully stocked and organized shelves that are now half empty. I know that nearly every bit of the limited stock we do have has a layer of dust on it and that the floor could seriously use a sweep. As much as I’m aware of all of those things, there’s just simply not enough time in the day when there’s only two of us here to run the place. And, with there not even being enough money currently to buy more stock, there most certainly isn’t left over money right now to hire someone else to help out.
I make it to the register at the front, double checking the very sad amount of cash in the drawer before placing it inside and shutting it. My teeth chew at my bottom lip as I pull my phone out of my green apron pocket to check, even though I already know.
No new messages.
It’s been six months, but I still check.
I grab a bottle of glass cleaner and a handful of paper towels from under the counter and walk to the front door, flipping the sign toOpenbefore I walk outside. I spray down the front door and only spend a few seconds wiping it down before I hear the roar of a truck pulling into the parking lot behind me. A grin breaks across my face, hope and excitement stirring in me. Between the state the store has been in the last few months and the quickly spreading small town gossip of my mom's scandalous affair, the customers have been few and far between lately.
I turn around and my smile instantly falls when I see who is stepping out of the truck, his boots hitting the ground and turning straight in my direction. A wave of nausea rolls through me as he approaches, running one hand through his dirty blonde hair and lowering his aviator sunglasses with the other.
“Well, hey there, Annie,” he drawls.
I throw the door open and walk back inside with barely a glance in his direction. “We’re closed.”
“No you’re not,” his muffled voice comes through the glass as his brow furrows.
I maintain eye contact with him as I flip the sign over toClosedand walk away. I barely round the corner of the register, however, when I hear the bell sound behind me.Dammit. I should have locked the door.
“C’mon, just give me a moment of your time.”
“Sorry,” I reply, not an ounce of apology in my tone. “My time is only allotted for people with souls.”
He lets out a snort. “You’re funny.”
“I’m aware.”
He leans against the counter, fully removing his sunglasses and looking me up and down.
I cross my arms, irritation heating my neck. “What do you want, Jeremiah?”
Remy’s face twists like he just ate something very sour. “Why are you calling me that?”
“It suits you so much better.” I say that simply because I know he hates that name and it’ll piss him off.
“Nobody calls me that.”
“Well, maybe someone should.” I rub a hand against my chest, my heart having done something weird and painful whenever I said that.
