Page 14 of Wicked Ends
“I can’t believe you’re here. From Cali beach cafés to Maine coffee shops,” Kenna sighed, sitting back as the waitress brought us water and menus.
“Lunch today is on me, before you argue about it,” Kenna announced.
“I can pay for myself!” I protested.
She shushed me. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. I said it was on me, because I’ll never be able to pay you back for all the help you gave me in senior year. No arguments.” She held a finger up to stop me from complaining.
I sighed and took a deep drink of water. The truth was, I couldn’t afford to refuse. The money I’d save by letting Kenna pay would feed me for a week. This was what my life had become. This was how far I’d fallen.
“So, where are you staying?” Kenna asked after we’d ordered.
“The Night Owl Motel.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That old dump? You should stay with me. Seriously, that’s awful.”
“It’s not that bad. Believe me, after the last few years, the Night Owl is fine.”
She shuddered theatrically. “I can’t believe that the girl who grew up in your grandparents’ place is calling the Night Owl—which rents rooms by the hour, FYI—‘not that bad.’”
“Yeah, well, a little perspective is a powerful thing, I guess. I never had any growing up, and now, I might have had too much.” I tossed her a wry grin so she’d know I was joking.
Kenna’s face softened. “If you want to talk about any of it?—”
“I don’t, but thanks for the offer.” I gave her a tight smile. I hated to see her sympathetic expression. “I’m fine. I’m going to be fine. I made my choices and I’m happy with them,” I told her, voice firm.
I wished I could stampI am not a fucking victimacross my forehead and be done with it.
Kenna gave a reluctant nod. “Fine, but if you get grossed out at the Night Owl, you come and stay with me. Deal?”
“Okay, deal,” I said, even knowing I wouldn’t take her up on it. It was bad enough she was lying for me, accepting my fake credentials to get me the job, a fireable offense. I couldn’t impose any further.
“Oh, that reminds me. Look what I found,” Kenna said, flicking through her phone.
She showed me a photo. It was me and my grandmother, standing at the piano that used to live in the music room of their old house. I gazed at it, a lump forming in my throat. Even though she’d passed when I was seventeen, I missed her like it was yesterday.
“I can still remember that day. It was the last time I heard her play. She was so gifted.”
I nodded, finding it hard to talk.
“And so are you,” Kenna continued. “I’m so proud of you for applying for the job, from across the country, and getting it, no less.”
My new job. It was a precious jewel I was holding close to my heart. On Monday, I’d start work at Hade Harbor University, HHU to locals. Kenna worked there, too, and without her, this new start wouldn’t be happening. I was taking over for a teacher on leave and only had a few months to cover until summer break started. It didn’t matter. It was still the most important thing to happen to me professionally. Sure, I’d won showcases and accolades for music for a decade, but this job was exactly what I needed, when I needed it. My lifeline, and Kenna? The one who tossed it to me like it was nothing.
I shook my head. “That’s all you. Without your recommendation, without your paperwork—help,” I corrected myself quickly, unsure how to address the huge favor that Kenna had done for me.
She shook her head. “Shut up. Given your background, you can’t use your real details. I know your qualifications are real. I know you. You deserve a chance, and your students will be lucky to have you.”
The last time I’d seen MacKenna Brooks had been over six years ago, and yet, when I’d called her out of the blue about this job, she’d been unchanged. Still genuine and down-to-earth, and still willing to go to battle for her friends.
“Yeah, well, I’d never have gotten this far without your help. You’re taking a risk here?— ”
“No, I’m not. If you get exposed, which you won’t, I’ll be as surprised as anyone else. It’s an adjunct professor position. It’s not tenured. Don’t worry. You’re qualified, that’s the most important part, and I can vouch for that myself.”
“Still. I’ll owe you for the rest of my life,” I told her honestly. Yes, I had fake documents: a fake ID, Social Security number, birth certificate, and degrees. It was the most expensive thing I’d ever bought, but it was worth it. It was the reason I was able to be here today, attempting to start over.
She chuckled. “I’m going to hold you to that and put a pin in it. I’ll cash in my future favor, of my choosing, when it suits me. Maybe once you’re finally the world-famous composer you’re meant to be.”
I huffed out a quiet laugh. The very thought of the future I’d once imagined was a painful, half-scabbed wound. Not yet healedenough to laugh about, but not painful enough to make me cry anymore.
