Page 79 of Absolute Certainty
The job he was five seconds away from quitting.
“If Veronica keeps calling out, we’re going to have to let her go. I’ve already warned her three times. I don’t buy for a second that she’s sick, and this is the fifth time she’s done it on a Sunday.”
A static sound came through his ear first, then Gillian spoke from the walkie-talkie. “Um, Jay, will you please come to the registers? A customer wants to speak to the manager.”
Fucking hell.He blew out a heavy sigh.
Stepping out of the breakroom and into the front of the shop, he saw a man there, roughly around his height. A massive line behind him, too.
Dahlia was running around, trying to make drinks at a rapid speed. Harrison, too.
“What’s the problem here?” he asked, utilizing every morsel of strength he had to keep his tone in check and not hurl an insult from the get-go.
A disgusting sneer was plastered on the man’s face. “As I was telling this lovely little lady, I find it difficult to believe you’re out of bagels and can’t find me one. Don’t think that a pretty face at the register can stop—”
Nope. This motherfucker.
“Was she not speaking English when she said that what’s out is out, and we aren’t a factory mass-producing bagels?” At this point, he didn’t even care that his rage was palpable.
The customer’s sneer deepened. “Excuse me?”
“What part of that was hard to grasp?” Jay bit back.
“Do you have any idea who I am? The type of clients I represent? You and your bitchy employees better show some respect.”
A low, frustrated grunt ripped out of Jay as his fingers balled into a fist. Today of all fucking days. Swallowing back every curse he wanted to use, Jay gritted out, “I don’t care who you are. You’ll respect my employee and get out of this coffee shop before I kick you out.”
“You’re all rats here. Filth,” the man spouted. “Put your money elsewhere, people,” he announced to the remaining customers. And then he stormed off like a petulant child.
Jay could tell that Gillian sensed his agitation, so he willed himself to calm down and logged in at the register beside her. “Next guest,” he called out.
A woman stepped forward, smiling with compassion. “I’ve worked retail. I get it,” she said simply.
Jay didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Everything in him was tense and tight.
She continued. “Can I just get a small vanilla latte with soy milk, please?”
“Sure, and your name?”
“Elena,” she said.
Jay swallowed a lump in his throat.
February 11. The day that fucker hospitalized his mother. His mother, who was also named Elena, who deserved everything in the world, but instead, she got a son with an unstable career and rage consistently burning inside of him, as well as a daughter with a heart too big not to forgive.
His mother, who never expected anything from him, yet he was sure he still disappointed her anyway.
Blinking away the combating fury and pain, Jay wrote the woman’s name on the plastic cup. His hand was shaking. She could probably see it.
After paying, she still kept her smile. He bobbed his head, attempting to show that there was a human being somewhere inside of him and not a monster fighting for control.
Except his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. His chest tightened. And the bustling sounds of casual conversations were more akin to banshees screaming.
For a split second, his head spun.
It was too fucking loud—too overstimulating.
Gillian was speedily managing the line. He felt like he was moving at a snail’s pace.
