Page 8 of Sugar Coated Lies
Jace would have done something outrageous to prove his loyalty to Benedict. He’s always referring to us as theBillionaire Boys Club, clueless about the real story or movie.I never cared much about what he and Benedict did with their games—they’ve been playing them since high school—but something in my gut told me to step in this time. So I did, and I have the black eye to prove it.
“Do you think she lost sleep over it?” Benedict asks, his hopeful tone sending my mind reeling. He really hates this girl.
“Probably.”
“How did she look?”
“What do you mean?”
“Her appearance. Did she look, you know…worn?”
“Worn?” This is starting to sound like an obsession rather than a game or a grudge. “She looked…” Tired, skinny, pale, overworked, and somehow pretty. Not like the roses we’re used to, flashy and done-up to perfection. She was simple, like a dandelion swaying with the breeze. I don’t tell him any of this, of course. No, I choose my wording carefully, hoping he’ll let this go.
“She looked beat.”
“Beat.” A grin curls one side of his mouth. “Beat is good. Beat is what she deserves.”
“Meet you at the door in five.” I walk away before he can ask more questions. My fingers ball into fists at my sides, and I hurry to my closet to change.
Later today, I need to repay the girl and thank her for not calling the cops or making me scrub pots. She could have done either. Although I doubt her boss would have gotten on board. Maybe that’s why she let me off the hook so easily. I can’t imagine her with Benedict or him with her. He’s relentless and likes to party. She looks like someone who has a lot on her plate and needs a nap.
It had to have been his appearance that drew her attention. Although I can’t understand what drewhisappeal and determination. He’s had much hotter women, and like he said, he doesn’t have to beg or wine and dine a girl to get her to please him. Something about the two of them doesn’t add up.
I bet Jace was with him on the Savannah trip. I could ask him—No! Not my business.
I strip and pull gym clothes from the bottom drawer of the built-ins. The last thing I need is to get caught up in this. Maybe I’ll send her cash and a gift card to somewhere nice in the mail instead. Or somewhere useful, like Amazon. I bet she could benefit from that more than something expensive.Stop!
I’m overthinking this. I don’t want to think about her at all. She’s not my problem. I’ll pay her back and be done.
Chapter3
Everleigh
I findGrandpa’s new medicine in the cupboard we use as a pantry. I must have put it in there when I put away the groceries last night. Thank God for twenty-four-hour Walmart stores or we wouldn’t have bread for Grandpa’s favorite ham sandwich.
“Found them,” I call out and set the prescriptions in the basket on the kitchen counter where I keep them.
Carol rounds the corner from the bedroom where she’d been helping me look for the misplaced medicine. “Oh, good. I was getting worried.”
The retired nurse Grandma knew from church is everything to Grandpa and me. Without her help, I wouldn’t be able to leave him alone to work, attend class, or do anything, really.
“Thank you for helping out today. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t necessary.”
I don’t tell her I’m short on cash and have a stack of overdue bills. She’ll insist on not taking money from me for this week, not that we pay her much. She’s done this before, more times than she should, claiming she doesn’t mind. But I do. It doesn’t make me feel good. She works for peanuts as it is, and she doesn’t need to be here. She lives a meager, comfortable retirement with her husband, but I won’t be anyone’s charity case, no matter how kind the offer.
Maybe it’s time I quit school for a while and focus on getting a better job. My four-year plan is gone, anyway, along with my scholarship. I’ve been holding on to my education as best I can, knowing one day it will help me succeed beyond this lifestyle, but it’s a struggle. The diner used to allow me flexible hours so I could work around my college schedule. Now I’m always taking extra shifts to make end's meet and missing the only class I’m able to take. I feel like a failure, too. The one thing Grandma drove into my brain before she died was the importance of a college education and degree. Granted, she was from a generation where that was the only way to be successful. Still, it lingers in the back of my mind.
I scurry to the couch and fold the sheets and blankets. The piece of furniture functions as my bed in the one-bedroom manufactured home. Grandma loved the trailer park for its location, within walking distance to their church, a small market, and nearby park—things my grandparents did as often as they could when Grandma was alive. After her death, Grandpa’s mental health took a turn for the worse and my life hasn’t been the same.
I scoop up the bedding and stuff it into the storage chest we use as a coffee table. “I’m sorry the place is a mess. I got home late and haven’t had a chance to tidy up,” I say to Carol as she pours Grandpa a glass of orange juice to drink with his medication.
“Don’t worry about it. You know I don’t mind. It helps keep me busy.”
“You are a godsend.” I give her my sincerest smile.
“Go ahead or you’ll be late.”
I check the time.Crap. “Grandpa?” I move to his side, where he sits on his favorite recliner in front of the small TV watchingAerial America,and rest my hand over his. He’s obsessed with the show.
