Roman peeks through the double doors, and his presence steals her attention. “The frat boys need you, Mary Anne.”
She rolls her eyes and says, “Ugh. I hate college kids. They’re terrible tippers.”
Aaron suggests I take a break about three hours into my shift, so I decide to spend it sitting on the steps in the alley. I wasn’t sure if I’d get a break, or what my hours would even be tonight, so I grabbed some chips and a bottled water before I left the grocery store earlier.
It’s quieter in the alley, but I can still hear the bass of the music. Mary Anne came back to chat again earlier and she saw I had pieces of paper towel stuck in my ears to drown out the music while I worked. I lied and told her I get migraines easily, but I really just hate most music.
Every song is a reminder of something bad in my life, so I’d rather hear no songs at all. She says she has a pair of headphones she can bring me tomorrow. So far, the music is the only part of this job I don’t like. That was one good thing about prison—I rarely heard music.
Roman opens the back door and seems momentarily surprised to find me on the steps, but he walks over to the other side of the alley and flips a bucket upside down. He sits on it and stretches his leg out, putting pressure on his knee. “How’s your first night?” he asks.
“Good.” I’ve noticed Roman limps when he walks, and now he’s stretching his leg like he’s in pain. I don’t know if it’s a new injury, but I feel like if it is, he might need to take it easier than he has been tonight. He’s a bartender; they never sit. “Did you hurt your leg?”
“It’s an old injury. It flares up with the weather.” He hikes up his pant leg and reveals a long scar on his knee.
“Ouch. How’d that happen?”
Roman leans back against the brick on the side of the building. “Pro football injury.”
“You played pro football too?”
“I played for a different team than Ledger did. I’d rather die than play for the Broncos.” He gestures toward his knee. “This happened about a year and a half in. Ended my football career.”
“Wow. I’m so sorry.”
“Hazard of the job.”
“How’d you end up working here with Ledger?”
He eyes me carefully. “I could ask the same of you.”
Fair enough. I don’t know how much Roman knows about my story, but Ledger did mention he’s the only one here who knows who I am. I’m sure that means he knows everything.
I don’t want to talk about myself.
Luckily, I don’t have to because the alley fills with light from Ledger’s truck as he pulls into his usual parking spot. For whatever reason, Roman uses this moment to escape back inside and leave me out here alone.
I tense with Roman’s disappearance and Ledger’s return. I’m embarrassed I’m sitting outside on the steps. As soon as Ledger opens the door of his truck, I say, “I’ve been working. I swear. You just happened to pull up right when I took a break.”
Ledger smiles as he gets out of the truck, like my explanation is unnecessary. I don’t know why I have a physical reaction to that smile, but it sends a swirl through my stomach. His presence always creates this hum right under my skin, like I’m buzzing with nervous energy. Maybe it’s because he’s my only link to my daughter. Maybe it’s because I think about what happened between us in this alley every time I close my eyes at night.
Maybe it’s because he’s my boss now, and I really don’t want to lose this job, and here I am not doing anything, and I suddenly feel like a pathetic asshole.
I liked it much better when he wasn’t here. I was more relaxed.
“How’s it going tonight?” He leans against his truck like he’s in no hurry to get inside.
“Good. Everyone’s been nice.”
He raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t buy that. “Even Mary Anne?”
“Well. She’s been nice to me. She kind of talked a little shit about you, though.” I’m smiling so he knows I’m teasing. But she did imply he only hired me because he thinks I’m pretty and he’s trying to make his ex jealous. “Who’s Leah?”
Ledger’s head falls back against his truck, and he groans. “Which one of them brought up Leah? Mary Anne?”
I nod. “She said you were supposed to get married this month.”
Ledger looks uncomfortable, but I’m not going to be the one to cut this conversation short on account of his discomfort. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t have to. But I want to know, so I wait expectantly for him to muster up an answer.