“I’m so fucked, Gem.”
I stare at the charred pit that was once his beautiful space. “I know this feels so shitty now, and it’s gonna take some work to rebuild it. But I’ll be here to help. And I’m sure Dougie and Brandon will too. We’ll all—”
“No, we won’t,” he interrupts. “It’s done. I’m done. This is the end of the road for Kicks.”
His eyes look so resolute that it scares me. Dax is the guy who tells you not to stress. That life always turns out the way it’s meant to be. In the worst of the worst moments, he’s the one saying, I bet one day we’ll all look back and laugh at this fuckery. He’s an eternal optimist to the point that I’ve often wondered if anything can get under his chilled-out skin. But slumped in the back seat of this Ford Explorer, staring at his charred dreams, it looks like the last glimmer of hope has been snuffed from his body.
I press my lips to his temple. “Let’s wait until we talk to your insurance adjuster. It may not be as bleak as you think.”
Dax unclicks his seatbelt, opens his door, and steps out onto the street before I even realize what is happening. By the time I thank the driver and find my way to the pavement, he’s halfway down the block, and I have to run to catch up.
“Dax! Wait up.”
His pace slows, but he doesn’t stop.
“Hey.” I finally catch him. “Where are you going?”
He runs his hand through his hair and looks around like he’s not entirely sure how he wound up where he is. “I have no idea. I had to get out of there. I couldn’t look at it anymore.”
Kicks was Dax’s dream long before I knew him. I watched him turn it from a basement operation to a huge success. Seeing it in that state makes me want to vomit. I can’t begin to imagine what Dax is feeling.
“Is there anything I can do? Anyone to call? I get that you don’t want to deal with any of the insurance stuff now, but maybe I can, and it will help.”
“There’s no one to call.” He starts walking away, much slower this time, and I follow. “I’ve been behind on my insurance payments for the last two months. I received notice last week that they’re going to pull my policy for non-payment. I can’t see a scenario where they’ll have a change of heart, and even if they do, I’m so deeply in debt that it won’t be enough to get things started again. I’m done, Gemma. It’s over.”
No.
None of this is right.
This isn’t how things are supposed to be.
I’ve helped Dax do his taxes the last two years. I know Kicks is doing well.
“What happened?” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but I do, and Dax looks up. It makes me feel the need to explain my question. “I thought Kicks was successful. I remember the lines down the street when you first opened.”
Dax sits down on the edge of the sidewalk, stretching his legs out onto the road. He reaches out his hand for mine and pulls me gently down beside him.
“Things were great in the beginning. I thought I was finally getting somewhere. My sales were amazing. I was starting to get some great word of mouth. People were even coming from Toronto for my shoes. Then the pandemic happened, and everything went to shit. We had to close for so long that I didn’t have the funds to get an online store up and running because I was still in debt from the opening. Everything snowballed from there. Even when we could open up again, I was too far underwater to catch my breath. The end was inevitable. It just happened a little quicker than expected.”
Something is wrong. Aside from the terrible realization that I guilted my best friend into closing his already-struggling store yesterday, there’s a second, even more sickening sensation creeping its way up my spine. This isn’t how Dax’s story unfolded in my timeline. I remember him opening, and the sneakers were practically flying off the shelves, just as he said. And yes, the pandemic happened in my timeline too. But he had already gotten his online store up and running before lockdown. This guy came in, Jeremy was his name, and he loved Dax’s shoes so much that he wanted to open a second location in Toronto, but Dax wasn’t interested in that. Instead, Jeremy offered to invest, and Dax set up his e-store. He had a warehouse just south of Barton and a small staff helping him to keep up with the demand.
Why didn’t that happen here?
I retrace my steps through my memory, trying to figure out where everything went wrong.
The realization hits so hard that it knocks all the air from my lungs, and I have to brace against the sidewalk so I don’t topple over.