I just want to touch her.
“Hey,” I say, grinning as she walks down the sidewalk, and her eyes pop up in surprise to meet mine. Then her gaze drops to the roses for a fleeting second before coming back up.
She wants to say yes.
“How’s your hand?” she asks in a near whisper.
“It hurts a little, but there’s no nerve damage. Should get the stitches out soon.”
She nods, not looking at me. I continue speaking while pushing the roses out toward her. “These are for you.”
She doesn’t look up, but she draws a heavy breath. “I have to go,” she says, stepping around me.
“Go where?” I ask, moving faster and blocking her path to her car door.
“I have a date,” she says, still refusing to meet my eyes.
Bile rises to my throat as I numbly move to the side, and I watch as she disappears into her car. This is not how this day was supposed to go.
She pulls out of her spot, and I continue standing and staring. But I can’t take it.
My bike is in my yard, and I drop the roses and rush over to it. In seconds, I’m on the road and following behind her at a safe distance.
When she cuts into a restaurant parking lot, I sit at the curb like a fucking stalker. Christ, she’s destroying my mind. And I think she’s doing it on purpose.
Once she’s inside, I wait. But the waiting is driving me crazy. So after about twenty minutes of torture, I go in. It’s not very crowded, so scanning the tables is easy work. I spot her and the infamous date in a matter of seconds, but she’s not at a table with a young guy. This guy is too fucking old for her. What the hell?
I stalk through the restaurant, ignoring the hostess calling for me to wait, and I move in behind Brin just as the prick from across the table finishes his sentence.
“...You made your bed. Lie in it.” Then he looks up at me as I come to put my hands on either side of the table, caging Brin in with my arms.
“Little old for you, don’t you think?” I ask her, putting my lips close to her ear, but she doesn’t even act surprised. She mutters a few choice words as she turns around to look up at me, forcing me to lean back and tower over her.
“Rye, meet my father,” she hisses, and I might trip backwards—and possibly stumble over two or three chairs.
She stands just as the waitress brings the food, and she rolls her eyes while turning back to her father.
“You’re not going to stay and eat?” he asks her dispassionately.
“Lost my appetite,” she grumbles, and then she starts retreating toward the door.
Her father?
He glares at me and the tattoos on my arms before he rolls his eyes. “Never going to learn,” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t bother saying a word to him. I thought Brin hated her parents. So why is she lying to me about a date and meeting her father?
By the time I reach the outside, she’s already driving away, but she’s not crying. She’s just pissed.
I really know how to fuck up like a pro.
***
BRIN
“This is worth at least seven-hundred dollars,” I argue, groaning as the man behind the glass case shakes his head.
“I realize that, but this is a pawn shop. I can’t give you what it’s worth, because I have to sell it. It’s business. I’ve told you; three-hundred is my highest offer. I have to turn a profit. People don’t come in here to pay full price. I’ll be lucky to get six-hundred for it.”
Damn. “And you won’t let me pay this now and pay more next month? For my car?”
He frowns while shaking his head. “You’ve got a sad story with no proof. I hear sad stories all day. I can’t cut you any breaks. I’d be broke if I took pity on everyone that had the same bad luck as you claim to have.”
This day sucks. My life sucks. This pawn shop sucks. My father sucks. Rye sucks. Rye’s father sucks. Everything and everyone frigging sucks.
I can’t believe I went to my dad for help. But I thought he might give me my old jewelry to sell or pawn. Nope. I’m still not allowed to have anything that used to be mine because I refuse to go back to college and choose a career that satisfies him, even if I prefer working at the museum.
Well, fine. Fuck them all.
I can’t believe Rye showed up. Well, I can believe it, but I wish he hadn’t. I shouldn’t have lied and told him I was going on a date. I knew better.
I leave the pawn shop without any success. My options are dried up. My car is going to be taken away tomorrow, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I’ve lost this war, too. I’m the worst soldier ever.
***
BRIN
Everything passes by me slower than usual, because I take my time driving home. How can one person have their life so thoroughly screwed up in a matter of a few years?