What the…
Picking it up, my heart nearly stops when I read the name on the label.
Valerie Ayers
The prescription is for oxy, and I immediately drop the bottle on the floor as I read it. The Ayers family was in the paper twice that year. The first time for George going to prison and the second was for his wife, thirty-three year old Valerie overdosing on her pain medication and dying in her sleep where her only son found her the next morning.
The doctors ruled it an accidental death, but the community knew the truth. After the family lost their business, wealth, reputation, and inheritance, she quickly became addicted to pills and killed herself just days before they were supposed to be evicted from their million dollar home.
I never blamed myself for what happened to George, but reading about Valerie’s death shook me. It was hard not to feel responsible for that. I never really thought much about Cullen.
But I guess he was thinking about me.
2
Cullen
Fuck, the restaurant is dead tonight. Wednesday nights are usually pretty lame anyway. Everyone is still trying to be responsible and eat at home. No one goes on dates on Wednesdays either. I have two tables, both families are lingering on their phones with their to-go boxes getting colder by the minute. They’ll probably tip like shit too.
It doesn’t help that I’m in a shit mood tonight. Today was my first day at Florence U, and it took an unexpected turn for sure. I had no fucking idea Everly West would be teaching a class, but lucky me. I was sitting in my advisor’s office at eight a.m. trying to find a last minute class that sounded easy enough and would satisfy my critical writing block so I can keep my stupid fucking scholarship. Once I saw that name on the screen, Everly West, I had to do some shuffling in my schedule to fit it in, but how could I miss it? It’s a fucking sign.
Eight years I’ve been waiting to get my revenge on the woman who fucked up my whole life. Eight goddamn years I’ve been thinking about her smug bitch face in the courtroom, like she had fucking accomplished something. She was so proud of herself. There was no remorse or apology on her face for what she did to my family, stripping away everything in my life until I was left with literally nothing.
Tormenting her on her first day wouldn’t be complete without a little present. I had to jog back to my dorm before class so I could bring her those pills. It wasn’t a death threat or anything, but fuck, I hope she takes it that way.
It’s her fault my life is a shit show now.
If only that stupid scholarship covered all of my other living expenses so I didn’t have to wait tables like a fucking tool bag just to pay the bills. If there was any other job I could do with flexible hours and decent pay, I would.
It also helps that this job gets me laid more than most. Customers, waitresses. Fuck, I got a quick BJ from the wine distributer last month. It helps take the edge off, and I guess that’s not a perk I’d be getting if I was flipping burgers or driving a garbage truck.
What would dear old dad think of me now?
Not that I give a shit. I wrote that asshole off years ago when he fucked this whole family and left my mother a penniless mess.
Standing by the soda machine, I’m watching the door, hoping Gina puts the next group in my station so I stand a chance of actually making it worth even coming in tonight when a familiar face walks through the door.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
A certain petite brunette woman steps through the door and right up to the hostess stand with an uncomfortable smile on her face. Behind her, a man with brown hair, a high forehead, and glasses walks in, placing a hand on her shoulder just as he holds up two fingers at Gina. She grabs the menus and I say a little prayer.
Please don’t put them in my station.
Sure as shit, she walks right over to the booth by the window, and I grimace. What the fuck are the odds she would come into my restaurant tonight? She probably told her ugly boyfriend all about the pills and the nightmare student in her class.
Now, I almost hope he causes a scene. Not that I can stand to lose this job, it would be nice to make her life hell for once.
Gina smiles at me as she walks back to the stand. Little bitch thinks she’s doing me a favor. Just as Everly and her date browse their menus, I catch the way he looks over the top at her and how she sends him a polite, but unnatural smile. Holy shit, they’re on a first date. I can spot a seasoned couple over a new date any day of the week. It’s one of the easier picked up skills I’ve learned as a waiter at an Italian restaurant. And these two are definitely not comfortable with each other yet. That much is obvious.
Taking a deep breath, I make my way over to the table. The dude looks up first, giving me a wary smile, probably a little freaked out by my appearance; tattoos up my neck, piercings on my face, and unnatural as fuck white hair. But I don’t give a shit what he thinks. That’s why I did it in the first place. To make guys like my asshole father uncomfortable.
It’s her I’m looking at anyway. I don’t want to miss the expression on her face when she sees me, and fuck is it worth it. She does a double take, her eyes widening as she stares at me. There’s a flinch in her posture as she leans back like I’m going to hit her or something. Then, she glances around me, probably hoping I actually work here and I’m not just here to torment her. Although I guess I am.
“Good evening. Welcome to Valentino’s. What can I get for you to drink tonight?”
There’s not even a hint of a smile on my face. Like I give a shit if they complain about me. Brooke is the floor manager tonight, and she loves me—well, mostly she loves my dick, but she’s not going to fire me for one customer complaint.
“Um…” Everly stutters unable to take her eyes off me. Then she suddenly realizes she’s supposed to be acting natural and she looks at her date. “Want to share a bottle of red?”
“I don’t drink,” he replies in a nasally tone.
Everly’s nostrils flare as she forces a smile. “That’s okay. I’ll have a glass of red, then.”
“Can I see your ID?” I ask without expression.
She swallows, clearly uncomfortable as she pulls out her license. I love carding people, and policy says we have to card everyone, but it just makes me laugh how I’m not even old enough to drink (legally) and I’m making them prove to me they are. It’s a joke.
Taking her card, I smirk at the picture and not because it’s ugly. She’s actually kind of cute in her washed out DMV mugshot with her blunt brown bangs and shoulder-length hair, but I smirk because I know she’s hating every second of this. Then, I take a quick look at her address, and I don’t even know why.
541 Sycamore St.
Of course she lives on Sycamore. With those quaint renovated craftsmans in a totally hipster part of town where the food trucks park and the rich assholes walk their goldendoodles. I hope she enjoys it, while I’m scraping by, living on leftovers from the restaurant and ramen noodles in my shoebox dorm room I have to share with two other guys.
Then, I peek at her birthdate. Doing the math quickly in my head, I’m surprised to see she’s only thirty-two. I don’t know why I thought she’d be older. Not like she looks it. Hell, there’s not a wrinkle or scrap of fat on her, but seeing as how she was a full-grown adult when I was only ten, I just sort of pictured her a lot older by now. So, eight years ago, she was only…twenty-four.