Page 27 of Fighting for Valor
I stop myself before the word escapes. Getting myself into trouble—hell, getting myself noticed at all—isn’t smart, but I’m just so sick and tired of manspreaders on this route. Every damn day.
The short walk to the diner on the main floor of Pike Place helps ease some of my frustration, and by the time I secure my bag in one of the lockers and reach the kitchen, I feel almost…at ease.
“Hey, Cara,” Lindsey says as she balances a tray on her shoulder. She moves with a grace I’ll never have and slides the overly full monstrosity onto the counter without so much as rattling a glass. “Didn’t expect to see you in today.”
“I needed to pick up a couple of extra shifts this month.” My fingers tremble slightly as I tie the apron around my waist. “My landlord’s raising the rent.”
“Aw, shit. I’m sorry, babe.” She slings her arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “The offer’s still open, you know. I have a second bedroom. It’d take me a few days to clear it out, but if you ever want it, it’s yours.”
“Th-thanks. But…I’m not…I don’t want… Um, living with me…isn’t easy. I drive off roommates. Kind of…set in my ways.” While I am…very, and I have to be, that’s not the whole truth.
It’s not safe for me to live with anyone else. For eighteen months, I’ve tried to keep to myself. But the day I started working here, Lindsey marked me as “friend-material,” and after a couple of months of refusing her invites to go out for a drink or a movie after work, I could no longer resist her infectious personality. Plus, I was lonely.
Now, she’s my only friend in this town, though I’ve shared nothing honest about my past with her. I think she knows I have secrets I can’t confess, but to her credit, she hasn’t pressed. Much.
“Well, you know the offer’s always there,” she says with a smile.
“I do. And I love you for it, Linds.” I rest my head against hers for a brief moment, then straighten my shoulders. “I’ve gotta get out there or Barry’ll have my ass.”
“Yeah, he’s in a shit mood today. Guess he didn’t get any last night.” Lindsay elbows me in the ribs lightly before she tucks a fresh tray under her arm and heads back out through the swinging doors to the dining room.
Great. Just what I need. Another male asshole to deal with. Spinning my Lapis Lazuli pendant inside its silver cage, I take a couple of calming breaths.
My meds keep me mostly together, but on my bad days, the constant frenetic pace of the popular tourist spot, along with the smells and cacophony of sounds I can’t control can leave me totally and completely wiped by the end of my six hours on the floor. And then, I have to work a shift at For Fork’s Sake—a food truck that roves around the city, setting up at a different location every night.
At least my four-day-a-week stints there as a chef make me feel a little more like myself. My old self anyway.
Okay, Cara. Get out there and kick some ass. If it’s a good day for tips, you can splurge on a couple of slices of pizza for dinner.
My time cooking at For Fork’s Sake makes me feel…alive again. The pay’s crap, but they let me try out some of my own recipes, and I rarely have to talk to people. This late in the day, I’m prone to anxiety attacks—a side effect of my meds—and people make me nervous.
I’m about as far from North Carolina as I can get without a legitimate passport, but that doesn’t mean someone from my former life won’t come to Seattle for a visit and recognize me. And if they do…and tell anyone from JSOC…I’m dead.
“Need a Croque Madame and a Bacon Mac,” Joel says from the cashier’s window. “Last two orders of the night.”
“Already?” Glancing up at the digital clock above the cook plates, I lose focus and tip the two slices of bacon off the spatula and onto the floor. “Dammit!”
“You realize that’s coming out of your pay, right?” Joel scribbles on his little notepad as I retrieve two fresh slices from the fridge.
“Bite me,” I mutter under my breath, but then turn to him and offer an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Joel. It’s been a long day. We were down a server at Hillside Diner for the second half of my shift.”
He starts to close out the till and tally up the night’s receipts and tips, then crosses out the deduction for the bacon in his notebook. “Just don’t do it again.”
Finally. Something going my way.
It’s another hour before we finish wiping down the last surface, mopping the floor until it shines, and cleaning the vent hood. “You all right to get home, Cara?”
“Yep. I’ll be fine. The bus stop’s just on the corner.” Seattle’s a safe city, overall, and tonight, we’re parked in the Ballard neighborhood—the safest of our ten regular haunts. “See you on Monday.”
“Oh, hey. You want to pick up Nance’s shifts tomorrow and Saturday? She really wants two nights off to go see some concert down in San Francisco.”
I try to contain my excitement as I sling my bag across my body. “That’d be great. Thanks. Five to nine again?”
“Yep.” Joel climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the truck. “Menu’s already set though. Gazpacho and enchiladas tomorrow, lasagna on Saturday. I’ll email you the recipes when I get home tonight.”
Lovely. The day everything in my life imploded, I made enchiladas. And now…the smell turns my stomach. But I force a smile. “You got it.”
The bus ride back to the University District takes over an hour, and by then, my anxiety’s off the charts. “Twenty minutes,” I whisper as I adjust my bag and start walking. Twenty minutes and I can draw myself a hot bath, pour a glass of cheap wine, and let this day fade into the constant background noise in my head.
