Page 1 of Kade
1
BECCA
“Like I told you, lady, there’s no apartment for rent here.”
The man’s brows are lowered, his tone hostile. He’s clearly frustrated with me, but I’m too freaked out to care. There are eyes on me. So many eyes. I hate that I’m putting on a show for the whole neighborhood, but I can’t just give up. It all has to be a big mistake.
I rush up the last step to the landing, coming within a foot of the man blocking my way into the building. His gray hair is standing on end, pajamas rumpled and hanging crookedly off his frame. He matches the building. It’s not the nicest building on the street, but it’s definitely not the shittiest. I lower my voice.
“Please, check again. I’m renting a room from Cassandra in Four-B. She’s expecting me tonight.” I press redial on my phone, hoping that the number I have for Cassandra will magically work. The not-in-service message plays again, and I have to choke the bile down. Keep it together, Becca.
The building manager sighs and shakes his head, a thread of pity coloring his voice. “Lady, Mrs. Cruz lives in Four-B. She’s been there thirty years. I been here twenty-three, and I know everybody in this building. There ain’t a Cassandra living here.” He winces, “You been scammed.”
Even as I shake my head in denial, I know he’s right. I’d been talking to Cassandra for the last two weeks, but yesterday I sent her my part of the security deposit and first and last months’ rent. I sent her $2700, literally everything I had. The bank service fees at the end of the month are going to overdraw my account. Of course, her phone number is disconnected now. She got what she wanted.
The manager’s voice interrupts my whirling thoughts.
“Look,” he says, his mouth twisted, “You’d better find somewhere to go quick. All that stuff in your car is a big fucking neon sign in this neighborhood.”
I can’t help but snort. Ya, a gigantic neon sign that says ‘gullible fool.’
I glance back at my ancient sedan, filled with literally everything I own. The car and all my shit together are probably worth less than the $2700 I just lost, but I can’t stomach the idea of losing anything more.
I’ve already had everything that truly mattered to me taken away, but somehow the idea of someone stealing my photo albums nearly sends me over the edge, and I have to fight back tears. I’m not a crier. Never have been, so the freaking waterworks are pissing me off. I won’t give the eyes staring at me from the windows and from the street corner the satisfaction of seeing me break. I turn back to the manager, dodging the stares from our audience.
“I don’t know where to go…I’m not from here.” My throat feels tight.
He shakes his head and rubs the stubble on his chin before opening the door to lean further out. “There’s a few not too shitty motels about twelve blocks east of here. Try there.” He steps back and mutters, “Good luck, kid,” as he shuts the door in my face, already heading back to his warm bed.
I try to shut out the gawkers, focusing instead on the wail of sirens in the distance. This city is too fucking loud. I walk back to my car, head spinning.
How the hell did I get in this position? I’m not a stupid person.
Why did I believe that bitch when she told me she needed the money right away?
As I rest my head on the steering wheel, I have to admit to myself that my decision-making has not been the best since Dad died. I feel like I’ve been in a pit of pain and grief. I’m only just climbing out of it, keeping my shit together as best I can. I think I did a good job handling the estate, getting the house sold, and the medical bills paid.
Packing up twenty-six years of memories nearly broke me. I kept it together then, but sitting in my car, here in a crappy neighborhood in a city my small-town dad not-so-affectionately called ashithole. I feel like the tape and glue holding all my pieces together are failing.
“One move at a time, Becca,” I whisper to myself. “What’s the next move?”
I center my breathing the way we did before every martial-arts class, and in a few minutes, I feel calm enough to think. All the cash I have in the world is in my purse. That $374 was supposed to tide me over for the next few weeks while I found a job—preferably one with great tips. But the manager was right. I can’t stay here any longer. So much for my fresh start.
The hairs on the back of my neck are already standing up, the same way they did the night Dad’s breathing finally stopped. I trusted that feeling and was holding his hand when he passed, instead of crying in my bed. Now, those hairs are telling me something bad is coming for me if I don’t move my ass. No way I’ll ignore them.
“Okay, motel it is,” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel.
I say a little prayer before I start my car, relaxing when the engine only sputters a bit before turning over, checking my rearview mirror out of habit, but I can’t even see out the back window. I did the same thing the entire four-hour drive from home. I shake my head and pull onto the street, heading east.
This late at night, the city is dark, but not dark like home. Between the streetlights and the lights from all the buildings, I doubt it’s ever truly dark here. I peek up at the sky through my windshield. There’s not a star visible in the light night sky.
What a miserable place to live.
Again, I wish I could have stayed in McKinley, but I felt like there was quicksand every step I took there. My friends, all the people I relied on, drifted away, unable to take my pain, my grief. The memories of my life, of Dad, were sucking me down into that pit, and I felt like if I didn’t get out now, I wouldn’t survive it.
I only make it a few blocks before my heart sinks. My gauges are lit up with flashing warning lights. Please no. I can’t handle anything more tonight. A sob escapes before I can rein it in. Jake warned me the car needed work, but I’ve been praying that it would hang in there. But of course, this is the way my life works now. What’s one more hit, right? Life before Dad got sick was…amazing.
Now, I’m walking a damn tightrope.
