Page 62 of Where Sinners Repent

I hear tapping on computer keys. “Oh, yes. How can I help you, Roxy?”

I swallow. I don’t want to do this, but I have no choice. With no customers and no equipment... I can’t afford it. I’m fucked from just the repairs alone.

My eyes flutter closed, grieving for the small space. For the work put into it, and what the freedom it symbolised.

“I... I need to cancel my lease,” I whisper, voice cracking.

“I’ll just pull up your file,” she hums, clicking away. “Oh, are you sure? It seems as if you are well ahead of your rent for the next... year!”

My mouth parts, closing and opening twice more before I find the words to say. “No, sorry, you must be mistaken. I’m actually behind.”

My face heats at the admission.

She hums softly. “Roxanne Kavanagh? Occupant of the space at 77 High Street, Havenport Harbour?”

Brows drawing, I nod, even though she can’t see me. “That’s me...”

“We’ve received a payment on your behalf just yesterday. Your rent isn’t due for a year.”

Lightheaded, I fall back against a mountain of paper. “Are you sure?”

She sounds far too patient to be dealing with the likes of me. “I’m sure, Miss Kavanagh. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thanks heaps,” I murmur, hanging up the phone.

A year?

First, the idea of my brothers paying for the rent pops into my head. Another ploy to mess with me. But it just doesn’t sound like them.

Then, it hits me... Fucking Maddy!

I bet she’s done this.

A giddy laugh spills from me.

Roxy: I know this was you... Thankyou from the bottom of my heart.

A year is everything. A year to get ahead. To play catch up.

Maddy: What was me?

I grin. She’s the only humble rich girl I know. Too sweet for her own good.

Roxy: Don’t play dumb, just let me love you!

There’s a long pause before the typing bubble appears.

Maddy: Maybe I really am dumb, but I’ll accept the love!

I giggle. Approximately five hundred kilograms have been taken off my shoulders. Weight, I didn’t realise had settled there, slowly crushing me.

The tattoo gun. The studio. These things don’t happen to someone like me. It’s such a foreign feeling to have people who want to help me, that I have to blink my eyes furiously to stop them from tearing up.

Fuck.

A wave of inspiration falls over me. One that I haven’t had since I got the keys to the studio and got to dream of how I was going to decorate the place. Jumping out of bed, I don’t bother changing from my baggy tracksuit pants and my hoodie, just opting to slide my feet into my docs, before striding for the front door.

If I’m going to have a shadow always looking over me, I may as well enjoy the perks. I feel him, but don’t turn my head in his direction as I pass.