Dear Life(21)

And I was so damn close.

Until life kicked me on the tip of my dick, laughed, and then walloped me in the balls just to make sure I was paying attention to my misfortune, filling me with so much goddamn anger, I can barely breathe.

“Any day now would be great, Carter,” Hollyn speaks over the warming lamps.

And if my misfortune wasn’t bad enough, now for some reason, my uncle thought it would be a good idea to pair Hollyn and me on some of our shifts. My guess, because we’re taking the same shitty, my-life-sucks-so-help-me program. As if spending an unnecessary amount of time sitting in a circle, holding hands, and talking about our problems wasn’t enough time with the woman, yes, let’s add some shifts as well.

Picking up the steak with my tongs, I plop it on its original plate and say, “There, the moo-er should be dead now. If they send it back again, I’m pube-ing the shit out of the thing.”

“Mature,” Hollyn scoffs at me, flipping her hair and walking away, plate held high.

God, I can’t stand her.

“You two seem to get along,” Marcus, my fellow line cook, says as he flips a few steaks on the stained grill. Can you guess what the special was for tonight? Steak. Uncle Chuck got a deal on some steaks, decided to pair it with mashed potatoes and broccoli . . . at an Italian restaurant. There is nothing Italian about that. Might as well go to Red Lobster and order chicken.

Not even bothering to look over at Marcus, I say, “Can’t stand her.”

“Because she made you go to that weird program?”

Of course Marcus would find out. Nothing is a secret around here.

“Who did you hear that from?”

“Hollyn. She was telling everyone about how you were sulking the whole time at the meeting.”

“Yeah?” I ask, my anger starting to boil over. The faint sound of my teeth grinding together fills my ears, drowning out any sense of reasoning.

“Yeah. Seems like you’re really getting a chance to reach deep down and express your feelings.” The laugh that follows his statement ticks off any last hold I have on reining myself in.

Getting in his face, I ask, “What’s wrong with a man expressing his feelings? I bet a sensitive man gets way more pussy than some closed-off, video-game-playing deadbeat like you.”

“Get the fuck out of my face,” Marcus replies, shoving me with his meaty hand.

“Make me.” Pushing my luck, I bump him with my chest, egging the fucker on, begging and praying for a brawl. I would give anything to lay this dickhead out, anything to ease the tension coiling rapidly inside me. But before Marcus can reciprocate, Uncle Chuck rips me back by the shoulder, sending me into the counter behind me.

With a beet-red face, he snaps at me, “Office, now.”

“Not unless you make her go too,” I say, my uncle knowing exactly who I’m talking about. This isn’t just my battle, it’s Hollyn’s too.

Looking me in the eyes, he says, “Ashley, cover for Hollyn for a few minutes and send her back to my office, now.” Raising a brown eyebrow at me, he says, “Move.”

Even though Uncle Chuck doesn’t particularly scare me, I move toward his office, flipping my tongs onto the counter because his face looks almost purple from anger, and I don’t want to be the reason he has a heart attack.

The walk from the kitchen to his office is short, just down a narrow corridor with walls stained by spaghetti sauce and dirt. The restaurant is disgusting, barely passing health inspections with its dirty walls, sticky floors, and out-of-date machinery. It’s a less than desirable kitchen to work in.

I barely have enough time to take a seat when Hollyn comes barreling into the office as well, her eyes a little wild with concern. From behind us, Uncle Chuck shuts the door and then takes his seat behind the metal desk covered in spreadsheets and order forms. How the hell does he get any work done in this mess?

“Care to explain what that was back there in the kitchen?” Uncle Chuck asks me with his arms crossed over his chest.

Turning to Hollyn, I say, “I don’t know. Hollyn, care to take a stab at the reason why you’re ignoring the NDA you signed at the Dear Life program and telling everyone we work with about how I interacted at our first meeting?”

The girl may think she’s snarky and clever but at this moment, she knows I caught her and I caught her good.

Searching my eyes, cluing in to her mistake, she says, “Uh, I . . .”

“Don’t answer that question,” Uncle Chuck cuts in and then looks at me. “I don’t care about Hollyn’s discussion of the program, I care about your piss-poor attitude toward other coworkers.”

Oh come the fuck on. Is he delusional? I’ve always been a miserable ass to work with. This is old news.

Letting the anger take over, I say, “It’s bad enough I have to do this program, I don’t need her telling everyone about my personal life.”

Uncle Chuck plays with a pencil on his desk, a knowing smile on his face. “Don’t worry, boy, everyone here knows about your desperate life. Keep picking fights and it’s never going to change.”

“What is your dire need to keep me by your side?” I seethe. Sitting in the crossfire, Hollyn stays silent, leaning back in her chair with one leg crossed over the other. “Are you trying to make me as miserable as possible?”