Omega's Destiny: Foxes of Scarlet Peak (An M'M Shifter MPreg Romance Book 5)
Aspen Grey
1
Bobby
“Order up!” Jim hollered through the steam of the kitchen.
“Fuck out of the way, Bobby!” Megan blurted out, practically knocking me out of the way like a linebacker on the way to a touchdown. She was no small woman, and if I hadn’t gotten accustomed to her way of moving by now, I really think she would have killed me with one of those hits.
But, fortunately for me, I’d learned how to dodge out of the way to avoid a devastating collision, and did so as she rushed to the hotplate to grab the plate full of pancakes, burger and extra side of fries.
“Table three—” Jim started to tell her, but he was quickly cut off.
“I know what fucking table it is, Jim. Don’t fucking start with me!”
I kicked the door open for her as she pulled a spin move and blew out of the kitchen into the dining area. I turned to Jim and let my eyes widen slightly. He grinned and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Mouth like a sailor on that one,” he chuckled, checking his next ticket. “Hey, did you get those sodas stocked yet?”
“Haven’t had a chance to,” I replied, heading toward the back, not waiting to be told.
“And when you’re done with that, check the ice machine.”
“No problem,” I replied as I stepped out of the sauna of a kitchen and into the back of the diner where at least the back door was open to let some of the fresh air in.
I’d been working at the Greenwaters Diner in Greenwaters, Maine, for just over six months. My mom had been a waitress for as long as I could remember, and had got me a job at the restaurant she worked at, but I’d managed to get the boss not to have me working during her shifts…most of the time. I mean – don’t get me wrong, I love my mom…I just don’t want to work with her. I already live with her.
But what was even more important than having a little me time was the freedom to work on my side job. I know she’d never approve.
I was working for a local biker gang, The Black Cross, doing late night drug delivery runs for them. At 5’7’’, with pale skin, no tattoos, facial hair or any other things you’d expect from a biker, I was the ideal candidate for moving product without being stopped by the police.
Of course, my mom would kill me if she found out what I was up to, but we just weren’t able to support ourselves on the crappy wages we were being paid. If mom had a bad night in tips, we’d be eating hamburger and ramen noodles for the next week. After we had to cancel the cable, my mom had suggested she start selling off her jewelry that her mother had left her. I knew that couldn’t happen. I had to do something.
I told her I was just getting paid well at the diner, and was still trying to come up with how I was going to explain all the money I was making. I’d only showed her a fraction of what I’d made so far, and the rest was stashed in the basement of our apartment building behind a loose brick.
It was a lot, and after tonight’s run, it would be a lot more.
I’d thought of a thousand different excuses: “Hey, mom, I won the lottery,” or, “Look what I found on the side of the road,” or “Some really nice guy just gave me this!”
But my mom was no fool. She’d see right through that and ask me where it came from, and if she didn’t like the answer, she wouldn’t even accept it. That was my mom in a nutshell – proud.
She’d let me start chipping in, and I’d managed to get the TV service turned back on, and was working on our cell phones next, and the rest of it was just going to groceries and rent. She was working her ass off, and I hated to see it. With the money I’d been saving up, we could get a new place and I could provide for her. Without a mate, and without a father, who else was going to take care of her?
Dad died when I was twelve. Lung cancer. He wasn’t even a smoker. None of us even knew that could happen.
After that, I’d retreated into myself for a while. I had a couple of boyfriends, but nothing serious. Nothing ever stuck. I never felt that spark. It was also hard to go out looking for love when I had responsibilities at home.
“Hey, Bobby,” Mr. Williams, the owner of the diner, said without looking at me as he came in from the parking lot.
“Mr. Williams,” I replied with a polite nod as I lifted the case of soda from the floor and carried it to the cooler.
“Working hard?” he asked, stopping at the door to the kitchen.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “But I was wondering if I could leave a little early tonight.”
Mr. Williams didn’t answer right away. His stern eyes just stared at me, making me feel like a tiny little mushroom in a forest of tall trees. Finally, he spoke.
“Why don’t you just leave now, Bobby?” Mr. Williams asked. I started to smile, but stopped when I saw the look on his face. He wasn’t happy.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said why don’t you just leave now?” he repeated. “And don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”
“Wait – wait, what?” I stammered, freezing. “Did I do something wrong?”
“I need someone reliable, Bobby,” he replied, glancing down at some papers in his hand. “And you just aren’t anymore. You leave early three nights out of the week, and when you’re here, your heart isn’t in it.”