Chapter Three

The rest of the day flies by. After school, I head home to get ready for work.

"Come in," I cry out, straightening my pain in the ass natural curls when there's a knock at the door.

Mom opens the door and stands by the frame with her arms crossed. "How was school today, mija?"

People say I look a lot like Mom, but she"s a bit curvier, and her hair is a short brown pixie style with caramel highlights. I really don"t see the similarities except for our eyes.

"It was ok," I respond, looking at her in the mirror with a soft smile. She looks so tired which isn't surprising since she works ten to twelve hours a day, seven days a week.

"That"s good. I'm working the third shift tonight, but there"s food in the fridge for you."

Mom has worked the night shift as a nurse"s aide at Children"s Hospital for the past ten years. She started working since Dad couldn't hold down a job because of his drinking, until he was hired on as a truck driver which is in our favor because he's only home when he wants to be.

Mom and I have an overly complicated relationship. Mom can be loving and nurturing, but in a split second, she can turn into a cold-hearted hellion with talons ready to tear into your soul until there is nothing left.

I always believed this was my fate, to be torn apart until I shatter into a million pieces; not even humpty dumpty's men will be able to put me back together again. But when it comes to Josiah, he can do no wrong in her eyes. I love him, but it still hurts. No child wants to be compared to their sibling.

I think—no, I know— Mom favors Josiah because he is the opposite of Dad. Josiah took care of us. But after Josiah was arrested, Mom has been like a ticking bomb, ready to explode at any second. I"m just a means to an end without Josiah here to protect me from Dad"s wrath. I wonder what she feels every time she looks at me. Is it hatred? Does she blame me for Josiah getting arrested that night?

God, I miss him so much.

"Ok, thanks Mom. Have a good night at work." She stares at me for a long minute and gives me a warm smile.

"You too." Finally, she turns around and walks out, closing the door behind her. I finish getting ready and put on my joke of a uniform. Since I was fourteen, I have worked downtown at Joaquín"s, a casual sports bar and grill as a server and bartender. Joaquín, the owner, trained me to bartend earlier this summer. Even though I"m not eighteen yet, he needed someone right away during our busiest season.

Slipping on my zip-up black Nike hoodie and sweatpants, I grab my keys and head out the door when I see Dad walking up to the house. When he raises his head, he stops in his tracks when his eyes land on me.

I can't move.

We're in a staring contest until he breaks the connection.

Me? I'm still standing here. Waiting. But waiting for what, I don't know.

Dad clears his throat, and his eyes shift down toward the healing bruising underneath my eye and on my neck he left a few days ago. He closes his eyes and heavily sighs.

I blink once.

"Hey, baby girl." He says it like he's in pain.

Words. Just words I've heard every time he beats me.

I blink again.

Nothing comes out of my mouth.

He starts to move forward, and I flinch. He stops, shoulders slumped in defeat, and shakes his head in shame while facing the ground. Dad takes another step until he's in front of me. He leans in, placing a kiss on my cheek.

I hold in a breath, waiting for my heart to stop beating. "I'm so sorry, baby girl. I wasn't myself."

When is he ever?

"You going to work?"

I nod, too afraid to speak, not wanting to set him off.

I shut my eyes, waiting for him to walk away so I can make a run for it.

When I hear the door shut behind me, I run toward my car and take off.

A line of people wait outside the front entrance, and it's only Monday their least busy day. I walk into the employee entrance in the back, putting my jacket and purse in my locker. I put on my fresh-pressed black apron, walk out to the front of the bar, and notice Tia serving her regular table.

It's a group of old retired men who love Tia and her dirty mouth. She swears like a truck driver. They've been coming here since Tia and I started working, every Monday night and order the same thing: two pitchers of Miller Lite beer, a sample appetizer that consists of mozzarella sticks, fried pickles, steak chips, and mini tacos. A heart attack waiting to happen.

Tia takes their orders, turns around, and catches my eye. She smiles and snaps her gum.

"Hey," she cheerfully says, giving me one of her bear hugs. She smells like grapefruit and orange blossoms mixed with jasmine.

Joaquín comes out from the kitchen and claps his hands and rubs them together with a broad grin.

"Aha. There are my two favorite girls." He walks toward us like a predator as he lazily gazes up my body until he meets my eyes. "Uniform looks good on you."

He winks.

Gross.

"You got the bar tonight, Bella." The sound of his voice sends chills up my spine. Makes me want to stick my pen in his eyeball when he stares at us like we're his two favorite desserts. He gives Tia and me the rundown and squeezes Tia's ass as he walks away.

"What a dirty asshole." Tia flips him off while smacking her gum and grabs her notepad to take more orders.

"Sadie, can you grab table eleven, please? We"re swamped," Lisa, the petite Latina shift manager, asks while walking to the kitchen window, ripping the order slip from her writing pad, and hands it to Ricky, the chef.

"Ok, but the boss wants me at the bar."

"Well, you can work the bar after you help with table eleven. Gloria will cover for you," she snaps.

Ok then.

I grab my pad and head over to the table and groan in irritation when I notice a group of preppy rich high school kids sitting there.

Lucky me.

Putting on my best fake smile, I take a deep breath and walk up to their table.

"Hi. Can I start you off with drinks? We have Coke products, sweet and unsweetened iced tea in seven different flavors, and lemonade."

When I look around the table waiting for someone to respond, my breath catches in my throat when my eyes land on a set of vivid deep blue eyes. Deep like the ocean.

His short stubble frames his oval-shaped face perfectly. He's wearing a uniform for Whitecrest Academy from High Point, one of the most prestigious private high schools in the country, and the wealthiest neighborhood in Wisconsin. Is he really a high school student? Because he sure doesn't look like one. He's built like a man with soft kissable lips with very dark, thick chestnut hair. It"s short and textured with a low fade and plenty of flow to run my fingers through. He leans forward with both elbows on the table. He holds the menu away from his face when he looks up at me. His smile reaches his eyes, giving those gems a sparkle while flashing his pearlies.

The white button-down cotton shirt brings out his healthy, fair, warm skin tone and the sleeves, pulled up to his elbows, reveal an attractive black ink tattoo design on his forearm. A face of a girl etched in black ink wrapped in roses, making the girl unrecognizable. The eyes are the only part of the design in color—dark chocolate brown with stars giving it a dazzling effect. It"s one of the most beautiful tattoos I"ve ever seen—full of raw emotion. I wonder if the girl is real, or just a figment of his imagination?

"Hey." His smile makes me weak in the knees. "I'll have a Coke." His voice is so smooth but a little husky.

"I"ll have ice water with lemon," the girl in a cheerleading outfit with long strawberry blond wavy hair says.

"And I"ll have a sweet tea with lemon, please," another with long brown wavy hair says as she hands me her menu.

I smile in response.

"Make that two," the last girl says with a bright smile. She"s also wearing a cheerleader outfit.

"We"ll have a Coke too." One of the guys gestures to the three others sitting across from each other.

Do these guys come in pairs? He's as good looking as the boy with deep blue eyes. He must be tall, at least 6"2, muscular like an athlete, his deep dark brown thick wavy hair that flows on top with the sides cut short. His face is oval-shaped, and he has a soft creamy complexion with close-set gray eyes. The other two guys are built like linebackers. All sexy-looking real life Ken dolls with their Barbie dolls.

I clear my throat. "Coming right up." I write down their orders, spin around, and walk toward the bar to get their drinks. After taking their orders, I avoid that table as much as possible and begin working the bar because of the boy with the deep ocean eyes whose presence sends a bolt of electricity down my spine.

The bar is packed, and I sigh in annoyance, knowing I'll be calling an Uber every twenty minutes. I glance around the room, taking in all the drunken men laughing and flirting with every girl at the bar. The look in their eyes in their drunken states is much different than the look in my father's eyes. These guys don't scare me. My father on the other hand makes me wish I was dead.

"Take Over Control"by Afrojack plays over the jukebox when my eyes land on the boy with deep ocean eyes standing with one hand on the door to leave, but he's looking right at me. I can't look away even though my mind is telling me I should. There's something familiar about his eyes. We stare at each other like we're the only two people in the room. I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding when his dimpled smile makes me smile in return like a little girl. He chuckles to himself and hangs his head, shaking it back and forth. When he looks back up, he gives me a warm smile and pushes through the door, leaving me wondering what the hell just happened.

We walk to our cars after our shift ends and Tia pulls out a cigarette. "Are you ok?" Tia asks while taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Yeah, I'm good."

Tia grabs my elbow, forcing me to face her. "Seriously, you ok? You've been quiet all night," she asks with concern.

"Yeah, I am, I promise." I reassure her with a hug.

"Alright, babe. I"ll see you tomorrow night. It"s Tuesday, so you know what that means? FREE cheese curds!" she yells, pumping her fist in the air while her cigarette dangles from her lips.

"You and your cheese curds." Shaking my head, I laugh at her. "You"re going to be shitting your pants the rest of the night."

She flips me off.

I laugh harder.

She flips me off again.

The ride home is only a fifteen-minute drive, but I take the long way to avoid the slum east side neighborhood. Unfortunately, the last time I drove through that neighborhood, my car became someone's shooting target. Thankfully, my body wasn"t riddled with flying bullets, but the backside windows were not so lucky. Two paychecks and one night"s worth of tips later, I replaced them. Some people would never take this route again, but sadly, not me. This is my neighborhood, my home. It"s better than having to go home fearing if your teeth are going to get knocked out, your body kicked until ribs are broken, or your arms being yanked out of its socket.

I'd rather take a bullet any day.

As I pull up to the earthy green one-story house and park my car on the side street, my heart rate races. Monday nights are the beginning to a week of hell when Dad comes home from the road. I sprint inside the house to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. Thanks to Josiah, I have my own bathroom and a mini fridge he brought last year so I don't have to leave my bedroom at night. Anxious to get the stench of liquor and greasy food off my body, I jump into the shower.

Stepping out to dry, I throw on a black tank top and red pajama shorts. I hide my tips in a small wooden lock box Abuela gave me and place it back underneath the loose floorboard. My phone dings as I crawl into my bed, pulling the covers over me. I turn off the table lamp and read the text from Tia.

Tia: U make it home?

It's our daily routine to check in on each other after work.

Me: Yep. U?

Tia: *Thumbs up emoji*. Night, Night Chiqui. *Kisses emoji*

Me: Night. xo

I lay the phone on the nightstand and close my eyes, allowing the darkness to drown me into a deep sleep and not dream about the blue-eye angel.