Chapter 1

Trace Kalecki

“Dearborn Clover, Trace speaking,” I said, answering the phone as I logged in to the computer. I wasn’t a fan of our new payment system; it was a whole fucking process just to open the register.

“Yeah, hi, I was wondering if you’re showing the home game tonight,” a man said.

What the fuck was it with people? Did they call a clothing store and ask if they sold shirts? Huh? Christ. This was a sports bar smack-dab in the middle of Chicago—yeah, we were showing the home game. Didn’t matter the sport either; the answer was yes.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“Great, thanks.” The guy hung up, and I sighed impatiently and finally got into our system. We were good to go for a new day. Two big games. We were bound to be busy tonight. Most of the tables were booked from seven.

Adam showed up a few minutes later, and I waited to see Bella running after…

“Where’s my girl?” I asked. I had another week to make her OD on Chicago before they returned to California.

Adam rolled his eyes and tore off his beanie and gloves. “Ev casually threw out that he was spending the day watching old movies, so she stayed with him. I swear she loves him more than she loves me sometimes.”

I chuckled and did a final wipe-down of the bar. He could complain, but he loved it. He’d been with his architect hubby a few years now, going back and forth between Berkeley and Chicago, and when I heard Bella had begun calling Ev Dad and saying how much she loved California, I knew I’d lost her. She’d started school there last fall.

“How’s the new kid workin’ out?” Adam asked.

I pointed to the station where we kept cocktail garnishes. “He thought it was a good idea to cut up fruit right here.” Hence why I’d needed to wipe down the bar before we’d even opened. I’d come downstairs to find random lime wedges and cherries all over the counter. “He’s Petey’s problem now.” I’d sent him back to the kitchen.

“Look at you, being all boss-like.” Adam smirked and sat down on a stool. “Maybe you’ll survive without me.”

Yeah, maybe. Still felt weird, though. Adam and I were supposed to be the “kids” of the place. I ran all over, doing what was necessary. Adam had been a bartender here for six or seven years. Then, all of a sudden, my folks decided to retire and move to Florida. They’d already been snowbirds for a decade or so, leaving me in charge over the winter. Which I’d been happy with. I was only thirty-two, so I had been in no rush to shoulder more responsibility.

Now the whole fucking place was mine.

“You okay, bud?”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and nodded once. I was okay—but a lot was riding on this quarter. I’d spent our meager savings on fixing the place up a bit, new padding for the booths, some chairs had been replaced, we’d repainted the walls dark red, new payment system, upgraded security, and a new menu design.

As much as it made me feel like a sellout, I’d made the decision that we should cater more to tourists. My old man had been set in his ways, preferring to focus on old-timers like Jerry and Malcolm, who came in most days to waste their pensions at the bar.

The place was a little less Irish than it’d been before the winter, but not a lot.

“Did I do the right thing with the changes?” I asked.

Adam glanced around the place, nodding slowly. We had a main dining area, where every booth had its own flat-screen. Then three smaller areas. We had the Wrigley on the other side of the tiny arcade, where we hosted bachelor parties, elaborate game nights for big corporations, and family reunions. Then the Junior Circuit, a semi-open space suited for children’s parties and families. Lastly, the Green. It was dedicated to sports my old man had never cared for, such as golf, figure skating, swimming, tennis, and soccer.

It was also where we hosted our soup kitchen on Thursdays and Sundays.

“Honestly…?” Adam turned back to me. “I don’t think you had a choice, Trace. It was adapt or die.”

I sighed. Yeah, that was the problem. He knew what the rent was too. He’d seen the stacks of bills. Especially now in the winter—fuck, utilities shot right up.

January had started off with a record-breaking snowstorm, and we hadn’t recovered yet.

“Personally, I thought it was hilarious to see my man with a paint roller,” Adam said, sliding off the stool again. “I’ll go change.”

I grinned. “At least he was great at the decorative shit.” More than great, I had to say. The man could draw like a professional—I mean, he was one—and he’d painted our city’s sports logos, street signs, and retired jersey numbers to blend in with all the other memorabilia.

* * *

I needed one more Petey and Adam on my staff. Petey’s experience and history with us allowed me to never worry about the kitchen. He ran a tight ship and treated his staff fairly but with no bullshit. Similar to Adam, though he was more of a big-brother type to the waitstaff. He was a couple years younger than me, cheerful, and encouraging. When he was in town during summers and winters, he was the top dog behind the bar. But it wasn’t enough. I needed someone permanent.

Petey would probably retire within the next five or six years, so I’d prefer to find a new Adam ASAP. That way, when it was time to find a new Petey, Adam 2.0 would already be part of the Clover family.

That was another thing I had to figure out. Dad had hired people who stayed on. They didn’t quit after six months. The exception was waitstaff, which consisted mainly of college students. But the rest, they wanted to stay. They were a little older too.

I should call Ma. She’d been very clear that just because she was retired didn’t mean she was going to stop doing the bookkeeping around here. She’d worked as an accountant for thirty years, and if anyone could help me find a balance between investing in the place and keeping the employees happy, it was her. We’d find the money somehow.

“What’re you grumbling about, man?” Adam strode past me with four beers as I checked the computer next to the register.

“Money. What else?” I closed the browser. This wasn’t the time or the place. I could continue my research on marketing tonight after we’d closed.

“What for?” Adam came back to return one of the card readers.

“Marketing and online bullshit,” I replied. “My sister says we gotta be on social media—but do you know what that costs?”

Dad had never bothered with online marketing whatsoever. He was old-school. Hell, he’d hired kids to hand out flyers up till a couple years ago.

“Lemme think about it,” Adam said. “We code monkeys tend to think we can fix everything.”

I laughed under my breath and grabbed an apron, and I tied it around my hips. I appreciated his offer, but he was swamped as it was. I wasn’t stupid either; he came in to work when he was in town more as a favor to me.

Before meeting his hubby, working here had been his day care, because my folks loved Bella. They’d let Adam bring her with him for a shift whenever, and they’d babysat her while he’d worked his ass off at several jobs.

In sunny California, he was a busy computer programmer. The last thing he needed was to stick his fingers in this fucking mess I was trying to run here.

I lost the next couple of hours behind the bar and out on the floor. Given the shitty weather, I’d only put three on the lunch shift to work the floor, and we managed if I helped out. Most of the lunch guests were middle-class suits, though some tourists had actually found us in the snow.

Why they visited this time of year was beyond me.

As I headed to another table to take an order, I cast a glance toward the doors and saw Bella barging in.

“Sweetheart! Your boots—kick off the snow, please.” Everett was right behind her.

“Oops!”

I grinned to myself and reached the table of two late lunchers. “What can I get’cha, gentlemen?”

“I’ll have the same as always—Double Trouble with fries and a Coke,” the first said, closing his menu.

“No problem.” I turned to the other guy.

He hummed. “Can I get the beef dipped?”

One beef dipped, got it. “’Course, hot or sweet? With or without mozzarella?”

“Hot, thanks. Yes on the mozz. And a Coke.”

“You got it. I’ll be right back with those drinks.” I grabbed the menus and returned to the bar, where Bella was busy rambling to Adam about her and Dad’s new plans.

“Really? In this weather?” Adam chuckled and winced.

Bella flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Daddy, the weather is always good for dress shopping. Okay?”

Whoa. Ship a kid to California, and they came back as a princess.

“She get that behavior from you?” I asked Adam.

“What the fuck?” Adam was immediately offended. “Ask that one. He spoils her.”

“I most certainly do not,” Everett argued. “She suggested shopping because apparently you want her to have a new dress for some dinner we’re attending soon.”

I snorted under my breath and went to put in table nineteen’s order.

“Meanwhile, nobody’s taking me shopping,” Bella huffed.

“We were gonna eat first, princess.” Everett called her by the right name.

Damn.

Maybe I’d lost my influence on Bella, but I had one more hope. One more kid in my life. My nephew. Who… I checked my watch. Should be here any moment.

My little sister hadn’t been nearly as screwed over as I had in our parents’ retirement plan. She’d already been itching to move back to Chicago, so when our folks had literally given her their house, just like that, they’d made her day. This was their big bon voyage into retirement. Sarah got their house; I got the Clover. She had a nice home with very few mortgage payments left in a decent school district, and I had a sports bar in the Loop that’d been a sinking ship the past ten years.

One could say I was bitter—but not for the reasons some might guess. I loved the Clover. I’d grown up here. I’d run barefoot all over these sticky floors. I understood Dad’s reasoning when he’d told me he was giving Sarah a home and me a future. I got it. It wasn’t a money issue. The problem was the motherfucking headache that came with this joint. Running it was painful, because we were always one bad move away from shutting down.

This’d been the Kalecki tradition for four generations now, though. I’d inherited it from my father, who had taken over from his mother and her two sisters. Before then, their old man and, originally, his uncle.

I was sure as shit never having kids—who the fuck could afford ’em anyway—so that left Chip. My five-year-old nephew with attitude problems. Or that’s what his teachers at kindergarten said. They knew fuck-all. He was just a kid. He was a cocky little runt, but he had a big heart, and he was protective of his momma.

I’d been the same way at that age.

And look at me now.

* * *

“All right, I’m punchin’ out. Jamaal’s here,” Adam said.

I was busy pouring beers, but I reached over and bumped his fist. “Take it easy out there, man. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, and get some fucking rest,” he told me.

I would. Later tonight.

I had a break in five minutes, though. Petey was already working on my dinner.

As Adam left, Jamaal emerged from the back, and I told him he could start with refills for our Senior Circuit. As in, Jerry and Malcolm. They’d been sitting at the bar since four o’clock.

“Christ, Pop. Don’t you ever go home?” Jamaal didn’t love having Malcolm here all the time, but I thought it was hysterical. When Malcolm got real lit, he’d start telling everyone what a cute baby Jamaal had been, effectively killing any attempt Jamaal might make to get his flirt on.

Innocent flirting was allowed after eight PM.

We liked big tips, and we could not lie.

“You know the answer to that, boy,” Malcolm replied. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on Jerry.”

I smirked and headed for the other end of the bar, where three tipsy women were waiting for beers.

For the record, nobody needed to keep an eye on Jerry. Jerry just needed to go home to his fucking wife already. Poor Irene didn’t have it easy with him. I’d never met a crankier man than Jerry, and I was my father’s son.

“Trace?” I heard Julie call.

“Yeah?” I looked over my shoulder, only to see Chip had woken up from his very late, not-gonna-tell-Sarah nap. “Be right there!” I hurried up and put a charming smile on my face for the three ladies, and once they had their beers, I walked off.

“Unca Trace, I’m awake now!” Chip hollered.

He was so fucking cute. It helped that he took after me. We shared the same dark hair and green eyes. I’d been adorable as a kid—and these days, quite a few men had assured me I was hot as fuck.

“I can see that, little man.” I swooped him up and blew a raspberry on his cheek. “Did ya have a nice nap in my office?”

“Yeah.” His grin was as sleepy as it was goofy. “I don’t want a babysitter. I have you!”

Yeah, well. According to Sarah, this situation wasn’t optimal. Their move from Boston was still weighing on her bank account some six months later, including the minor renovations at our folks’ old house. But it was important to her to have everything settled in their new home; Chip needed stability and shit like that. So while she saved up and took extra shifts at the hospital, I had him here a few nights a week.

I didn’t mind one bit. If he was going to take over one day, he needed to develop a love and protectiveness for the Clover.

Back in the kitchen, Petey had my dinner ready, so Chip had woken up at a good time for me to take my break. With Chip on my hip, another chip on my shoulder, I grabbed my plate, a bottle of water, some cheesy bread for the kid, and then aimed for the office.

It was on my list to declutter it someday. The cabinets and shelves were filled with files, receipts, and bank papers dating back to before I was born.

Before Chip, Bella had spent countless naps on that couch in the corner. It had everything he needed. An old iPad for watching cartoons, pillows, blankets, and a baby monitor we used as a walkie-talkie. Not that I could hear him over the din at the bar, but Petey kept the other one in the kitchen.

We’d developed a good system.

Honestly, I didn’t see the need for a babysitter either, but then, I wasn’t a fussing mother. She claimed she couldn’t turn her back on Chip for a second. I begged to differ. He was a bright little dude, and he knew the rules.

Chip settled in on the couch again, happy to devour more cheesy bread, and worked an iPad better than I did.

Sarah loved telling me I was born in the wrong era by calling me a boomer.

“Unca Trace?”

“Yeah, buddy?” I sat down at my desk and cut into my steak.

“Mister Petey is always here,” he said.

I nodded and chewed on a mouthful of steak and salad. “Close to it, just like me.”

Except, I didn’t have a wife who traveled for work, or kids who were off to college halfway across the country.

I reckoned it was a loneliness thing. He and I usually took the same double shifts. We were closed on Mondays, and he was off on Tuesdays. Ma’s rule. Petey’s gotta rest, baby! He needs two days away from here. She’d been everyone’s mother. Why she kept telling me was a mystery, though. He decided his own schedule, and he had Sandy too. While Petey was self-taught, Sandy was an actual chef.

I both missed Ma’s constant fussing and was relieved not to have her lurking in every corner.

Fucking Florida. What was so great about it? I drove down to visit once a year, and it was all I could handle. But no wonder old people moved there; joints fucking melted in that heat. And goddamn insects the size of your hand all over.

“Will I be here tomorrow too?” Chip asked.

I shook my head and uncapped my water. “Not on Thursdays and Sundays. Your mom’s afraid of homeless people.”

“What?” He scrunched his nose.

I grinned faintly. “I’m kiddin’. She’s just protective of you, and Thursdays and Sundays can get a little rough.” Very rarely, but whatever. It was Sarah’s choice. Her experience with the homeless as an ER nurse looked a lot different from mine. At most, our guys got a little territorial when we were running low on bread. That was about it. Otherwise…fuck, especially in the winter…? People were exhausted and cold.

“Mommy says we gotta go to church on Sunday,” Chip grumbled.

I chuckled. “Have fun with that.”

“Can you come?” he asked, hopeful.

“Nah, ’fraid not. God owes me money.”

He gasped. “How much?”

Before I could answer, I heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I said.

It was Julie again. “Sorry to bother you, but we have a situation with the garbage. Tonya and I can’t get the door to the alley to open.”

“No problem. I’ll fix it after I’m done,” I replied. The door was probably frozen shut or blocked by snow.

“Thanks, boss.”

I harrumphed loudly enough for her to hear it, and she laughed and walked away.

She knew I hated being called boss. Everyone knew.

“Chip, you wanna come here and finish my food?” I crammed my mouth full first, not ready to let go. Petey made the best steaks, medium-rare on the side of rare, and even the shit he put in the salad was delicious. Olive oil and some secret seasoning.

Our steaks on the menu were pricey as fuck, because they were the one food item we didn’t mess around with. Top quality, organic, and came straight here from local farmers to our Yelp and Tripadvisor reviewers.

“I can always eat!” Chip pummeled toward me, then came to a screeching stop as he stared at the plate. “Can I leave the veggies?”

“No, they’re good for you. They’ll make you big and strong—and it keeps Mommy off my back.”

“But there’s so much of it, man,” he whispered.

I grinned and switched places with him, and I pushed in his chair. “This is what you do.” I showed him my trick and stabbed the salad with the fork. “Like this.” Got some good bits of lettuce, cucumber, and tomato on there. “Then you add steak.” I put my fork in there and cut around the meat. “Now you have perfection and blah on the same fork, but the blah won’t taste as much because you have the perfection in the same mouthful. You should write this down. It’s what we call a life hack.”

I wasn’t completely stupid. I did the cutting for him. Small pieces so he didn’t choke.

“I can write my name, Mommy, and some stuff!”

“You want a trophy for that? Please.” I dipped down and smooched his cheek. “Eat up. I’ll be back in a bit. And you know what to do if you need help.”

He smiled goofily and nodded.

“Say the rule, chipster.”

“I open the door and yell for Julie or Tonya or Petey cuz they get me goodies and call for you.”

I was actually gonna leave the door open, but yeah.

“That’s what’s up.” I held out my fist, and he bumped it with his in the triumphant spirit reserved for a Cubs win. “I’ll hurry.”

I grabbed my parka on the way out, then gloves by the back door, and I asked Julie to keep an eye on Chip. Four large garbage bags had been left in the narrow space, so I squeezed by and eyed my opponent.

Holding down the handle with a small push did nothing.

Shoulder-checking the fuck out of the door…

We have a winner.

I grunted as the door gave away with a half-frozen crunch, and I was immediately bitch-slapped by a wall of icy cold.

I threw the first two bags off the stoop, partly to measure the depth of the snow in the alley. A solid two feet, I’d say.

Christ, I had to do something about this tomorrow. It wasn’t like the owners of the place on the other side gave a shit about clearing snow; they’d filed for bankruptcy before the holidays. Now some swanky fusion restaurant was opening in a couple months.

I wrestled the other two bags outside, and I aimed for the dumpsters in the back.

On the way, I threw a scowl up at the lights that should work. One outside our kitchen exit, another closer to the mouth of the alley, which was our side entrance to the Green—and our soup kitchen—and lastly, the lamp outside the door that led up to my place. The bulbs had needed to be replaced for about two years now.

It was on the list.

And I might need to bump that up on the priority scale, ’cause I couldn’t see shit out here aside from snow and contrasts.

I did always carry a flashlight in my back pocket, but that was more for tactical reasons. It had enough lumens to disorient an attacker for a few seconds in complete darkness, and I didn’t need more than that to either get the upper hand or make my escape.

I was the same with hookups. Gimme five seconds after we were done, and I was gone.

Through curses, kicks, and labored breaths, I dragged the garbage bags through the snow and over to the first of the three dumpsters—and I came up with an answer for the few times people asked how I stayed in good shape when I worked with deep-fried sports-bar food all day. This was fucking why. Taking out the trash was a frigid workout that had the same results as me going to the gym. Only, there I got pissed off because I wasn’t a fan of people. Here, I got pissed off because now my shoes were wet.

“Sorry, boss. Here’s two more!” I heard Tonya holler.

“Motherfucker,” I cursed under my breath.

The workout continued. At least I didn’t have to worry about recycling and sorting shit with these bags. I returned to the stoop and grabbed?—

“Please…”

I released the bags and instantly turned to the opening of the alley, where I spotted a dark form hunched against the wall.

“Please help me,” he rasped.

A dozen scenarios ran through me at the speed of light—a thought that prompted my next move. In a hot second, I’d retrieved my flashlight, and I directed the beam at his head.

“Show me your hands,” I said, approaching slowly. “I can help you, but you gotta show me you’re cooperative.”

He flinched and ducked his head, and I noticed he was clutching his side. Gun? Wound? Was he injured or just a good actor?

My training and experience had kicked in the moment I’d heard the man’s voice, so I registered every movement and trait. His jeans were wet but not dirty, he was significantly older than me, taller too, white, plenty of silver in his short hair, he was breathing heavily, down jacket—good condition but not new.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

He sucked in a breath and nodded, and he lifted one of his hands. “Please help me. They took my car.”

Was the car a bigger issue than whatever injury he’d sustained?

When I was only some six feet away, I lowered the light to the side of his stomach he wouldn’t let go of, and I saw the tear in the fabric. His fingertips were bloody too.

“I’ll call 9-1-1,” I said.

“No!” he choked out.

I stopped reaching for my phone and hitched my brows. Suspicion rose, though surprise did not.

“If you could just—” he coughed. “Fuck. I’d like to inspect the damage myself.” He heaved a breath, and I lifted the flashlight a little. Enough to get the outer circle of the glow to catch his face. His expression was pinched with pain. “Could I please use the b-bathroom?”

Yes, he could. “Sure.”

I went with my gut feeling and quickly pocketed my flashlight. Then I closed the distance between us and took charge. He winced and recoiled as I gripped his arm to guide him to the kitchen entrance, which reminded me. He must’ve seen me sweating the garbage route in order to assume I worked here.

“Do you need me to call someone?” I asked. “A spouse? Shelter? 3-1-1?”

He breathed through clenched teeth and shook his head.

Fair enough.

I helped him up the stoop and let out a short whistle when Tonya walked down the hallway.

She turned to me, her surprise following.

“Can you get me a first aid kit, hon?”

“Yeah, of course.” She scurried off.

The staff bathroom was right here in the hallway, so it wasn’t a long walk. I flicked on the lights, then ushered him to sit down on the toilet.

He sucked in a sharp breath and scrunched his face.

He had a small scar on his stubbly chin.

His jacket seemed dry enough, but he needed to get out of those jeans. They were wet all the way up to his thighs.

“Do you live far away, sir?” I pushed down his jacket, revealing an old hoodie underneath. That, too, had been torn by what I could assume was a stab wound. “Are you homeless? Doubled up somewhere?”

A small pocketknife fell from his jacket. No surprise there.

“They took my car.” He let out a whimper, and it took me aback to see tears rolling down from the crow’s-feet in the corners of his eyes.

The man was in serious pain, though I suspected that car was, in fact, a bigger loss to him.

“Did you live in that?” I asked quietly.

He drew an unsteady breath and mustered a small nod.

Fuck.

I dropped the jacket on the floor and side-eyed the shower. Which was more a storage for cleaning supplies and buckets. But we’d let people wash up here before, especially in the winter when it was vital to keep their heat up.

“Trace, here’s the kit.” Tonya returned with our kit from the kitchen.

“Thanks. Marisol isn’t working tonight, is she?” I went for the man’s hoodie next.

“No, afraid not. You need a nurse?”

I nodded. “Can you get me Jamaal?”

At least he’d almost been a corpsman when he’d decided to quit the Navy dream. His older brothers were all military, but he’d discovered it wasn’t a life for him. Together, we should be able to help this guy get patched up.

Tonya stalked out again, and I made quick work of shedding my own coat and gloves before I got the man to lose his hoodie. And…that revealed two more shirts underneath. Sounded about right for someone living in their car.

Oh, this could be a long night for me.

I scratched my forehead and cursed my folks. They’d made me this way. They’d made me give a fuck. Fucking assholes.

“Protect the business first, son. Without it, we can’t help others or ourselves. Then we open the doors to those in need.”

I had a long list of shelters, organizations, and emergency housing that came in handy every week, but at this hour… Fuck, they’d all be full—or there’d be an opening down in fucking Dolton, and they’d close before this guy could get there.

By the time Jamaal arrived on the scene, I’d gotten the man to shed the last shirt, and in another time and place, I would’ve appreciated the view a lot more. Now, not so much. He was fucking shaking.

I gave Jamaal the little information I had while I grabbed a stack of towels. The largest would have to function as a blanket for now, and I draped it around the man’s shoulders.

In the meantime, Jamaal went down on one knee to inspect the damage and open the aid kit.

“What’s your name?” Jamaal asked.

“Ben—ah, fuck.” He groaned in pain and dug his fingers into his thighs.

I stuck to the background, ready to assist, but it looked as if dressing like a Russian doll had protected him. The wound wasn’t deep, and it appeared to be a clean cut. Jamaal borrowed my flashlight to make sure, and then he poured a generous amount of wound cleanser.

Ben wasn’t talkative. When we asked him what’d happened, he just repeated that “they took my car” and added, “I don’t know, four of them—they fought me off and took it.”

“You sure you don’t want me to call someone, man?” I asked. “You should at least report the crime and?—”

“No,” he gritted out as Jamaal applied antiseptic cream. “What’s the point? I don’t have insurance.”

Of course he didn’t. Insurance wasn’t exactly a priority in his case.

I was just rambling bullshit. I was asking all the questions that the authorities believed mattered or should be asked for whatever reason. The reality looked a lot different, and the 311 system was nothing but a glorified audiobook that read shit off the government website. High on promises, low on action. More often than not, they dispatched you to 911 if something needed to be done. AKA, sending the cops.

I handed Jamaal the lidocaine next.

At least the bleeding had slowed down.

“If you pop a fever, you need to go to a hospital,” he told Ben. “Or if the wound changes color and gets infected. We’re not fuckin’ around with sepsis, okay?”

Judging by the sight of Ben’s torso, this wasn’t his first run-in with sharp objects. His form was equal parts cut and stocky; he had muscle definition and some padding. And a handful of scars where his chest hair didn’t grow.

All right, time for me to be useful again.

“If you’re willing to stick around a couple hours, I have a dryer upstairs for those jeans,” I said. “We’ll get some food in you too.”

Ben sniffled and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I—I-I don’t—” He clenched his jaw and wouldn’t make eye contact, a sight I’d encountered way too many times.

Pride.

“Listen,” I said, clearing my throat. “If you don’t want me to at least call someone, you’re staying. It’s fuckin’ freezin’ outside, and you’ve been hurt. Get those pants off. I’ll be back in a bit.” I squeezed Jamaal’s shoulder. “I’ll prepare the Green.” We kept two of the three smaller dining areas closed on slow days anyway.

He nodded with a dip of his chin, and then I walked out.

* * *

They took my car, they took my car, they took my fucking car. Where was I gonna sleep now? How would I get to Alvin? What would Ma say?

Would Angie notice I was gone? How would I make it to my interview tomorrow?

I felt so goddamn pathetic, and I wasn’t sure I could handle another hit. I was a fucking embarrassment. A useless piece of shit.

The kid—Jamaal, if I wasn’t mistaken—finished dressing my wound and said he’d be back with painkillers and dry clothes.

I’d heard of this place. The Dearborn Clover. It was on a list of soup kitchens I’d been given once at a shelter. The lady who’d checked me in to a room had said they were good people.

How lucky I was, then. To get robbed a block away from a sports bar that served the homeless.

Maybe later, the night outside could finish me off once and for all since I was too much of a coward to do the job myself.

I sniffled and carefully stood up. The pain made me wince every time I shifted, but it felt better than before. My fingers almost hurt more from the cold.

I had to stop trembling.

As I unbuttoned my jeans, I carefully removed my boots until I saw my phone was still intact. That was something. I always kept it in my left boot, along with my debit card. My phone flashed to life when I pushed my toe on the buttons.

They hadn’t taken that from me, at least. Just my clothes, the dummy wallet I kept in the glovebox, and…twenty bucks worth of gas.

God-fucking-dammit.

That other kid came back, the one who’d fucking blinded me—before saving my ass. I was still seeing white spots in my vision, though they’d gotten fainter.

“Oh—my bad. You want privacy?” He averted his gaze.

I shook my head. I didn’t care. I barely knew the meaning of privacy. “It’s okay.”

I fished out my actual wallet, not that it contained anything of value. I didn’t know when I’d find use for my driver’s license again. Out of the other cards, I supposed my library card was the most important.

“Lemme get that for you.” The kid bent down to grab my phone.

I didn’t want him to be too nice to me.

Once in a blue moon, I ran across someone who evoked stronger emotions in me. They were usually passionate about helping out. Most recently, it was a nurse. I didn’t remember her name, but she’d had this kind smile I’d been unable to look away from. In one big swoop, I’d felt envious, bitter, angry, sad, hopeful, grateful, and overwhelmed. I couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t attraction or anything like it. But I had a hunch this guy would be similar. Only, it was his eyes, and it wasn’t necessarily kindness. His pale-green eyes were framed by dark lashes, almost too long to belong to a man, and they carried charm and an edge.

I could tell people liked this young man.

So I didn’t.

Besides, what the hell did he know? Anyone who offered to call 3-1-1 was about as useful to me as a wet paper towel. Maybe he was new here.