Chapter 6

Trace Kalecki

Holy fuck, was I nervous. My hands had turned into running faucets, they were sweating so much, and there was no such thing as a resting pulse today.

I’d had my first marketing idea ever last month, and Adam had decided we should go with it. So we were, and it was wreaking havoc on my stomach. What the fuck did I know about marketing? But I’d just figured…we needed more tourists to come in, and they were all gathered up on the Riverwalk to watch the river turning green and then the parade. So I’d called up a buddy who worked for his old man’s riverboat cruise business, and they’d jumped at the chance to collaborate. We provided the draw, the challenge, and they got more customers who they brought our way.

Adam believed it was the start of a new tradition. The Clover Run. If you could make the run from the dock on Wells to here in five minutes, you got a free beer. If you completed it in three minutes? Congrats, you won a shot with your free beer.

It was totally doable. Chip and I had walked it in eight minutes, and then I’d jogged the stretch in four minutes the other day. But that was the point. Easy wins attracted more people with open wallets.

In other news, karma was real, and Jamaal was having fun with her. This whole week, my old man had joined Jerry and Malcolm at the bar, and I was fucking over it.

I’d obviously known my folks would come home for St. Patrick’s Day, but I hadn’t anticipated them being in my face so much. They went to Sarah’s to sleep; that was all. Well, Ma went off with Chip a lot too. But Dad? He was an official member of the Senior Circuit now.

“I want everyone in front of the bar in five!” I yelled. We were opening in fifteen, and I needed to run through everything once more.

We opened late every Saturday before this holiday, because we had so many preparations to finish, and with St. Patrick’s Day falling on a Sunday this year, it meant we had two days in a row to do it up big. And I was going really fucking big. The Clover had turned into a shamrock factory, and the entire week had led up to this weekend. Adam and Everett were in town too, and both had helped me run promotions for the bar. The ceiling was a sea of green balloons, streamers, and leprechauns, and every item on the menu came with something green, whether it was dye or a decoration.

I had spent money we didn’t really have in order to magnify everything Dad had done in previous years.

He sat quietly at the bar and just watched me with an easy smile on his face.

I didn’t fucking like it.

Maybe because I felt the pressure. I had a note with the total of this weekend’s expenses burning a hole in my back pocket. From alcohol and food to decorations and marketing material. From extra staff and everyone’s wages to ad spends and additional bar tables we’d rented.

One by one, the staff gathered around the bar, Adam and Jamaal staying behind it with me. Almost everyone was working today, with several of us doing double shifts. A total of sixteen for each shift. We were open from five PM to two AM today, ten AM to one AM tomorrow. Because tomorrow, we were doing a St. Patrick’s Day lunch with burger specials and ice cream sundaes. We’d put a bit more focus on families than drunks for tomorrow, partly so we could run the soup kitchen as usual. It seemed to work anyway, because we were fully booked.

Despite that, I saw expenses everywhere.

Deep breath.

I grabbed a chair we kept back here and climbed up to stand on it. “All right, listen up! Green shit’s about to hit the fan, and today and tomorrow, it’s extra important we run a tight ship. The only people allowed behind the bar are Adam, Jamaal, Tonya, Julie, and me.” I found the girls and addressed them next. “Four drops of dye in each beer glass, three for cocktails, one for shots. We need the bar constantly packed with glasses.” I turned to Petey, Colin, and Sandy next. “Petey and Sandy, I trust all yous to run the kitchen as you always do, and Colin, you keep slinging glasses. Soon as you fill a rack, you wash it.”

“Yeah, boss,” Colin replied.

Next up, waitstaff. “Marisol, you’re in charge of the servers today,” I told her. “It’s gonna get stressful as shit, but we gotta keep the energy up—I wanna see smiles on all our faces, ya hear?” I nodded at our three security guards. Two of them were from a security company, and Armas worked here. “Armas, you keep an eye on our staff. We know from previous years that motherfuckers get handsy and disrespectful. You focus on our people, and Antoni and Billy will focus on the customers.” I pointed to our rentals. “No excessive force, or I’ll get fucking violent. Just get them outta here if they cause problems.”

They nodded once in understanding.

I moved on. “Okay, so…Marisol and Sandy, you each have one or two people on cleanup duty. It’s gonna get messy real quick, and…hold on.” My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I reckoned it was Vince—yeah, it was. I read his message, and a breath gusted out of me.

Thank fuck. Oh fucking hell, that was a relief.

I swallowed as an overwhelming rush of nervousness and anticipation washed over me.

“The, uh…” I cleared my throat. “The first two riverboats are on their way, and both are full.”

“That’s fucking awesome!” Tonya cheered, applause erupting among the staff.

“Now we’re talking!”

“This is gonna be wild.”

We were used to wild on St. Patrick’s. I was shooting for the level above that. My hope was that we’d be in the black halfway through the service tomorrow.

I cleared my throat again, and I twirled a finger to get us back on track. “Settle down—we have more ground to cover.” Jesus, I’d never been this nervous before. I took a deep breath as everyone quieted, and I was painfully aware of Dad watching me. “In order to stay on top of things and maintain a high level of performance, it’s important you take your breaks. But we also need you to choose the time wisely. Communicate with each other, okay? You get five minutes every hour to take a breather in the alley, and the kitchen staff will keep the fridges full. Drink water, grab a snack in passing, sugar it up with pop. Same with your meal break—choose wisely and feel free to use the office or the stairs in the back for peace and quiet.”

Adam stepped closer to me and geared up to say something, so I nodded.

“Remember to encourage customers to take pictures and use the hashtag #TheChicagoCloverRun! Don’t be afraid to ask them to take a selfie with you for our social media accounts either. Just make sure to get their consent before you send me the photos.”

Which reminded me. “As of last week, we have a domain for the Clover Run, and Adam, Julie, and Marisol have spent the week talking us up on Tripadvisor, Reddit, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. So whether people use the Clover Run hashtag or the Dearborn Clover tag, all roads lead back to us one way or another.”

“And don’t forget!” Adam hollered. “Our Google score is up from 3.9 to 4.1 since November! We have all the reasons to celebrate!”

I grinned as everyone applauded again, and I couldn’t describe the feeling. But I knew one thing—I was going to do everything in my power to make the Clover a workplace you didn’t wanna leave. Granted, the bar was in desperate need of a financial buffer, but my employees came right after that.

* * *

“Jules, can you help Colin?” I yelled over the music. “He’s lagging behind with the racks!”

She nodded and scurried toward the kitchen.

At ten PM, I was ready for the night to be over.

“You in pain?” Adam asked.

“No!” I flexed my hand a bit more subtly and reached for another glass.

I was also ready for Adam to go back to California. Ev and Bella could stay. They didn’t fuss over me.

“I swear I will stage an intervention, Trace!”

I flipped him off over my shoulder as I— “Ope! My bad.” I almost crashed into Jamaal. Christ. We managed to avoid each other, and I continued putting together a new order. Four beers, three vodka tonics, and two Guinness.

Adam would have to choose another time to bitch at me about how much I supposedly worked. I mean, sure, we’d had a lot this month…and the one before…but I wanted to keep busy. Busy was good. Busy kept my brain occupied.

The Irish punk rock blared loudly, though nothing could drown out the shouting, the laughing, and the bad singing of all the shit-faced patrons here tonight. We were at maximum capacity and officially turning people away at the door.

At least Dad had gone back to Sarah’s—and Jerry and Malcolm hadn’t even shown up today.

Adam, Jamaal, and I worked as fast as we could, and Tonya kept adding food coloring to the empty glasses that flooded the counter. God forbid your Paddy beer wasn’t green.

By the time we were closing in on midnight, I was the only one who hadn’t taken a break to eat, so I’d see if I could sneak away for a few minutes soon. In the meantime, we cranked up the charm, because at this hour, every drunk woman was a flirt, and every drunk dude was looking for either a fight or a best friend. Charm worked on everyone, whether it was the flirty variety or the rhyme and reason that calmed someone down.

When one order was fulfilled, I took a swig from my water bottle and then moved on to the next, and I leaned over the counter a bit to hear what the woman was yelling.

Two beers, got it.

“And one for you, sweetie!” she added.

I grinned and grabbed two glasses. Since she was clutching cash in her hand, my answer was a given. “You wanna make my day, hon? Consider this instead.” I pointed to the nearest tip jar for our soup kitchen. “If I drink any more, I won’t be able to serve you.” I threw in a wink for good measure.

She flushed and bit her lip, which I was sure worked on many men, and she stuck a five into the jar.

“You’re an angel,” I told her.

“Oh, stop it,” she laughed.

Nah. I couldn’t see exactly how much money each one contained, but we’d gotten a lot of donations tonight. I loved it.

“Trace!” Marisol called, coming out from the kitchen. “Sandy needs you!”

I nodded and finished up what I was doing before I let Jamaal know I’d be right back.

“Actually, you can take your fuckin’ break, man,” he said, busy pouring beer. “Adam and I got this.”

I stared at him. “He’s not a good influence on you.”

He laughed. “Just get outta here! We have Tonya and Julie too.”

Fine. That was fair, I guessed. The girls weren’t exactly strangers to bartending.

I removed my apron and threw it under the bar, then headed out into the kitchen. I’d eat whatever was available?—

“Boss,” Sandy said. Right, he’d wanted something. I headed over to where he was preparing three servings of wings. “That homeless guy with the dog is back. He’s in the alley.”

Wait, what?

“You want me to give him food or…?”

That made no sense. Cliff had overdosed over a month ago, and I’d assumed a shelter had taken the dog.

“I’ll handle it,” I replied absently and headed for the hallway. He was dead, wasn’t he? I was sure of it. I’d woken up to the sound of sirens down in the alley, and it was unfortunately not the first time. Cliff had spent more than a few nights outside my apartment over the years, but he’d been one of those people you knew would never get rid of his addiction.

I grabbed a larger flashlight in the hallway, just in case, and shoved the door open. Greasing the hinges was on the list, ’cause the snow melting wasn’t enough, evidently. We’d had nice weather the past couple of weeks, and spring was in the air.

A second or two before I’d flicked on the flashlight, I heard a dog barking, and sure enough, it was Cliff’s shaggy little Ziggy.

As I descended the stoop steps, I shifted the light so I could—never mind. I saw a man on the ground farther in. Curled up like that, he could be drunk or high off his ass, he could be asleep, he could be dead, or he could be ready to pounce.

“What’re you doin’ here, Zig?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the man. This was no sneak attack on my part; I wanted the man to hear my voice.

Ziggy barked again, tail wagging, and he ran over to the man.

I approached more cautiously. “Is everything okay here, sir?” Or ma’am? I supposed it could be, but I was playing the odds here, and it would be a very, very large ma’am.

Ziggy had zero qualms and even licked the man’s face, which caused a reaction. Good, he was awake. He grunted something and batted Ziggy away, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the dog was anxious. He wouldn’t leave the man’s side.

I came to a stop some seven feet away, and I dimmed the light just a bit. The man didn’t pose an immediate threat, so there was no need to blind him. But—nuh-uh. It wasn’t him. Was it? No. This guy had a beard. He was scrunching his face together and his beanie was pulled down to his eyes, but it couldn’t be.

Oh, I’d fucking kill him.

I took a couple steps closer, and I cursed to myself. That parka looked exactly like the one I’d given Ben.

“Go away,” he slurred, his voice thick with raspy disuse.

Ben wasn’t a drunk. It couldn’t be him.

I breathed a sigh of relief and closed the distance some more, and Ziggy wagged his tail faster, as if rescue had arrived. The question now was, did someone need rescuing?

“Sir, can I call someone for you?” I asked. “A new twenty-four-seven shelter just opened up over there by?—”

“No,” he croaked.

I frowned. Something about his voice was off, and it still reminded me too much of Ben.

I noticed he was shaking, and I wondered if he was sick.

Fuck it. I had to do something. I couldn’t leave him like this. So if he wouldn’t come inside, I’d have to call an ambulance. Having spring around the corner didn’t mean it was warm, and if he was sick or going through withdrawal…

I made a second attempt to get a look on his face, and I squatted down a couple feet away from him.

Motherfucker.

I clenched my jaw, a storm of a million thoughts and emotions surging up within. It fucking was him. What’re you doing back here, asshole? Had he started using? That seemed unlikely. You’re here. I don’t have to wonder if you’re dead. You’re alive. I swallowed hard. Now you can fuck off again, ’cause you fucking hurt me, you fucking piece of shit. Great, I’d boarded the crazy train.

Since it was him, I lost my patience, not to mention the need to ask questions. I pocketed my flashlight and went over to him, and I bent down and tried to get a grip so I could help him up.

“Quit it,” he groaned. “Stop.”

Something had to be wrong. He wasn’t reacting the way he’d told me he usually did. He’d shared a couple anecdotes about how he always had to be prepared to be jumped. And right there—he’d been holding a small pocketknife, but it fell from his hand when I yanked him into a seated position.

I instinctively pushed off his beanie, and I felt his forehead.

Fuck, he was burning up.

Now I knew what I’d be forced to do on my break.

“We’re goin’ upstairs.” I sucked in a breath and tried to haul him up, and it took all my strength. “Ben, you gotta help me out.”

“No,” he coughed. He said no, but he did pull up a leg so he could stand. It was easy to see he had very little energy, though. “Don’t…don’t tell Trace I’m here.”

Oh yeah?

Fuck you.

I was so goddamn sick of worrying about him. Worrying, hating, resenting, missing… His dumbass letter had shot my brain into a million directions, and I’d spent weeks analyzing every word. I’d been a shitshow. Obsessed and pissy, obsessed and scared, obsessed and understanding. I’d hosted live debates in my head—with one part defending him and reminding me of his low self-esteem, and then another part cursing him to hell, and… The part I detested the most was the one asking why I fucking cared so much.

It took a while, but I managed to get him over to the stoop of my apartment’s entrance.

“Did the dog adopt you?” I asked, out of breath.

He coughed again and grabbed on to the railing. “He won’t…leave me alone.”

I nodded and scratched my nose. “Try’n write him a letter and walk out when he’s asleep.”

“What?” Ben gave me a bleary-eyed look, his gaze unfocused. He hadn’t made the connection yet, had he? “I…I tried to drop him off at…a shelter.”

“Okay.” I unlocked the door before I rejoined him down the three steps.

“They were gonna put him down because…because he’s not ch-chipped,” he muttered. “And—” He made a gesture, dismissive. “They’re overcrowded.”

So he’d kept Ziggy. Because Ben would rescue anyone but himself.

Dick.

I helped him up the stairs and opened the door, and I didn’t have to make a decision about Ziggy. He snuck in faster than I could react—but he was staying in the hallway. I loved dogs, but I wasn’t having a flea infestation in my home.

Just as we got inside and the door closed behind us, Ben half collapsed against the nearest wall, and he grabbed on to my arm. He lifted his head unhurriedly, as if it weighed a ton, and he stared unseeingly at me. He was trying. He blinked and frowned and squinted, and I could tell the moment it was dawning on him. He drew a ragged breath, and his sluggish focus followed as his hand slowly slid down my arm until he let go.

He knew where he was. He knew who he was with.

Even with a high fever, his shame burned hotter.

I hated it, because he made my heart pound, and I knew it wasn’t shame over how he’d left. It was shame over his situation and that he felt useless.

“Come on.” I cupped his elbow and nudged him toward the stairs.

Once this fever passed, man, I was gonna lay into him. The motherfucker had screwed me over and made me feel a bunch of shit.

I didn’t fucking do feelings. Anymore.

Actually, this crap was new. This was some next-level torture.

Ziggy barked from the top of the stairs, and I agreed with him. Ben was taking forever.

“When did you eat?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

I suppressed a sigh and pulled out my phone. I’d been gone, what, ten minutes?

How much could I accomplish in twenty? I had to figure out what was wrong with him—if it was a case of the flu that was going around or if it was dehydration, malnourishment, food poisoning, whatever the fuck. The fatigue was clear as day, as was the fever, the confusion, and the difficulty to speak. I couldn’t leave him alone until I knew whether I was up for taking care of him or if I should call an ambulance.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said groggily. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Just shut up, Ben.” I retrieved my keys when we finally got up, and I ushered him over to the door.

He took a step toward the foldable bed in the alcove, and fuck that.

“No, you’re coming with me,” I told him. “Ziggy can sleep there. I’ll bring him water and something to eat soon.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Who’s Ziggy?”

Oh. Yeah, he wouldn’t know the name, would he?

“It’s the name of the dog,” I replied, ushering him inside. “He used to belong to a guy who slept in the alley from time to time. He died last month.”

Ben frowned to himself, and I guided him to the bathroom as soon as I’d shut the door on Ziggy. Which, yeah, made me feel like a scumbag, but I had my priorities. I’d make it up to him later.

“He wagged his tail when I called him Pippen,” he muttered.

“Well, who wouldn’t.” I flicked on the lights in the bathroom and sighed. We’d sure as shit been here before.

Ben winced, his breathing labored. “But…he also wagged his tail when… Fuck. When I called him a rodent.”

I snorted and left him at the counter so I could turn on the water. “Take your clothes off and get into the shower. I’m gonna get you juice, water, and whatever WebMD advises.”

“Trace, you don’t have?—”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Annoyance flared up, and I left the bathroom.

Fucking jagoff.

Not just him. Me too. For still being worried, for still caring.

For still missing him.

I could too easily imagine him sitting in the dark somewhere, going through various Chicago teams as he tried to figure out Ziggy’s name. All alone, in the cold, with no food in his stomach. Constantly worrying about his son, about the future…

I blew out a breath and did a quick Google search, and I hadn’t been far off. We needed to get lots of fluids in him. Sugary drink, check. Water, check. Something salty too. I reached for the pretzel sticks, but that couldn’t be enough if he’d barely eaten.

In the end, I brought a little bit of everything with me back into the bathroom. It was the first time his nakedness didn’t faze me, and that said it all. The fucker had my chest in a vise of worry.

I checked the time again. Fifteen-ish minutes to go.

I lifted my gaze just as he walked under the water spray, and I noticed he was shaking. Like, really fucking shaking.

I swallowed hard and couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed the orange juice and walked right over there, and I didn’t care I got wet.

“Please drink this right now.” I handed him the juice carton, in which there wasn’t much left, and I snatched up the body wash. I wanted him under the covers within the next few minutes. “Can you tell me if it’s the flu, hon?”

“I d-don’t know.” He took a gulp of the juice, then another and another. It was weird seeing him with a beard, even though it wasn’t very long. “It probably is.” He shuddered violently as I began washing him. Baseball stats, baseball stats, not thinking about my hands being back on his body, just baseball stats. “Angie was sick last week.”

“Angie…?” Who the fuck was Angie?

“My cousin.” He took another swallow, and I decided not to analyze my relief. I need help. “She helped me find the dog shelter and paid for the exam—wait.” He went rigid, panic visible in his eyes. “What date is it?”

I furrowed my brow. “The 16th. Saturday.” Had he missed the whole damn city turning green?

“Oh, thank fuck.” He let out a breath, eyes welling up, a sight that shocked me so much that I missed the juice carton slipping from his fingers. It landed on the floor with an echoing thunk. “Goddammit—sorry. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, a bit dazed, and wondered what the hell had just happened.

“What’s with the date?” I kicked the carton aside, then rubbed more body wash into his skin. The water was washing it off too quickly, but I didn’t want to pull him away from the warmth.

He sniffled and wiped at his cheeks. “I-I got a job. I finally got a job.”

I didn’t know what cracked my chest wide open more, the good news or how emotional it made him.

“That’s…” I had to clear my throat and push back my own emotions. “That’s incredible. What’s the job?”

He sniffled again, and he scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”

I didn’t fucking care.

“It, uh…” He took a deep breath, and I dropped my stare. Shit. I couldn’t go lower than his stomach. That’d be weird. So I let my hands go north instead, and I rubbed his neck. “It’s—they… I applied for a job there a while back, but they never gave me an answer,” he croaked. “Then they called me earlier this week and asked if I would be interested in another position.”

“Doing what?”

He seemed to come to; he glanced around us, maybe now acknowledging what I was doing for the first time, and he poured a little bit of body wash into his hand. “Maintenance in residential buildings around the city.”

Well, shit. That was great.

“It’s full time,” he added, making quick work of washing his hair. And beard. “I start on Monday, and I g-get a company car to get around.” The moment the last word left his mouth, he swayed and had to steady himself with a hand on the wall, and it killed my smile before it could break out fully.

“Okay, let’s get you ready for bed.” I grabbed the showerhead and moved it over his head and down his body.

Of course that was the moment he chose to wash his cock, when he could barely stand. But…I’d seen this before. Not…not actually seen it, but I knew getting clean was high up on the list of priorities for people who finally got a night off the streets.

Did he have to be so fucking handsome?

He’d lost some weight, though. That worried me.

Fucking everything about this son of a bitch worried me.

Once he was done, I turned off the water and snatched up two towels, one he could wrap around his hips, and the other for around his shoulders. Then I threw my wet tee over my head, and it landed with a splat in the shower. Christ, my gym shoes too. I’d really come in here without a single functioning brain cell.

“Is it just me, or is it freezing?” he asked, shivering.

“It’s just you.” I unbuttoned my jeans next and pushed them down.

My boxer briefs were still dry, so I had that going for me.

“I gotta get dressed,” I said. “Dry off and go to bed. I’ll bring the food.” I grabbed it on my way out and went straight into the front room, where I unloaded water, pretzel sticks, Nutella, and cold pizza on the coffee table.

I’d see if Petey could put together a soup downstairs for later, though I wasn’t sure. At this hour, and today of all days, nobody ordered fucking soup. They wanted wings, fries, hot dogs, and onion rings.

Back in the hallway, I opened a closet and put on my other pair of jeans—thanks, Ma, for doing my laundry—socks, and one of my countless Clover tees. My gym shoes would have to dry for a day or two, but I had a pair of All Stars in the meantime. Not the best pair of shoes to work in a bar, so I was glad we closed for the night soon.

Ben had sat down on the foot of the bed when I returned to the front room, and I wanted to strangle him as much as I wanted to hug the crap out of him. Nobody had ever forced me into a tailspin of mental gymnastics like this motherfucker. I had no issues with gray areas and nuance, but this was too much. I had at least fourteen different voices shouting an opinion about this man and what we’d gone through together.

Gone through? You fucked. Get over it.

It was more than a fuck. You started caring for him.

You invited someone into your home. You never do that.

Special circumstances. It wasn’t like you met him in a club.

Yeah, but?—

Shut the fuck up.

“I gotta go back downstairs.” I walked over to him and unwrapped the pizza from the foil. “I’ll ask you again—when was the last time you ate? And can you wrap the fucking covers around you? Christ.” Irritated as shit all of a sudden, I snatched up the covers and blanketed them around his shoulders. “When I get back, I want you to have eaten all of this. Don’t forget to drink. I’ll bring more with me later.” Which reminded me… “Hold on. I’mma find some painkillers.”

Good job, man. Ramble like Ma, and Ben will be too overwhelmed to answer.

I stalked out of the room, realizing I came off as a lunatic, but I couldn’t help it. I’d really worried about him—and I’d cursed myself for having forgotten his last name, because I couldn’t remember how many times I’d wanted to look him up. If only to make sure he was still alive.

Cleary, something. Ben Cleary, Benjamin Andrew Cleary—except, it wasn’t. At least, I hadn’t found anyone under that name who could be him, and I’d even reached out to a cop buddy I hadn’t spoken to in two years.

“When was the last time you ate, Ben?” I asked for the third time as I dug out a bottle of painkillers in the bathroom.

I heard him sigh heavily.

“Yesterday.”

Go fucking figure.

I grabbed a pop from the fridge too, since the juice hadn’t survived the shower. Then I was back, and he was at least getting started on the food. Well, if one could call pretzel sticks with Nutella food.

I opened the pop for him and handed over the painkillers. “Take both right now.”

He swallowed what was in his mouth and accepted the pills and the drink. “You’re angry with me, but I can’t figure out why.”

That was the fucking problem.

“I can leave?—”

“No.” The thought alone put me on edge, where I’d essentially already lived for the past two months. “Well, I know you can—you’ve proven that.”

He flicked me a brief, confused look before he downed the pills. Then he must’ve found the Coke good, ’cause he immediately started chugging.

It was my favorite drink for when I was sick too. Ice-cold Coke.

He lowered the can after a moment, and he shuddered and looked down. “You’re mad I left without saying goodbye.”

I’m mad you left at all.

He nodded to himself. “I knew it was a coward move.”

As he’d stated in that goddamn letter. By now, I could recite it word for word.

I cleared my throat and knew I was out of time. “We can have a lovely chat about that later. Right now, I’m gonna sacrifice my cold cuts and give them to your new pet. Then I’m going back to work. We close at two. And if you leave?—”

“I won’t,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Trace. You’ve been so happy that I assumed?—”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I…” He gestured tiredly at the door. “I’ve seen you. When I stay in the alley, I look sometimes. You’re always in a good mood behind the bar.”

I rubbed my forehead and—no, I didn’t have the time to unpack all that now. He stayed in the alley a lot? Why? And me flashing a grin and laughing it up when I worked didn’t fucking reflect what I was going through. But after reading his letter a million times, I could see how the slightest grin might strengthen his belief that I would be “relieved within a few days” of his leaving. Because I wouldn’t have to “babysit” a “burden” anymore.

I shook my head. “Just be here when I get back.”

* * *

“See you tomorrow, boss!”

“Yeah, see ya. Get home safe,” I responded absently. I smiled to myself as I tore off the EOD receipt and looked at the total.

I mean, I’d been here all night, so I knew we’d done well, but this…

I grinned and headed straight for the office with the money. We kept our drop safe in a supply closet just outside the office, the safe camouflaged by an old moving box, and tonight’s shindig was definitely gonna give me a good night’s sleep.

We needed eighty-nine bucks, and then we were in the black.

I could barely fucking believe it.

I was so glad we hadn’t gone the bar crawl route that many establishments did for St. Patrick’s Day.

Holy fuck.

Despite it being almost four in the morning, I was too wired to go to bed. Instead, I walked around and made sure everything was set up for tomorrow. Every surface had been wiped down, the bar tables had been pushed together somewhat to give more room to the dining areas for the lunch service, the donation boxes had been emptied, doors were locked, all broken glass had been cleaned up…

As I stood there in the center of the place, with the bar area behind me, the dead street outside in front of me, and dining areas on both sides, I finally understood what Dad had talked about so many times. The Clover could be a fucking menace, but when things went well… The sheer joy was indescribable, and it was the calmest sensation. I didn’t feel like jumping up and down or taking a victory lap. I just wanted to stand here and soak it all up.

We were on the right path, and now we kept going.

On my way upstairs, I grabbed a few food containers from the staff fridge. We didn’t have soup, but we had chicken fingers, cheesy bread, Ma’s lasagna, and pickles.

Ziggy was waiting for me right outside the door as I went to activate the alarm, reminding me that he might need something more to eat too. I’d given him turkey and water earlier. Maybe if I scraped the fried goodness off the chicken fingers…

Fuck, did he have to go out? I didn’t know what to do with a dog. My grandmother had owned a yappy little thing, but I just remembered giving it treats so it would stop stalking me.

That had not worked.

To play it safe, I opened the door to the alley. “Go on. I promise I won’t close the door on you.”

He cocked his head at me, then trailed out and immediately pissed on the bottom of the door.

Thanks, you little asshole.

He moseyed down the steps next and sniffed around, and I leaned against the doorway. I guessed I could pick up waste bags and dog food tomorrow. I had to go out for a few more items before the soup kitchen anyway. We’d be spread thin up until the soup kitchen closed at five, but if Ben didn’t ghost my sorry ass again, maybe he could help.

Unless he was still sick, obviously.

I yawned and shifted the food containers to my other arm. “Ziggy! Let’s go. If it ain’t happening yet, it’s not gonna.”

I wondered if Ben had cleaned him, however unlikely that sounded. I just remembered Ziggy’s fur being way dirtier when Cliff had been around. More gray and black than yellow and white.

Ben had mentioned a dog shelter—and an exam? Oh, and his cousin.

Ziggy darted back in and up the stairs, and I followed at a more human pace.

This next part should get interesting. Did I crash right next to Ben? I wasn’t gonna wake him up, nor was I planting my ass on the foldable bed in the hallway. So…I already had my answer, yet things felt uncertain and weird.

That summed up our entire situation. Uncertain and weird.

In the end, I could be butthurt all I wanted—and I fucking was—but there was no manual for what we were going through. His life was so different from mine in terms of perspective and priorities. He didn’t view himself as someone I might suddenly catch feelings for. He didn’t see himself as anything good at all. In his eyes, he’d done me a favor by leaving.

And Christ, he’d teared up just because he’d gotten a job? That spoke volumes of his relief. My heart had fucking broken for him.

I couldn’t imagine the weight on his shoulders. But knowing it was there made it difficult to hold on to my anger, and we’d become sort of close these past couple of months. I’d used it to keep my worry at bay. I’d used it to distance myself.

I’d failed on both accounts, but what a ride it’d been.

When I reached my door, I set down the food containers on the floor so I could fold out the bed. I didn’t have kibble for the shaggy little mutt, but I had a bed and chicken.

Ziggy jumped up on the bed without prompting, and he was ridiculously well trained. Was this normal? As I started scraping the batter off the chicken fingers, he merely sat there and waited.

Don’t look at me like that.

“You can come inside when I know you’re not covered in fleas, okay?”

He tilted his head like he’d done downstairs.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, grabbing a fourth chicken finger. That better be enough. He wasn’t very big, maybe thirteen, fourteen pounds, give or take.

“I’ll be your friend if you keep an eye on Ben,” I told him. “Like, legit. Stay on him. He’s a major flight risk.” I extended a piece of chicken to him, and he was quick to take it. “You do that for me, and I’ll fatten you up in no time. Deal?”

He was busy eating. I’d get his answer tomorrow.

I rose to my feet and eyed the water bowl. He had plenty, so I declared myself done for the day. With the rest of the food under my arm, I headed inside and was met by the same silence and darkness I’d left earlier. The TV was on, that was all. The big lump on the bed wasn’t moving, and the sound was off.

I kicked off my shoes and left the food in the kitchen for future nuking. Then I felt the need to check in on him, and I brought more Coke and water. I didn’t know why, but I got this flash of fear that he might be dead.

And I might be losing it.

The optimal approach would be if I could only creep forward, feel his forehead, and make sure he was breathing. However…sneaking up on a homeless guy? Not the brightest idea.

“Ben?” I flicked on the floor lamp next to the bed. “Ben, can you wake up?”

He’d eaten, at least. The pizza was gone, and the water bottle was empty.

Over by the coffee table, I lifted the Coke can. Empty too. Good.

“Ben…” I put my hand over his foot, ready to press it down if he went with instinct and tried to kick me. All I got was a sleepy grunt from underneath the covers, but it was enough to bring comfort. “How’re you feeling?”

He shifted slightly and coughed. “Sweatin’ my fuckin’ balls off,” he rasped.

“Don’t do that. It’s a solid pair.” I walked up to the head end again and dared to pull back the covers a bit. Sweating was good. I always sweated buckets when my fever was beating whatever virus trying to kill me. I felt his forehead. It was still hot, but I wasn’t a thermometer.

I sat down on the edge and opened the Coke.

“Turn around so you can drink,” I said.

He actually listened and complied.

Pushing himself up on his elbow, he glanced around blearily and eventually met my gaze.

Fuck, he could be cute sometimes. Downright adorable.

Wait.

He’d shaved.

“You shaved?” I extended the Coke. Just then, I noticed two tiny pieces of toilet paper on his neck, so he must’ve nicked himself.

“Mm. It was all itchy.” He licked his lips and brought the pop closer.

I scrunched my nose. “Ziggy better not have given you lice or fleas or something.”

He frowned as he guzzled from the Coke. “Who? Oh. You mean Pippen.”

“I mean Ziggy,” I chuckled. “He’s resting it up in style in the hallway.”

“Pippen sounds better.” He took another swig, and I had no argument. I’d grown up idolizing Pippen and MJ, just like every other kid in Chicago—though, I’d been too young to appreciate them when they’d been at the peaks of their careers. “He doesn’t have fleas or anything, by the way,” Ben added in between sips. “My cousin insisted on a whole grooming package. And he’s been on some kind of pills in case he’s got worms.”

“Angie,” I stated with a nod. “That was nice of her.”

He stifled a belch and sat up properly, the covers pooling around his middle. “She loves two things in this world. Animals and her balcony view of the lake.”

I felt my mouth twist. A view was a nice thing. I was happy with mine too, even though we were only on the second floor. But the windows up here were big enough to sit in, and we had tall buildings all around. I liked the city lights. Almost as much as I liked the view right in front of me.

“I suppose she loves me too,” he sighed. “I’m just awful at accepting it.”

I lifted my brows. No shit?

“I’m stunned.” I offered him the water bottle next.

He swallowed and took it but made no move to drink. He just stared at the can and the bottle, and it was so like him. I hadn’t forgotten his pensive moments.

“I gotta get something to eat before I crash,” I said. “I’ll make a plate for you too. And don’t tell me I don’t have to.”

He smashed his lips together, making me snort. He’d been about to say something stupid, hadn’t he?

“Come on.” I nodded toward the doorway. “If you feel better, you can keep me company.”

“Sure.” He nodded with a dip of his chin. “Thank you for…you know. Saving my ass again.”

“It’s a nice ass,” I replied, walking out.

I was tired, fucking exhausted, but still too wired to sleep. Hopefully, the food would help. At this rate, I wasn’t gonna get to bed till five in the morning, and I had to get up at nine.

Tomorrow was gonna be awesome.

“So, does Angie live here in the city?” I opened the microwave and dumped the lasagna onto two plates.

“She does,” he confirmed.

I glanced over at him, thankful he was at least wearing boxer briefs. With him, I could never be sure.

“She’s a coordinator of some sort at Northwestern Memorial,” he said. “She wants me to go stay with her now that her ex has moved out, but?—”

“But why would you do that?” I retorted. It’d been the reason I’d asked in the first place. If he could live with family somewhere. “You can spare me another rant about you being a burden, Ben.”

“You sound like her.”

I put the microwave on two minutes and then leaned back against the counter.

I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t need to.

He wasn’t stupid. Was he?

I went in another direction instead. “How come you’ve been staying in the alley?”

He cleared his throat and averted his gaze to the floor space where a kitchen table should stand. There wasn’t one, because I had no use for it.

After a moment, he swallowed hard and winced, and he rubbed at his chest.

Either something was up, or he was struggling to phrase hims?—

“Excuse me.” He stalked off abruptly, and I stiffened as I heard him shut the bathroom door.

Was he?—

Fuck.

He was throwing up.

I ran a hand through my hair, and I had to fight every urge to fret through the door. Nobody wanted a million questions when they were emptying their stomach. But what if it wasn’t just the flu? Had he eaten too fast? He’d told me he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and I assumed he hadn’t exactly had the healthiest diet. I knew how many homeless people lived on cheap bread, coffee, fries, and whatever they could find on clearance or the cheapest takeout menus.

The microwave dinged, and I hesitated. Ma’s lasagna wasn’t too unhealthy, though maybe I should add something? I could run downstairs and get lettuce or whatever. Or maybe he couldn’t stomach food at the moment. I probably wouldn’t.

I’d ask him.

Fuck, why was this so hard? And why did my chest feel all…uncomfortable? I had this tightness—I couldn’t describe it. But it was as if a physical restraint was slinging more worries on the pile. What if he needed to go to the hospital? I didn’t know how long he’d been surviving on too little food. He could be severely dehydrated too.

Screw it.

I headed for the hallway and knocked on the door. “Ben? Are you sure it’s just the flu?”

I heard him wretch and spit into the toilet.

Maybe Ziggy had given him rabies. If Ben started foaming at the mouth, I was calling animal control.

“You need a priest?” I threw that out there too.

He made a croaky, coughy sound. “Jackass.”

I grinned slightly, quickly, just wanting him to be okay.

“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely. “I caught whatever Angie had and…” He flushed the toilet. “Kinda hard to be your own nurse out there.”

I could imagine.

“I haven’t eaten well. Too little to drink too.”

And undoubtedly not enough proper rest and warmth. Yeah, no wonder. Okay, but this felt better. Additionally, he’d chugged two Cokes and eaten two slices of pizza. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to reintroduce his stomach to food and drink.

I made a mental note to talk to Ma tomorrow. She was helping us at the soup kitchen.

Hearing the telltale sound of someone brushing their teeth, I returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Which…was a sorry sight. I mean, the door was filled with condiments, but that was about it. I did have a banana that was reserved for my favorite weekend breakfast, toast with Nutella and sliced banana. Would that be better? ’Cause otherwise, we were looking at beer, two Styrofoam containers, a packet of kielbasa, two jars of Ma’s giardiniera, and half a churro from Costco that Chip hadn’t finished.

Banana, it is.

I was going to eat lasagna, and Ben was going to eat a banana and drink water—if he could stomach anything at all.

Good deal.

I brought everything to the front room and practiced patience while I sat down on the foot of the bed and channel-surfed.

When that didn’t work, I pulled out my phone and texted my mother.

I know it’s late. Don’t give me shit. Just wondering what foods to eat when u have the flu. (It’s for a friend.) Answer when u wake up.

Finally. The bathroom door opened, and Ben soon reappeared in the doorway.

I chewed around a mouthful of lasagna. “Banana?”

He let out a breath and trailed closer. “I…maybe. My stomach’s still unsettled.” He sat down a couple feet away and draped the covers around his shoulders. “Now I know what Coke looks like when it comes up.”

Intriguing.

“It looks like Coke,” he finished.

I grinned.

“I think I drank too fast,” he admitted.

He didn’t even look at the lasagna; he seemed way more interested in getting more sleep, and I couldn’t blame him.

I jerked my chin over my shoulder. “Go to bed. I’m right behind you.”

He hesitated and glanced toward the front door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to?—”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

Could he quit rejecting me? It fucking hurt.

My evident irritation made him furrow his brow at me.

“I just don’t wanna be in the way. You can’t honestly get pissy about that.”

“Try me.” I scowled and shoveled more food into my mouth. “Where you’re concerned, I can get pissy about anything.”

Against my better judgment, I wanted him to stay. More than that, I wanted him to want to stay. Was that too much to ask?

He sighed and reached for his water bottle. “It seems I keep making the wrong call about you.” He uncapped the bottle and cleared his throat. “I’ve been staying in the alley a few times a week because I wanna see you.”

A few times a week.

That was too many nights in the cold, in the rain, and before that, in the snow.

Because I wanna see you…

Just not approach me? He wanted to watch from a safe distance?

Correction: he didn’t wanna be a bother.

What was it he’d written in the letter…? My energy was better placed with others.

Idiot.

I had to be blunt.

I set down my plate and pulled up a leg to face him better. “Can you stay? Without fucking off in the morning.”

He swallowed and nodded minutely. “If that’s what you want.”

Oh, for fuck’s— “What do you want?”

His jaw ticked with tension. “I want you next to me, of course.”

There was nothing “of course” about that. One of the reasons his letter had fucked me up so much was that he’d claimed one thing and acted as if the opposite were true. He’d told me I’d gotten him attached, and then he’d just left. He’d implied spending that time with me had been a dream, right before he’d jumped back into his own nightmare.

I wanted that nightmare to end.

I…I wanted the dream back, and I realized I hadn’t told him this. Not that he’d given me a chance to; I’d had my rude awakening in the days following his disappearance.

“You finally said the right thing,” I muttered. “But just so you know, you leaving never became a relief. It only pissed me off, until I realized I was so angry because it hurt.”

He frowned to himself and scratched at the label on the water bottle. “I never wanted to hurt you.” Yeah, he’d said that in his letter too. “Hell, the opposite—I…” He released a breath, deflating. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Kid.

We’d work on that.

“From now on, I’ll be in your life for as long as you want me to,” he added. “Friends?”

We had a lot to work on.

Come on, friends?

And his self-esteem…

“Sure. Friends,” I said.

What exactly did he mean by friends?

* * *

I was going to show him.

For some bizarre reason, he wanted me in his life, so I was gonna make sure I earned my spot.

Never in a million years had I thought he’d be upset with me for so long just because I’d left.

I should be questioning his taste in friends.

Friends…

Fucking hell. I’d set myself up for heartbreak now, hadn’t I? But he was worth it. Despite that it was difficult to believe my actions had caused harm, I’d never thought I’d speak to him again, much less share a bed.

Part of me was desperate to hope, though. Starting my new job on Monday would make me feel like a human again, and I could finally contribute properly. So…I’d be here. I’d help whenever I could. I’d be his friend.