Page 20 of Misguided
EIGHT
Mel
“Can I do anything?”
Sonya sticks a hand to her hip and chews her bottom lip in thought. “I’m not sure.” Her soft eyes find mine. “It’s honestly okay if you just stick your feet up for a while.”
“I’m not tired,” I snap back a little too harshly. She widens her eyes, and I instantly feel terrible. “I’m sorry, it’s just I’m over people telling me to take it easy when that won’t fix the problem.”
I spent enough alone time grabbing a shower after Dog left. There’s only so long you can stare at the tiled wall like a zombie before the morbid reflections start to smother you. The silence only serves to give my mind the free roam it needs to drag me back to the recurrent thoughts I’d rather block for a while.
Daddy’s dead.
Dana’s dead.
Hooch is AWOL.
Just you on your own, girl.
Sonya nods, circling the large stainless counter in the center of the kitchen to reach my side. She tips her head and stares at me in a lovingly maternal way. “I know you’re tired of it, honey. But that’s the only way people know how to help.”
She’s been a part of my life since I was a baby, coming to our Fort Worth club with her first old man, Mike, before she moved up here after his death. In some ways, Sonya was more of a mother to me than my own after the woman who birthed me upped and left her kids behind.
“I feel idle, standing around doing nothing,” I admit. “I feel as though I should be doing something. I need to keep moving, keep busy.”
“I get that.” She loops an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to her side, careful not to touch her doughy hands to me. “I felt the same after Mike, got fed up with being waited on.” Sonya places a kiss to my head and then lets go, returning to the dinner rolls she was part way through kneading. “Have you spoken to anyone from home?”
I shake my head and lean back against the counter behind me. “Not yet.” There isn’t anyone who can’t wait until it’s clear for me to head down south.
I never had any real friends. Daddy did his best to keep Dana and I away from the Friday night shindigs, telling us we needed to maintain a dignified appearance. Fat load of use it did when I rebelled with first Sawyer, and then almost Dog as well. All my father managed to do was cut us kids off from any chance at building our own support network outside of family.
“If you think of anything, let me know,” I say, pushing off the counter.
Sonya nods, her hands buried in the flour-dusted dough. “To be honest, Abbey still covers most of it, so there’s not much chance of finding anything. Perhaps you could ask King if he has any projects for you?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
I saw Abbey on my way downstairs from Dog’s room. She’s one of those women who rocks a permanent resting bitch face as though her skin would crack if she smiled. I don’t know a lot about her, other than she was a homeless kid Apex picked up off the street a long time ago. She’s been a fixture in this club for as long as I can remember—one of the few lucky ladies who get to stay onsite when they’re aren’t a property girl or an old lady.
I hang a left out of the kitchen and wander down the hall toward the common room, and King’s office. If he’s still here, guaranteed that’s where he’ll be. Callum sits at the bar with a couple of hangarounds, lifting his hand in greeting as I pass by. He twists on his stool as I head for King’s door.
“He’s not in, sweetheart. Can I help?”
I sigh and turn to face him. “I’m looking for something to do.”
“Why?”
I swear to God. If he tells me to relax …
“Come.” He pats the empty stool to his right. “Have a seat.”
As much as I’d rather not, I oblige. Callum’s always been a nice guy. He deserves at least a partial effort on my behalf.
He jerks his fingers at one of the hangarounds as I take my seat, and gestures to the space behind the bar. “Step up, son.”
The guy slips from his seat without a word and rounds the bar to the serving side. “What would you like?”
“A Sprite, thanks.”