Choosing Happy

Chapter Four

I'm a quick study and a firm believer that the best defense is a good offense, so at six o'clock, I shut off the lights, lock the door and step out to the street in front of my shop. If I still smoked, I'd have gone through a pack but since I don't have anything to occupy my hands, I just stretch my fingers, not letting them ball into fists the way they want to.

At six ten, I lean against the wall and wait. Any second now. Any second and the prick can say whatever the fuck he has to say without a glass barrier between us.

At six twenty, I realize they aren't coming. They've probably taken a different route just to avoid the crazy waffle maker.

At six thirty, I slip on my helmet and ride to my empty house. The silence is deafening as I lock the front door behind me. It's more depressing than it seemed the day before. Thinking back on the last time I laughed in that place, I realize it was four months ago when Zach and Ryan were here. The night I almost destroyed their relationship.

It's Friday night and I'm opening up early the next morning so I don't bother turning on the TV or attempting to get off. I just lay in bed and stare at the same ceiling my parents both stared at when they took their dying breaths.

My mom died of cancer when I was twelve. I hated watching her go but Dad insisted we be the ones to take care of her. My dad had a stroke a few years ago and spent his final month lying in that room with the son he never liked and a hospice nurse to help the time pass.

Is that what I'm doing? Just passing time until my body or my mind finally gives up.

~**~

I hit the snooze button for the first time since high school. Always an early riser, I never sleep past six so when I crack an eyelid and see it's seven fifteen, I groan. After a quick shower to wake up, I step into a pair of old jeans and grab the first t-shirt my fingers touch then run down the steps. The bike needs gas so I get in my truck instead and drive the six miles to work.

Having become more of a slave to technology than I'd like to admit, I'm walking and texting Allen when I hear a tiny voice.

"Hi."

Startled, I look up and see my little duck huddled in the shadows behind my cart. He's curled in a tiny ball against the generator and looks like hell.

"Hey, kid." I kneel down in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

Tears flood his eyes as he looks away. "I didn't know where else to go."

In the dim light, I couldn't see his battered face but when I brush his hair aside and see a line of caked blood that crosses from the middle of his scalp to his cheek bone, I want to kill someone. "Did that prick do this to you?"

He won't look at me. By the way he flinches, I know he's scared. I take a deep breath and lean back on my haunches. "We should go to the police. I'll take you."

"No." He jumps up and backs away, ready to bolt. "I'm sorry I came here. I'm fine."

The way he's limping pisses me off even more but I force a steady voice. "Okay, okay. No cops." I slowly reach forward and hold my hand out to him, praying he'll take it.

With a tentative step, he walks to me and lets me guide him into the trailer that serves as my shop.

After a few awkward minutes of us just watching each other, I can't stay silent.

"He own you?" I ask, not liking the implications but knowing I'm on shaky ground if I try to save this kid from a Dom that isn't ready to give him up.