Everyone in the small town of Hull knows two things. One: Jill Williams doesn't date, and two: Carson Blue is addicted to drugs.
When Carson decides to clean up his act and apply at Jill's family restaurant, she's less than enthused. Between school...
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"ORDER UP!" Paul shoves two plates of burgers through the window from the kitchen. Darting behind the counter, I dodge the spill of pop so I won't slip on my ass (again).
"No mayo on this one?" I pick up the plates and try to catch my breath.
"No mayo," Paul says with a grunt. On the other side of the window, heat simmers off the fryers and distorts the tiled walls. "I'm too old for this crap," Paul mutters as he hobbles away.
Even I feel too old for this. We're absolutely slammed. Mom's "Monday Burger Madness Special" might've been a good idea for business, but I wish she'd held off until we found a few new workers. There's so much chatter in here I can hardly think.
I make a beeline for table six and drop off the plates before I go into the bar, refill their Cokes, and do it all again for tables three, five, eight, and ten. Mom covers the others the best she can, but anxiety bulges in the whites of her eyes when no one's looking.
The worst part is, she's been working all day too. If we had more people, Mom would be upstairs resting. Instead, she puts on the best face she can as she serves. I wonder if the customers can see the way her bones shake like I do.
Carson's dejected face flares in my mind. He hates me. Of course he does, he has every right to. I thought throwing his resume in the trash was the right thing, but now guilt is making a mess of my thoughts. Who am I to play God with his life?
But I'm still so damn conflicted because I don't think having a guy like him around is a good idea. I can admit to myself it's fear. All of our previous workers and waitresses have been clean as can be. Drinkers, maybe. But not addicts like my dad.
The rush clears out around eight. Mom collapses against the counter, and I take off my shoe so I can stretch my sore foot. Every single table is piled with ketchup-splattered plates and cups of melting ice. All I want to do is go upstairs and play my guitar, but it's going to take forever to clean this crap up.
"Good lord, we really need a new server who can do evenings." Mom smooths her hands over her face, blue-green eyes lethargic and faded. Mom's happy-go-lucky mask falls off when no one's around—she becomes tired, irritable, and listless. Ready to give up.
