My arms are practically numb, my knees ache, and my calves are burning by the time muffled shouting erupts from somewhere in the back. Behind the counter is a small cubby-like area with an opening on the left for access to the lobby and a door in the back for the manager's office. Ian tenses in my arms, so I rub his back, and he calms down not long after. The manager's office door swings open.
"You don't want to lose anything else, you'll do as you're told." A deep, angry voice barks out the order. There's something familiar about it that I can't quite place until I see the person the voice belongs to. Barging out of the office is that Ryan kid's dad, the way too smooth and attractive biker I met on my first day in town. I'd successfully avoided him and his club since that meeting, not that it's been easy. The club owns this town, that much is obvious from the little bit we've seen of the town. It probably would have been easy to take him up on the job offer--well, kind-of offer. I'm not even sure he meant to offer me the job, since it was technically his son who'd made the initial suggestion. I just panicked and didn't want to be embarrassed or called a whore. Besides, I want things to be different for my boy, and that means I have to make better choices. I'll find a permanent job eventually, and then we can get an apartment, and it'll be a real home.
The man's eyes fall on me, and he stops. A slow, conniving smile spreads across his face, and it's so striking that I have to suck in a deep breath to center myself. He purses his lips and moves again, this time slower, more deliberate. As this nameless man moves toward me, his muscles tense and flex. His eyes darken, he licks his lips, and he smirks. I stand perfectly still, doing my best to pull my eyes from his. I can't. There's something about him that draws me to him. Maybe it's his commanding presence or the lust I feel when I look at him. This man is a goddamn disaster waiting to happen, I just know it.
"Just the woman I wanted to see," he said slowly. His eyes fall and travel up my body, a scowl forming on his face as he realizes his view is blocked. His expression changes from predator to protector. I don't know how I know that, but I do. Maybe it's something I see in myself, the change in expression. His dark eyes darken some, and a scowl forms. I'm just grateful to not see pity on his face. The moment a man's eyes go wide and he stares at me sadly is the moment I know it's all gone south. Love me, hate me, I don't care, but I don't want anyone's pity.
"Walked away the other day. Not cool, babe."
"Figured you were just being polite." I try to keep myself calm. This man unnerves me like no other. I just can't keep my shit together around him. Jesus, woman, get it together, I chide myself.
"I'm never polite," is his response. I don't doubt him, and if I'm being honest with myself, I know damn well he wasn't being polite the other day. I was just being awkward and didn't know what else to do, so I did what I do best--I ran.
"Okay then," I say and adjust my grip on Ian. My arms feel dead and my back aches, but my boy's body is tenser than it was when I picked him up, so I refuse to set him down now. Not until he's ready.
"The kid can't walk?"
"He can," I say carefully. I'd think after so many years of questions about my boy that I'd have a thicker skin by now. But I don't, and every judgmental comment just grates on my nerves. Just because he's quiet and he's far too big to be cuddled up in my arms like this doesn't mean he can't hear when people talk about it.
"Does he talk?"
"Excuse me?" My hackles are raised and my eyes have widened. I can't help the look that's on my face right now--a mix of frustration and anger--at the suggestion that my boy is slow. He's anything but. He might be shy and, yeah, he doesn't talk a million miles an hour, but he's bright and capable and perfect.
"Jesus fuck, it was just a question, lady." He runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends, and blows out a deep breath.
"Not only can my boy walk and talk, but he can also hear the things you're saying about him."
Ryan's dad, whatever his stupid name is, throws his hands up in the air and backs his way out of the office, saying, "Whatever."
The doorbell chimes over the man's head, and when it stops, Ian squirms and I let him down. His eyes are still distant and his face is expressionless. As much as he likes me to carry him, he hates when people start asking questions. I could probably try to break him of the habit, but I'm too selfish to do so.
Robert, looking frazzled and nervous, wrings his hands together as he exits the office and approaches the counter. He puffs out his cheeks and stares at the cheap, outdated countertop before looking back up at me. I know this look. This is the look of disappointment and fear and regret. I've seen this look way more times than my twenty-five years should account for.
"Listen, Ruby. I can't have you doing this no more."
I knew it was coming, but it still stings. And it's sooner than expected to boot.
"Okay, um. Can we at least finish out the week with our arrangement? I have to buy my boy some new shoes, and I haven't been able to save anything yet. It's only been a week."
"Can't. Sorry."
As frustrated as I am with his suddenly short and rather dismissive attitude, I can't blame him. My problems are not his problems.