“—but Marcy has been asking about her father.” She lifted stiff fingers to her temple and rubbed with a jerky motion. “She’s been asking why all the kids at school have a man at their house and she doesn’t. And I can’t let you stay. I can’t confuse her or see her feelings get hurt when you leave, okay? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
A sharp object wedged just beneath his Adam’s apple, then dug in a little further. What the hell had happened while he was on the road? Why hadn’t his parents told him River needed more than the monthly check he’d been sending? “Of course. No…I’m an asshole for not thinking about how Marcy would react.” Sarge picked up his guitar case, but made no move to leave. In a flash, it became obvious that he wouldn’t be leaving Hook for a while. Not until whatever was broken with his sister was fixed. “Just tell me what you need. I’ll make sure you get it.”
River opened her mouth and closed it again before taking a long breath. “Look. I’m going to call Jasmine. She’s got an empty room at her place and I know she wouldn’t mind you using it.”
There were only so many shocks to the system a man could take—and that one nearly knocked him out of commission. Staying in the same house as Jasmine. Seeing her, smelling her, hearing her? Everything he’d shoved down into a duct-taped box in his gut would fight its way free. He’d never be able to wrestle it back in. “No. No, don’t bother. I’ll find the closest motel.”
River scoffed. “Yeah, I’m so not letting that happen. You think I’d let you stay in a motel this close to friends and family? No way.”
“Listen. I’ll figure something out,” Sarge said with finality, glimpsing a pair of tiny neon-pink tennis shoes behind his sister, where they’d been tossed haphazardly on the stairs. “Can I…meet Marcy, at least?”
“Yes. Of course.” Misery lurking in her expression, River reached out and squeezed his arm. “Come back Thursday night? Around dinnertime?”
“You know it.”
Sensing River wouldn’t like shutting the door in his face, Sarge threw her a reassuring wink and turned to head down the stairs. Laid out in front of him, the residential block where he’d spent his youth seemed unfamiliar—like a crude depiction of hazy memories penciled out by a sketch artist. The sidewalks were broken up by tree roots, the telephone lines sagging under the weight of tied-together sneakers. There was a basketball hoop in every driveway, but no kids made use of them. It was quiet, except for traffic passing on the avenue, the occasional honk or greeting being yelled through a car window.
It wasn’t the first time in his life he didn’t know where he was headed. But it was the first time he knew he couldn’t go back. To anything. To anywhere.
“What’s your next move, Purcell?” he muttered under his breath.
Two blocks down, he could just make out the neon beer sign in the window of Hook’s local dive bar, the Third Shift.
His feet were moving before a conscious decision had been made.
Yep. Times like these, a man went out and got shit-faced.
Chapter Two
When it came to men, it was slim-ass pickings in Hook, New Jersey.
Lack of selection had to be responsible for Jasmine wearing her best dress within the Third Shift’s decaying, smoke-stained walls. Seriously. The ramshackle joint was seconds from falling down around their ears—why didn’t anyone looked concerned? Probably because each and every patron was half past wasted, shouting to be heard over a played-out Bruce Springsteen CD that always skipped on “Born to Run.” Her date—if one could give him such a legitimate title—was the loudest of the local dimwits, sloshing beer over his meaty paw as he expounded on his theories concerning factory politics. She’d heard it all before. Many times. God knew she loved a working-class hero. After all, she happened to be one herself.
But…carajo! Sometimes she just wished they would stop complaining about life’s unfairness and shut the fuck up.
If forgetting about her sweaty daily grind on the assembly line wasn’t the point of going on a date with one of these dudes, what was? She’d put on a dress and lipstick to remind herself she was a woman, not just a cog in a machine. Or the outspoken coworker who was always nominated to speak on everyone’s behalf to the boss man. There had been a time when she’d wanted more. Much more. Life didn’t always work out the way you expected, though, and she’d learned to be content. Mostly. When she didn’t think too hard about what might have been. Lofty ambitions were no longer part of her psyche, but a decent date once in a while wasn’t a lot to ask.