Five minutes into the drive, the silence between us grinds against my bones, but I have nothing left to say to him. So I plug my phone into the upgraded stereo system, select a song, and crank up the volume.
Down by Marian Hill taps through the speakers, and I move with the rhythm, humming, swaying in the seat, and lifting my hands as the wind whips at my hair. He flicks glances my way, but I avoid his eyes and the unkindness I’m certain I’d find there.
By the time he pulls up to Gateway Shelter, I feel more empowered. Balanced.
With the certified check in hand, I breeze through the side door and find Father Rick taking inventory of the food supplies in the kitchen.
“Danni!” He sets down the clipboard and smooths his mustache. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be in today.”
“I’m not staying to dance tonight.” Not with Trace and his withering conjecture hovering at my back. “Just wanted to drop this off.”
Rick accepts the folded check, his gaze locked on Trace. “Are you going to introduce your friend?”
“Trace Savoy.” Trace steps forward and offers a hand.
“Nice to meet you, Trace. I’m Rick.” They shake, and Rick directs his grin at me. “Danni’s our very own bona fide angel. Her ability to make people smile is a gift from God.”
“I don’t know about that.” I point my gaze at the eternal scowl on Trace’s face. “Seems I have the opposite effect on some people.”
Rick glances back and forth between us with grooves rumpling his bald head.
“I need to go,” I say. “But I’ll be back later this week.”
Trace holds the door for me, and I almost make it outside before Rick makes a choking sound behind me.
“What is this?” he whispers.
A glance over my shoulder confirms he’s staring at the check.
“It’s a donation.” I pat Trace’s rigid arm. “From Trace Savoy.”
Rather than playing along, Trace strides over to Rick and glares down at the check. A glare that blisters with disapproval as it lifts to me.
“Give us a minute,” I say to Trace. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
His jaw works, as if fighting back a retort. He straightens the collar of his button-up with a sharp, angry yank and charges out the door.
“Don’t worry about him.” I shift back to Rick. “We bicker like siblings.”
“That man doesn’t look at you like a sibling.” Rick narrows his eyes. “Are you okay, Danni?”
“I’m great.” I grip his forearm and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Trace bought the restaurant I dance at. We just have some disagreements to work through.”
“And this?” He holds up the check.
“It’s honest pay.” I back up, retreating toward the door. “You’re going to do amazing things with this place.”
His cheeks redden. “Thank you, Danni. There’s a special place waiting for you in heaven.”
“Don’t write me off yet, Father Rick.” With a laugh, I slip through the door and brace myself for Hell in the form of fiery blue eyes.
“Ten grand?” Trace whirls on me the instant I step outside.
So much for waiting at the car. I shake my head and walk past him.
“That’s over half your paycheck.” He grips my elbow.
“My paycheck.” I yank my arm away. “To spend however I want.”
“You need to—”
“Save it.” I quicken my gait and climb over the passenger door and into the car without bothering to open it.
“I will not let—”
“Shut the fuck up, Trace.” I rest my head back on the seat and close my eyes. “I don’t want to hear it.”
I keep my eyes shut during the short drive from the shelter to the casino. The silence is volatile, building and darkening like a thunderstorm.
I’ll drop his ass off and go to my sister’s. Because going home to a house of broken memories sounds even less appealing than hanging out with a cantankerous casino owner.
I know I’m impulsive with money and men and pretty much everything, but why does Trace care how I live my life? How could he possibly be offended by anyone donating money to a good cause?
Maybe I shouldn’t give him this time to gather his thoughts. His unspoken judgment charges the air around me, strengthening, galvanizing. When he pulls into the underground garage, the noise from the wind dies and he opens his mouth.
“You live in a shit hole, drive a shit car, and wear…”
Opening my eyes, I twist in the seat to face him. “Go ahead. Finish that sentence.”
His eyes are stark beneath the overhead lights. He swerves the car into a reserved spot beside a sleek gray sports car and shuts off the engine.
“You wear sandals,” he says to the windshield, “from the clearance aisle in a drugstore. You need money desperately, yet you give it away like it’s nothing.”
“If I embarrass you, get your pretentious ass out of my car and go back to your fancy penthouse where you never spend a night alone.” My toes curl in the discount flip-flops, and my heart pounds at the base of my throat. “Fire me or don’t fire me, but stop casting judgment on my life.”
His eyebrows pinch together. “You don’t embarrass me.”
He opens the driver’s door and unfolds his tall body from the car. There’s no one else in the vicinity, and very few cars fill the parking spaces. We must be in a private level of the garage.
He shuts the door and grips the ledge, facing me. “With the money you’ll be earning, you can live more comfortably. Unless you continue to hand it all out.”
“I am comfortable. I like my shit hole and shit car and my drugstore sandals. It’s just stuff.” I release the seatbelt and bend forward with my elbows on my thighs. “You know what makes me happy, Trace? People. Relationships. Connections.” I tip my head to look at him. “Have you ever been in love?”
“No.” He scrapes out a tired breath.
“I didn’t think so. That’s why I let your cruelty roll off me so easily. I don’t condone your insults. It’s just…” I sigh and pull the hair tie from the windblown mess on my head. “I pity you, Trace.”
“You pity me?” Straightening his spine, he puts his hands on his hips and watches me finger comb my hair.
“I really do. All the money in the world won’t buy the best kind of happiness.”
He grips the edge of the door and leans in, eyes like blue blades. “And where is your happiness now, Danni?”
My heart lurches with a hollow achy thud. I lower my head, lower my hands on my lap, and squeeze the engagement ring.
“He left me,” I whisper. “Then he died.”
Unbidden, a brew of misery pushes against my senses, forming wool in my ears and blackening the edges of my vision. Trace fades from my periphery, but his footsteps are there, circling the rear of the car. He removes his jacket from the trunk. Then the passenger door opens, and an outstretched hand appears beneath my face.
“Come on,” he says quietly, softly.
I stare at the hand, fully aware of the unpredictably that comes with it. Cruel words and passionate kisses. Outrageous paychecks and mercurial moods. Scowls and laughter. Silence and banter. Who knows what he’ll deliver next?