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Rage flares in my gut. “Because I gave you a clear answer, and you still railroaded me into something I didn’t want. All along, I didn’t even know it! You’re no better than her!”
It’s a low blow, and he cocks his head back like I’ve slapped him. “That’s not true, and you know it. You know I’m nothing like her. I care for you out of love and goodness, and I’ve only ever wanted the best for you.”
“And you’ve lied to do so. You influenced me without me knowing; I took that scholarship because it was the best offer I had. What if I didn’t want to go to Bethson?”
Now, Warren rolls his eyes. “Don’t rewrite history because you’re mad at me. You loved Bethson, you loved your program, and you would have regretted going anywhere else. I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be. But please, be reasonable. Look at the facts. Look at how much Alana and I care about you. How our whole family thinks of you as one of our own.”
“That’s the thing, though. I’m not one of you. I’m not an Ashton. I’m my own little island getting through this shithole called life, and I’m perfectly fine doing so.” I sound like a petulant child, but I can’t stop.
“Let’s fix this. Let’s sit down, talk, figure out how to see each other’s perspectives.” He tries to bargain with me, but I’m done discussing this.
“No. I’ll … I guess I’ll find a way to pay you back the money for college.” At some point.
Maybe in the next hundred years.
I’ll be dead and gone, and the debt I now owe to Warren will still be next to my name.
He shakes his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. You earned that scholarship, no matter the circumstances. I don’t want a dime, and I better not see one. I’m serious, August.”
Well, I am, too. There is only one way I can leave this all behind, and that is by wiping the entire slate clean. I may hate it, and I may feel like I’m in my own personal hell, but I am going to settle every score marked against me before I leave Hope Crest.
“And I’m serious when I say I don’t want anything else from you. No help, no support, no words of advice. You’ve proven to be just like everyone else in my orbit, only there to control or manipulate me.”
Inside, my heart is cracking wide open. My mother hasn’t been able to wound me in years, not since I conditioned myself at a young age never to get my hopes up for her kindness in regard to me. But Warren? I thought the best of him.
That’s ruined now. A hollow loneliness settles over my bones, and I feel truly and utterly alone for the first time in my life.
“August, you don’t mean that. Stop?—”
He attempts to reason with me, but I run back to my car. The thing I want most is to leave this town and never return. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.
My mother’s life insurance money came in yesterday, and I’m still debating what to do with it. Aside from Evan, none of the other Ashtons, know about the gambling debt, and if I use it to pay off the seedy guy who spooked me in the driveway, I will only have twenty-five grand left over to put toward the mortgage. That means years more of paying off the house she strapped me with. Now, with the information I found about the scholarship, that debt has just quadrupled. I’ll never get out from under it.
With some solid jobs here and a mountain of payments tying me to Hope Crest, leaving for a salaried position in some city is out of the picture for the time being. Do I suggest working for Alana for free to pay back the tuition they tricked me into paying for? That would mean absolutely no income for at least two of my jobs, which I need to pay off the mortgage.
The helpless spiral catches in my lungs, stealing my breath as I try to drive. Panic grips me by the throat and the head rush makes my vision spot. I pull over with uncoordinated haste and throw the driver’s door open as I drop to my knees on the shoulder of the road.
The river rushes past below, with the water masking some of the sounds of my retching as I empty the contents of my stomach.
Looking out into the valley, I wonder what would happen if the water just swept me away from my problems. Because, at this point, I have no idea how I’m going to solve them.
22
EVAN
“And that’s the last dish of the night.”
I slap the towel in my hands against the prep counter, take a deep breath, and smile as I look around the kitchen.
The couple of line cooks and the sous chef I hired a year ago give some mediocre claps, just like they do every other night of the week after we make it through dinner service.
Being a chef has always suited my personality because I love a challenge and racing a clock. There is a timing to running a service, both in how precise you must be when cooking any dish and also in how you pace the courses on any one table. You want a diner’s experience to be seamless and perfect, and both of those need to happen without them detecting any of the work that goes into it. It’s my job to orchestrate that as if leading a huge marching band through a complicated number.
Whenever I reach the finish line with impeccable marks for the night—meaning no huge errors, dishes sent back, and I didn’t yell too much at any one person—I buzz with the high of success. Yes, I love creating delicious food for people, but the challenge of running a kitchen is another factor in why I could never work any other job. I am meant to do this.
My staff starts to pack the extra food away; the uncooked materials go back into the pantry or fridges, while the leftover dishes from tonight get packed and donated to a food bank nearby. I walk around, doing a check of all the stations to see what needs to be cleaned more than our usual scrub down, and then over to the POS system to calculate some data on what was ordered tonight. Observing the data, which Patrick will then turn into spreadsheets for me in his spare time, is also one of the things that interests me.
I want to know what our customers are ordering, repeat ordering, or neglecting. What dishes can I change up or add more of with a twist? Are more people coming in for appetizers and drinks on a specific night, and can we run a special or a happy hour on that? I’m not much for numbers and accounting, but give me data on what people are eating, and I’m hooked.
