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How? I wonder.
How will I ever be okay?
Chapter Thirty-One
The Present
Carla
“Have you seen TJ at all this week?”
I shake my head and cast a longing look in the direction of the room TJ’s locked inside.
It’s the room we taught Kimmie how to dance in just last week. Sadness pricks my heart. “He’s been in there.”
Tanner’s eyebrows collapse. “Any clue what he’s doing inside?”
“No. He comes out to train a client, and then he goes right back in.”
He glances at the watch on his wrist. “All right. Keep me posted. I’m worried about him.”
I nod. “Me too.”
Tanner gestures to the overflowing box by the door on his way out. “Great idea with the donation box, by the way.”
I muster a smile and say, “Thanks. Tell Charlotte I’ll call her later.”
It’s been a tough week. We said goodbye to a sweet, innocent girl as she was lowered into the ground. To say TJ’s taking Kimmie’s death poorly would be an understatement. He has been keeping to himself, more than usual. Working on a project was all he’d said to me.
I don’t know much about how an addict falls off the wagon, but I’m worried about him.
At the end of every shift, I tap my knuckles against the locked door. I call for him and wait. Then I head home.
Tonight is no different. After knocking and staring at the closed door for several minutes, I walk back to the front desk and collect my things. I’m about to leave when the door cracks open. TJ slips through and closes it behind him.
He doesn’t notice me until he gets closer. He stops mid-stride, head down, attention trained on the ground.
“Hey.” I survey his appearance. Wrinkled shirt, shorts smudged with paint, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
“Thought you left.”
“Just about to. Need any help in there?” I twist a strand of hair around my finger. “Maybe some company?”
“Thanks, but I’m all finished for the night.”
“Want to grab dinner? I’m itching for a slice of pizza.”
“Not tonight.”
“Come on. You need to eat.” I nudge him with my elbow, a feeble attempt at playfulness. “Gotta keep feeding those muscles.”
“Not tonight.”
He shuffles past me and that’s when I notice. A gasp leaves my lips as I grip onto his forearm. “Oh my God. TJ, your face.”
He pulls his hat down further, turning his face away. “It’s nothing.”
I stretch onto my toes to get a better look, clutching his face in my hands. His left eyelid, almost completely swollen shut, is a deep purple. There’s more bruising along his jaw and a gash on his top lip.
