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“He’s long gone. He was gone the minute Olivia gave birth to Alex, and the minute I brought my baby back to this town. I don’t want or need a woman.”
“Fine,” Savage says, “but I heard something interesting about her today.”
“Fucking Chatty Cathy over here,” I mutter, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge and handing it to him. I get one for myself as well, even though I don’t usually drink during the week. I pop the tab because I need this tonight.
Savage downs some beer then lets out a burp and grins. “I heard through the Heatstroke grapevine that she’s looking for work.”
I don’t react.
“June Jackson is as broke as the day she left Heatstroke. She’s staying with her mother,” Savage says, “right next door.”
Not reacting is getting increasingly difficult.
“She needs help,” Savage says. “And her mother does too.”
I never liked June’s mother. She’s always been a taker, and June bent over backward to please her all through high school because of what Patricia put her through after her father left.
“Not my problem,” I say, and the words feel so much like bullshit it must show on my face. Savage laughs again.
“Whatever you say, man.” Savage downs the rest of the beer and crushes the can, leaving it on the table like the asshole he is. “See you tomorrow. Try not to drown in your grumpy-ass sorrows while I’m gone.”
I flip him off as he leaves. The screen door slams. His motorcycle starts up a couple of minutes later and growls away.
June Jackson needs work.
You’re insane if you do this. You’ve lost your mind.
I’ve spent the day trying not to think about her. But knowing she’s next door is painful. Knowing she needs help is worse. She needs help, and so do I, and if I can’t find a nanny within the next twenty-four hours, I’m fucked.
I push my chair back, leaving my beer on the table. Alex is sprawled on the sofa.
“I’m going next door,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay! But Dad, you’ve got to see this when you get back. BeysPlays found this secret tunnel in BingeCraft, and it’s not even like a game mod or something.” Her expression is deathly serious. “Can you watch with me?”
“Minute I get back,” I say, even though I have no idea what the hell any of that meant.
And then I step out into the hot summer’s night and turn toward June’s house.
Seven
JUNE
My mother is already upstairsin bed after a dinner of boxed mac ’n’ cheese. She doesn’t like to cook, and I’m pooped after the drive and the surround-sound Braydon phone sex-betrayal extravaganza.
Seeing Cash was weird too. Like a blast from the past I didn’t want or ask for. God knows, the last thing I need is to get all twisted up about him again.
I sit on the sofa in the living room, trying to summon life from my mom’s old laptop.
“The plan,” I murmur, determined to stay positive. “Focus on the plan.”
Design and print out a few flyers to put up around town. Find a job. Save money. Get the hell out of Heatstroke. Follow my dreams for the first time ever.
We’ll call it theyassificationof June. The extended uncut movie version.
As a corollary to my list: never let a man tell me what I can and can’t do ever again, whether implied or directly.
A knock rattles the front door, and I frown, glancing through to the entrance hall of my childhood home. The wooden floors with their creaks in specific spots, and the old family picture of my mom and me, Olivia hovering in the background.
