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Damn the lump in my throat. I unlock my phone and skim through my emails. My accountant has made things pretty clear. If we can’t figure out a way to drum up money, the diner isn’t going to last much longer.
I yawn, because last night wasn’t exactly the best night. Skinny dipping was fun, Taylor seeing me naked wasn’t, and then there is the stolen car issue to deal with. If he came in here and gave me stick about it, I?—
“Marci.”
My brother’s voice lifts my gaze.
Billy’s got a walnut brown tan and wrinkles creasing his forehead. He’s younger than me, but he looks older, and he flashes me a grin that lasts a millisecond. Blond hair like our mother.
“Billy.”
He holds up his palms. “Woah. What did I do?”
“What did you do?” I pocket my phone. “Let’s see, huh, what about the fact that you gave me astolencar for starters? How about that?”
He pales, scratching the back of his neck. “Stolen?”
“Don’t act the fool, Billy Walsh. You stole a car and gave it to me, and I nearly got arrested for it.”
“You didn’t tell them it was me, did you?”
I glare at my brother.
It’s always been like this with us. Billy struggling and me trying to help him get his life together. He’s the only blood family I have left, and I can’t pretend we had a normal childhood.
But there are only so many excuses.
“Billy, you’ve got to get your shit together,” I say. “Otherwise, you can’t come around here anymore.”
“What? To the diner?”
“That’s right,” I say.
Billy gnaws on his bottom lip. “I got… I need help.”
“Huh?”
“I—Marci, I’m in trouble, I think.”
“What was your first clue?” I ask. “The stolen car?”
That’s only the start of the list. Billy keeps promising me that he’s going to be better, try harder, but he winds up falling into old patterns, and it’s frustrating. Especially because I’m partly to blame.
“Not like that. I borrowed money from a guy.”
I groan, glancing sideways at Todd. My customer is focused on his eggs, but the folks in Heatstroke are always hungry for gossip.
I round the counter and bring Billy to one side. “What are you talking about?” I brush my hands off on my apron. “What guy? How much money?”
“He’s a guy who gives people money when they need it. You can call him Jonesy.”
Another scratch at the back of his neck. Billy’s green eyes flicker up to my face and away again, and I catch a tiny glimpse of my little brother in them.
“You’re going to have to give me more than that.”
“He gives good interest rates, but he doesn’t like it when people don’t give him the money back.”
“A loan shark,” I say flatly. “You borrowed money from a loan shark.”
