Page 24 of Love in Pieces

“Why?” he asks immediately.

“You said one question,” I assert, but for some reason, I’m compelled to answer even though I don’t fully know the answer. “It’s ... complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

Complicated indeed. He wouldn’t understand how furious Sam gets about the smallest things. He wouldn’t understand the things Sam can, and would, do when he gets that mad. He wouldn’t understand why I’ve stayed with him after all of that. The fear. The anxiety. How completely immobilized I feel every day. And he wouldn’t understand how numb I feel amid all these emotions. How normal this feels.

He adjusts his sitting position, probably getting uncomfortable on the hard concrete. “It doesn’t have to be. Relationships shouldn’t be complicated.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “They should be the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you. You should feel loved. Wanted.Needed.They’re not meant to be easy, but they shouldn’t be agonizing either.”

His words replay in my head. My mind doesn’t seem to take the hint. “I’m ready to go home,” I breathe. He sighs but stands up anyway.

The drive is silent. Streets sit mostly vacant this morning. Trees wave in the slight breeze. My heart begs for help, but my head screams to “stay in line” as Sam has told me so many times before. What I do know is for the first time in a very long time, Dallas made me feel seen.

?CHAPTER 8

Dallas

Watching Abby walkup the steps to her apartment building alone sends my mind racing, along with my pulse. I know she said Sam isn’t home and won’t be for two weeks, but I’ve gathered enough information to realize he dictates her with a sharp tongue and tight fist. I’m worried about her, even if he isn’t there. Sam scares me. Not in a way that I’m afraid he’d hurt me, but in a way that makes me worry he’d hurt Abby. He’s unstable and unsatisfiable.

The glass door closes, and I find myself a little relieved that I can still see her figure moving farther into the building down the long hall. When she disappears around a corner, I keep my eyes trained on that spot for a few moments longer before turning my attention to my phone, waiting for her text. The second my phone buzzes, I’m checking the screen before the vibration has ended.

A: Made it home.

D: Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything.

I head home to get ready for work, trying my hardest to push my nerves down but failing miserably. Something about this whole situation feels off—more than the obvious abuse.

As I pull into the parking lot of Landry’s, I take a heavy breath, trying to relieve myself of the stress from the last twenty-four hours. This is not the time to try processing everything right now, especially my father. Just thinking about him makes my blood boil. With another deep breath, I pull myself out of my car and make my way inside. If I can keep my head down and just do the work tonight, I’ll be able to make this day go by faster and keep myself relaxed. Maybe working a double today won’t be so bad. Maybe it’ll help keep the hours moving quickly. Just maybe.

Not two seconds after walking through the front door, Aubrey calls from across the bar “Dallas! There you are. Thank God, you’re early. Shelby called in, and I’ve been the only one prepping all morning, Also, to top it off, Dylan called in for tonight, so it’s just going to be you and I back here. Can you please clock in a little early?”

So much for a chill workday. Although, being busy has its benefits, too. My head falls back, and I let myself have a little tantrum before clocking in and getting to work. As I cut the lemons, fill the colorful straws, and roll the silverware, only a few stragglers appear for a morning beer. By four, tables teem with college kids, and every seat at the bar is taken. Students shoot their shots with whoever is willing. The soloist for the night keeps everyone happy. So far, I’ve managed to keep myself busy and avoid Aubrey’s conversations altogether. It’s been too busy between us for even an incidental conversation that doesn’t revolve around who’s grabbing the next set of glasses from the back or which brand of vodka needs to be replaced.

As the night rolls on, I sweep the tips into my apron pocket, the weight of it making my spirits lighter. It’s easy to make a few extra bucks in tips when I can put on a bit of a show while mixing drinks. Working my way closer to closing time with my sanity in check proved easier than expected today.

The last drunken college girls leave, giggling as they walk out the door. One of them almost trips over the threshold. Greg steadies her with a hand on her elbow, but she seems to think he’s making a move on her. He laughs, a deep bellow, before slowly closing the door and locking it. He glowers at me when I can’t hold back a snort.

Aubrey smirks at him while she wipes down the bar. “What a night.” She pauses her cleaning when she reaches my section, waiting until Greg disappears into the back. “You feel like playing tonight?” she asks quietly, poking my arm a few times.

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