Page 83 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

Jumping down out of the van, I wait on the sidewalk as his taillights turn a corner down the road. I love the guy, but it felt like I couldn’t breathe in there. I know he means well, and he isn’t trying to blame me, but I know he secretly blames Key. And right at this moment? So do I. Not for the songs. I don’t think I could ever believe One-Punch Logan is telling the truth. But for taking off? Where the hell did that fucker go?

And why did he feel the need to run fromme?

CHAPTER21

Maneater

DUSTY

Ihip-check my apartment door closed, the carton of eggs at the top of my grocery bag nearly tumbling to the linoleum floor. I’m exhausted. I had to go shopping after work or I’d have nothing to eat, and now I’d rather just hole up in my apartment with Stella and recharge. I’m unloading a loaf of bread out of the brown paper bag and setting it on the counter when there’s a knock on my door. Who the hell is here?

“Hello?” I call, thinking maybe I misheard, but a croaky voice answers.

“Hey darlin’, it’s Doris.”

Laundromat Doris?

I cross the room to find Doris, the change lady from downstairs, in front of my door. “Oh, hello.”

“Good, you’re home. Now come collect your boyfriend.”

I blink and let out a nervous laugh. “Wh-what?”

She shuffles toward the stairs. “Your boyfriend. He’s been here all night and it’s starting to affect my business.”

What the hell is she talking about? I reluctantly follow her, asking, “Are you saying Joel is downstairs? Why’s he here?”

We reach the landing and she opens the side door into the laundromat. “Maybe you should ask him that.”

I follow her gaze to the man in question, asleep and curled up on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area. His black boots are under him, his arms wrapped around his knees, which are tucked up under his chin. As I walk over, a sense of dread fills my empty stomach.

“Joel?” I ask, placing my hand gently on his shoulder.

He startles awake, body jerked upright, and he has to slam his booted feet onto the floor to steady himself. Wide-eyed, he looks up at me, then squints against the lights. “Dusty?”

“What are you doing here?”

He gives his head a little shake, then stands. “I, uh . . .”

“Ahem.”

The two of us turn to see Doris frowning, then with one neon blue–tipped finger nail, she gestures to the door. I roll my eyes, grab Joel by the hand, and pull him behind me. “Come on,” I say.

“She’s quite possibly the most unpleasant person I’ve ever met,” Joel mutters.

“You should see her if she catches you using fake coins in her machines,” I say.

We stop on the landing outside of my apartment and Joel raises an eyebrow. “People do that?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “Me.”

The classical music I left on before I went to work last night is still playing softly when we cross the threshold.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look terrible. Are you okay?” I ask, cocking my head. He seems tired. And sad.

He closes his eyes and rests his head back against my door. “Not really.”

Apparently both of the men in my life are going through a tough time. What are the odds?

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