Page 22 of Steeped In Problems

He stood, the paper still in his hand, a wrinkled white flag of surrender. As he walked out the front door, he did his best to hold it together. He found a bench by the park and sat, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. He’d never failed at anything this badly.

Tanner stayed there until the sun went down. When he finally headed home, the shop was dark. Kristy’s car was still in the lot. He almost went back inside. Almost.

But he couldn’t face her. Not with his head and heart empty of platitudes.

He drove home in silence. His apartment was small, too clean, and colder than he remembered. He tossed his keys on the table and dropped into a chair. The Brave Badge reports, bills, and invoices littered the tabletop. He pushed them aside and found himself staring at an old photo in a cheap frame.

It was him, in uniform, standing next to the Chief and two of his old SAR buddies. They were grinning, wind-burned and alive. That was before the accident. Before everything changed.

He set the photo down, face down. He didn’t want to remember.

He thought about Kristy and Rhonda, and all the regulars who’d made the Brave Badge theirs. He thought about the emptyspace on Main Street if he lost the shop and how little there would be left for him here.

He laid his head on the table and closed his eyes. The shop would open tomorrow, and he’d have to face them all. But for tonight, he let himself wallow in his own defeat.

Chapter Seven

Kristy arrived at the Brave Badge an hour before opening; her optimism squashed flatter than the bagel she’d sat on in the car on the way over. The sky was still pink and groggy. Her breath fogged in the cold, even inside the Corolla, and she had to fumble her keys twice before the front door gave way.

She noticed nothing was done and made her way through the shop: lights, check. Tables and chairs, check. Cash register—wait. The register drawer was open, the small safe next to it ajar, a band of invoices coiled around the handle. Someone had been here before her. Only one person made sense.

She walked toward the back, every step a little heavier than the last. The office door was propped open by an empty crate, and inside, she found Tanner at the back, arms braced on the edge of his desk, head hanging between his shoulders. It was an odd pose. Not rage, not collapse. More like a boxer in his corner after too many rounds.

He didn’t notice her at first, so she watched. He kept folding and unfolding a single piece of paper, creasing it until the edges curled in. Next to him, a neat stack of documents—bills,contracts, a Brave Badge manual marked up in red ink. His phone lay face up, screen dark.

“Hey,” Kristy said, voice meant to be casual but coming out too loud. “Everything all right?”

Tanner jerked upright and almost knocked the crate with his foot. He forced a straight face, but the effect was ruined by the heavy bags under his eyes and the fact that he hadn’t shaved. “Yeah, just had some stuff to do.”

“You want coffee? I can start a batch.” She was already at the grinder, Daisy ready and waiting, as Tanner followed behind her.

“Don’t go to the trouble,” Tanner mumbled, but he said it too late, and she ignored him.

She poured beans into the hopper, each clatter too loud in the silent shop. Daisy whirred to life. Kristy stared at the wall as she worked, forcing her hands to move with the same precision as always. It was the only thing keeping her from asking the questions already boiling in her brain.

She finished two mugs, poured the first for him, and set it on the prep table with a careful slide. “Here, drink,” she ordered. “You look like you need it.”

He reached for the cup, knuckles white, and drank. Then he set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

She watched him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Just numbers.” He gestured to the stack.

“Okay,” she shrugged, but not moving. “Because yesterday you looked ready to throw someone through a window, and today you’re acting like you just got the news from the vet that your dog didn’t make it.”

He almost smiled, but not quite. “It’s not your problem, Kristy. You don’t have to fix everything.”

She shrugged. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever told me not to try fixing things.” She let the silence hang. “What’s wrong?”

Tanner stood there, jaw set, and she thought maybe he was going to clam up for good. Then he sighed and slid the wrinkled piece of paper her way. She took it. It was a statement from the bank. Overdrawn. Minus sign, three digits, more minus signs.

He didn’t say anything, so she picked up the rest of the stack. Rent invoice—three months behind. Supply invoice, overdue, with a red pen line through “net 30.” A memo from Brave Badge headquarters: “Evaluation period is two weeks. Failure to meet benchmarks will result in removal of branding.”

Kristy’s brain went white for a second like she’d gotten a faceful of snow. “Oh,” she murmured. “Wow. How long?—”

“I thought I could dig out,” Tanner said, and this time, his voice had an edge. “But sales never caught up, and I kept comping drinks for fellow first responders, and then that last freezer repair—” He snapped his fingers, abrupt. “Doesn’t matter. Emily said we’ve got until the end of the month, then Joe pulls the plug.”

Kristy looked at the top page, then the bottom. There was no hope buried in the middle, just more disappointment. “You should have said something,” she told him. “We could’ve tried something, I don’t know?—“

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