Page 77 of Fighting for You
Hayes: Also, I got the stuff you wanted set up at the trailer. Installed one of my tattoo tables, hope that works.
1/3 8:14 p.m.
Jan: Hey, are you feeling any better? Do you need someone to cover your other shifts this week? Let me know!
My phone vibrates on the nightstand again. I don’t know what day it is at this point. My blackout shades block outmost of the sunlight, I can’t even be sure of the time of day. Besides a few bathroom breaks and running downstairs to grab some crackers and water—which is about all I can stomach—I’ve stayed barricaded in my room.
I know this isn’t sustainable, but just the thought of going outside, him watching me, causes the panic to rise again. The last time I felt this kind of terror, I ran here. Where could I possibly go now? If he followed me here, he’ll follow me anywhere.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brooks
“Hey, Brooks, can you run the food to table five? Tiff just got a ten-top,” Thea says as she comes around the corner. It’s been a busy lunch rush, Saturdays usually are. I’ve been trying to help out wherever I can since our tastings don’t start until this afternoon.
“Yeah, of course.” Things have been awkward with Tiffany since Christmas. She’s barely spoken to me, and I’m sure she’ll be pissed I’m helping her out. Placing the glass I was drying back on the counter, I throw the towel over my shoulder and head for the kitchen. Travis has been gone a little over a week now. I didn’t see him much before he left, but I’m glad I got the chance to say goodbye before he took off. We’d seen each other at RED a few times in his last couple of weeks but not much. From what I’ve heard, he’s doing well in Seattle. The staff there is loving him, no surprise.
It’s weird having Cary as the head chef here, but it also feels right. And Thea has never been happier which makes me happy.
There’ve been whispers around town about her and Ripley; people speculating what happened and why she was so quick to leave him. Any time it’s been brought up in front of me, Ripley always shrugs and says something about never standing a chance against true love. A couple of times, I’ve jumped in and told them how I’ve “been there” to help sell the story, bumping shoulders with him in solidarity. Then there’s usually a round of pity glances, and he has to cut them off and tell them he and Thea are still best friends, and he’s happy for her—things he shouldn’t have to say. But he’s not ready to tell the whole town about his sexuality, and I respect that.
Seeing Cary in his element is awesome though. I always knew he loved being in the kitchen, but I never got to witness Chef Cary. The second he puts his apron on, his whole demeanor changes. My reserved brother dissipates, replaced by a very serious take-no-shit kitchen manager. He looks up from the dish he’s preparing as I walk up to the window.
I quickly scan the orders for table five. “You grabbing Tiffany’s?” Cary asks, most of his attention still focused on the plate in front of him.
“Yeah, she got a ten-top, so Thea asked me to take it. Is it all ready?”
He reaches for a garnish to place on the dish then lifts it up into the window. “It is now.” The smirk he’s wearing is contagious. I honestly love seeing him so happy.
I reach over and grab a tray to start loading up the orders. Once I feel they’re all secure, I walk over to table five with the tray stand in hand.
“I heard you guys were hungry,” I say in a teasing tone. As I pass out the food, there’s comments all around about how good it all looks.
It’s not that Travis wasn’t a good chef, but Cary has elevated everything. He’s brought a new level of sophistication to theplace with his big city experience. We’ve never gotten as many raving reviews as we have in the last few days.
I make sure the table is set and no one needs anything before I walk back to the kitchen. Tiffany sees me and instead of thanking me for covering her table, she scowls and heads in the opposite direction. I suppose I deserve that. It’ll take a while before she forgives me. I just need her to be civil while we’re here. The last thing I need is Thea on my ass about upsetting her staff, she already gave me the I-told-you-so lecture about fucking her employees when I got here this morning
Speak of the devil. “So, Brooks, have you heard from Margot?” Thea asks as she walks up beside me. Cary perks up from behind the window at the question.
I take a deep breath, blowing it out dramatically. “No, I told you at Christmas that I fuc—messed things up,” I explain, catching myself before getting scolded by Thea for cussing where customers could hear.
Her face scrunches up in confusion. “What? No, I mean because she hasn’t been at work. I wondered if you’d heard from her. On New Year’s Day, one of the nurses told my mom she was sick, but I went to her house to drop off soup a couple days ago, and she didn’t come to the door. Plus, she hasn’t answered in our group chat.”
The back of my neck prickles with anxiety. “No one has seen or talked to her?”
Thea shakes her head, and it’s all I need to lose my shit. I throw the towel down on the counter and turn to walk away.
“Brooks! Where are you going?” Thea shouts.
“To check on her. I’ll text you.” I don’t wait for a response as I push through the door leading to the distillery. I grab my keys and wallet from the back room and sprint to my bike.
I know I’m leaving Thea during a rush, but something is wrong—I can feel it. The second she said Margot didn’t answerher door, I got a gnawing feeling in my gut. I’d never forgive myself if something was wrong and I didn’t check on her. And if she’s fine, I’ll take the opportunity to apologize in person since she never responded to my text on New Year’s.
As I ride toward Southbury, I ignore every speed limit sign. The sinking feeling in my stomach doesn’t give two shits about breaking the law right now. And if a cop sees me, I’ll make him follow me to her house in case I need him there, then he can write me a ticket.
The wind bites at my cheeks as I race down the back roads. I’m only a few minutes from her house now, and my mind is going through all the possibilities of what could be wrong. Maybe she’s just really sick. That’s the most logical thing. But according to Thea, she’s been out of work since at least New Year’s Eve. Being too sick to check your phone for five days is unlikely. The thought only makes me spiral into the less logical reasons. Like what if she hurt herself somehow and couldn’t call for help? What if she was kidnapped? What if her house was broken into and she was hurt? There are too many what ifs that would leave me broken if they turned out to be true. It can’t be any of those, it just can’t.
As I turn down her street, I see her car in the driveway. I can’t decide if it makes me feel better or worse. I park my bike beside the car, lowering the kickstand as I look for anything out of the ordinary around the house. Everything looks normal.
