Page 3 of Daddy’s Muse (Bloody Desires #12)

It’d opened every day at 6 a.m. for the past forty years. Most of the seats in the mornings were filled with coal miners; then the crowd shifted to elderly folk for most of the day, ending with college students needing food to fill their bellies, either before or after partying the night away.

I clocked in behind the register and tied my apron around my waist.

Mae caught sight of me from the kitchen window, her dark curls pulled into their usual messy bun, face shiny with the heat from the grill. She waved a spatula in my direction with a grin on her face.

“Colby,” she called, voice hoarse from a thousand cigarettes and a thousand early mornings. “You’re early, baby.”

“Didn’t sleep much,” I said, offering a small smile. She gave me the look of a disappointed mother.

“You know, you don’t gotta keep pushing yourself this hard,” she said, disappearing back into the kitchen. “You work harder than half the full-timers, and you’re juggling school on top of it. That’s not nothing. You’re gonna burn yourself out sooner or later.”

I ducked my head, cheeks heating. “I don’t really have a choice,” I murmured.

She poked her head back out, narrowing her eyes at me. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I can’t worry about ya.” She clicked her tongue at me. “But you’re a good boy, Colby. Hope you know that. There’s a breakfast sandwich with your name on it by the waffle irons. Take a minute to eat up.”

I picked up the sandwich gratefully, the warmth soaking into my fingers. “Thanks, Mae.”

She waved me off like it embarrassed her. “Don’t thank me, just eat. Gotta have you ‘round to deal with Ernie anyway.” Ernie, one of our regulars, spluttered, choking on his coffee, and flipped Mae off.

Mae chuckled and returned her focus to the griddle.

I smiled more genuinely this time, unwrapping the sandwich and leaning against the counter as I took a bite. My body was already aching, and I had barely started the day.

I glanced out the front window as I chewed, getting the prickling feeling of being watched.

But the sidewalk was empty.

Must have just been someone walking by.

I shrugged, swallowing down the rest of the sandwich. That hit the spot.

I tossed the sandwich wrapper in the trash and headed toward the coffee pots.

They were already half-empty, so I poured a fresh carafe and swapped it out, wiping my hands on my apron after.

My eyes stung, the backs of them heavy with the same throbbing pressure that’d been lingering for weeks.

I pressed my fists against my closed eyelids for just a moment to get a tiny bit of relief.

Moving behind the counter to start on dishes from the last shift, I grabbed a hot plate too quickly and hissed, jerking my hand back. “Fu-dge,” I muttered under my breath, shaking out my fingers.

The burn wasn’t bad, but was just enough to sting and remind me I’d skipped dinner last night in favor of finishing a paper, and that maybe I shouldn’t be handling boiling-hot ceramic while running on three hours of restless sleep and dollar store granola bars.

I ran my hand quickly under cold water and dabbed it dry with a paper towel.

I’d need to restock on bandages. My fair skin was so sensitive that it was practically guaranteed that each burn I got, no matter how minor, would blister and get all gross.

Then, even when the top layer of skin closed up, I’d be sporting a purple-red mark for at least a month.

That was, if I was good and didn’t pick at it while it was healing.

Which, well… I wasn’t the best at remembering not to scratch…

The bell above the door jingled again, letting in another customer ready for breakfast. It’d become instinct lately for my eyes to jump onto every newcomer.

I wasn’t sure when I’d started feeling… watched.

Not constantly, and not in any way I could prove. It was more like a shadow trailing the edge of my vision, or a prickling across the back of my neck when I walked to class. It was a feeling that made me glance over my shoulder, only to find no one there.

Paranoia, I told myself. That’s what it was.

Probably just a side effect of being utterly exhausted and stressed out.

When I got like this, which was more often than not these days, my thoughts would spiral—turning every flickering light or creaking floorboard into something sinister, something I needed to run away from.

I’d always had a vivid imagination ever since I was a kid. It didn’t help to grow up hearing all of the Appalachian folk stories of monsters and ghosts and creepy evil things that lived in the mountains.

But now that vivid imagination was going haywire, probably from how terribly I’d been taking care of myself.

Still… I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was paying a little too much attention to me lately, like someone was always just out of sight.

I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone because what would I even say?

More than that, I guess, is who I would mention it to.

I didn’t have anyone. Sure, I had Mae, but I didn’t want her to think I was going crazy and fire me.

I had my tutoring clients, but those weren’t relationships where I could just come out and say that I feel like something’s always watching me.

They’d probably find another tutor and possibly report me to the school.

I didn’t want to even think about the consequences of the university finding me mentally unstable.

I couldn’t afford to waste my time in mandatory counseling or whatever.

Not that counseling is a waste of time! Honestly, I probably did need it, but it would cut into my work hours, and I was already barely surviving as it was.

If I lost a few hours of wages each week, that would probably be the end of me.

I shook my head and forced a breath out through my nose, rubbing my temples. I didn’t have time to entertain weird trains of thought. The breakfast crowd would soon be in full swing, and I still needed to refill the sugar caddies and double-check the condiments.

Work kept my hands busy, at least. And when my hands were busy, my thoughts stayed quieter.

If I could just make it through the day without messing anything else up, that’d be enough.