Page 5

Chapter Four

Lux

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty Redwood Lane,” I mutter to myself, counting the houses with my finger. “Where the hell is forty-one?”

I drop the package on the grass and stretch my back, trying to wrap my mind around this. Crouching down, I double-check the address on the box.

Right. 41 Redwood Street.

Wait.

I glance up at the street sign hoping that I misread it. Redwood Lane. I swear that sign is mocking me.

I smack my forehead, groaning out loud. I’ve been wandering up and down this block for five minutes looking for a house that doesn’t exist.

Which city council member has so little imagination that we need to have both a Redwood Lane and a Redwood Street?

Grabbing the package, I march back to my car, grumbling under my breath. Miraculously, my little hunk of junk car starts on the first try and I plug the new address into my work phone. I triple-check the address this time and smack my head against the steering wheel.

Estimated time of arrival: 25 minutes.

It’s all the way on the other side of town. I glance back at the packages piled in my backseat wondering if I’m going to make it to Rocky’s by noon. No time to go home and change—again.

Today feels like there’s an angry gray storm cloud following me, messing up my mood. I can’t seem to chase it away. As I head north along the river, I practice my breathing techniques and mindfulness.

I’m grateful for this job. I’m grateful for my growing little savings jar. I’m happy to be alive.

I cross the bridge out of the city and into the suburbs, and my mood lifts a little. Turning onto Redwood Street, I realize it’s part of my favorite neighborhood.

The houses here are set back on manicured little lawns full of wildflower gardens and fruit trees. The homes are painted in different pastel hues and adorable little shops and cafes line the street. People stroll down sidewalks, pushing their babies or walking their dogs.

One day, I’m going to own a house here. One day.

I pull up to the address and sprint across their lawn, tossing the package on the porch. I stop to admire the quaint little neighborhood and can’t help but smile. It’s so quaint and quirky.

Just as quickly, my smile fades away as goosebumps break out over my skin. The hair on my arms stands up, sending shivers through my body.

There it is again, that feeling. I spin around, glancing up and down the street, but no one seems to be paying me any attention. Why does it feel so eerie then? Like someone’s watching me?

I jog back to my car, locking the doors as soon as I get in. I check the backseat and realize I’m being paranoid—but that feeling lingers. With one final glance around, I pull my car out of the driveway and head back to the city.

Luck is on my side for the first time in days and I manage to deliver the last three packages with half an hour to spare. Since I don’t have enough time to go home and change for my shift at Rocky’s, I figure I’ll just show up early.

Maybe I can convince Rocky to make me a burger for lunch. The coffee I had earlier was heaven on earth, but I need something more substantial in my system.

I take the side streets to the shop, opening my windows and letting the warm air hit me. Early April in the city is my favorite time. The mornings are chilly, the afternoons sunny, and cherry blossom trees bloom on every block.

I’m so lost in the beauty of the city that I barely process the red and blue lights flashing behind me. The siren wails, making me jump, and I realize the squad car is riding my ass. I quickly pull over and turn off my car.

Did I run a stop sign? Was I driving fast? God, I really wasn’t paying attention.

I watch the cop climb out of his car in my side-view mirror and pray it’s just a routine safety stop or something.

“Morning, ma’am.”

“Hi, officer,” my voice squeaks. I clear my throat and try again. “Am I in trouble?”

“License and registration, please.”

I pop open my glovebox, my hands shaking, and give him the papers. A ticket is the last thing I need right now. I silently send a prayer up to the universe to give me a break for once.

He squints at my documents, taking his leisurely time while I tuck my sweaty palms under my thighs. Without a word, he passes them back to me and heads back to his vehicle. I let go of the breath I was holding—maybe this is a good sign?

When I see him strolling back with a traffic ticket in his hands, I almost burst into tears. I refuse to be the girl who cries her way out of a ticket so I pull myself together.

“You ran a red back there, did you know that?”

“What? I’m so sorry,” I sputter, shaking my head. “That light’s been out for weeks. I just got used to going through…”

“Well,” he grins, passing me the ticket. “It’s fixed now. Eyes on the road next time, hmm?”

I grab the ticket, seeing the hundred-dollar fine, and my eyes well up with tears. I nod and he saunters away from me. Deep breaths, Lux. Deep breaths.

Maybe if I eat a big lunch at Rocky’s every day, I can skip groceries this week and pay the ticket. I nod to myself, approving my own decision. That’s exactly what I’ll do.

I drive the rest of the way to the shop in a state of hypervigilance, sticking to the speed limit exactly. I wait too long at every stop sign and double-check the traffic light color before proceeding. By the time I arrive, I’m ten minutes late.

Groaning in frustration, I pull around to the back alley and park. Rocky’s outside, leaning against the building, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“I’m so sorry!” I yell, tumbling out of my car. I duck back inside to grab my purse and slam the door shut. “I got pulled over…totally my fault, but I wasn’t…”

“It’s fine, Luxy,” Rocky assures me. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth again but shuts it.

I give him a questioning look, but he just shakes his head.

“Is it busy in there? Is Lana pissed at me?” I ask, talking a million miles a minute as I stride into the kitchen. Rocky follows me silently. “I’m only ten minutes late, I’ll make it up to her. Hey, if it’s not busy, can I make a sandwich really quick? I’m starving.”

I toss my purse onto an empty stool and tie my apron around my waist.

“Lux, sit down. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“But should I check with Lana if…”

“Sit.”

Weird . Okay, well I’m never going to turn down food. I plop down on a stool and watch Rocky as he chops tomatoes.

Something’s off. He seems nervous like he’s battling a war in his mind.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

He slams the knife down on the cutting board, frustrated. “Why didn’t you tell me someone died in my shop the other day?”

“Oh shit…”

“That’s right, oh shit,” he says, blowing out an irritated breath. “Luxy, these are the kinds of things you’re supposed to tell me.”

“I’m so sorry.” I hop up, rushing around the counter toward him. “I swear I was going to tell you and then the place got insanely busy and it just flew out of my head and…”

“Stop,” he holds up his hand, his voice softening. “I know you have a lot going on, but this was a pretty big fuck-up.”

“You’re right, it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“No, it won’t.” He takes a deep breath, turning back to the cutting board. “You’re fired.”

It takes me a moment to process those words. I stare at his hands, chopping vegetables, trying to work my mind around what he just said. Fired .

“Rocky…”

“No,” he cuts me off, his voice breaking. “You know I like you Lux, but the death thing and you being late a lot recently, I just…I need someone more…reliable.”

I bite back a sob, swallowing it down hard.

“I’m sorry.” He finally looks at me, his face conflicted. “It’s my final decision.”

He quickly wraps up a sandwich and hands it to me. I take it gratefully, shoving it in my purse.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I slink out the back door. I don’t look back. Rocky’s wasn’t the best money, but it was something. And Rocky was a damn good boss.

I climb into my car, shut the door, and melt into my seat. Closing my eyes, I lean back against the headrest and try to sort out the negative thoughts swirling around my brain.

How am I going to pay that ticket?

Never mind that, how am I going to pay my rent?

There’s always the savings jar. No, not the savings jar.

No matter what happens, I promised myself I wouldn’t dip into that money. I take a deep breath and wipe away a few rogue tears, resolving to spend the afternoon looking for a new job.

The drive home is miserable. My tank is almost empty when I park behind my building, and I take a deep breath before pulling out my wallet. I thumb through all of my tips for the week—$157. My bank account has exactly enough to pay my rent and utilities.

So that means $100 for the ticket. Fifty for gas. Seven to survive.

I climb out of the car, ignoring the persistent nagging feeling that someone’s watching me. Although my stomach roils with nerves, that’s the least of my problems right now.

Upstairs, I pull out the sandwich from Rocky’s and sit on my counter to eat it. My apartment looks like a warzone from the break-in the other night. I survey the scene, estimating how much time it’ll take me to clean this up.

The strangest thing is that they didn’t take anything. Not that there’s anything worthwhile to steal, but my laptop sits on the couch where I left it. My savings jar is still hidden in the corner under my bed, all the money accounted for.

Why would someone go through the trouble of breaking in and not take anything?

It seems counterproductive. Maybe they saw my abysmal living conditions and took pity on me. I snort at the thought, hopping down from the counter.

I spend the next two hours in a cleaning daze and then flop down on my floor, exhausted. I grab my laptop down from the couch and flip it open. Job hunting has to be one of my least favorite activities, but it’s practically my only hobby at this point.

I gaze longingly at the blank canvases lining my wall. My fingers itch with the desire to paint. To create something beautiful. But there’s no time for that.

Sighing, I pull up the job listings and scroll half-heartedly, saving a few. After a few hours of doom-scrolling job postings, I shower and get ready for The Velvet Room.

I slip on my tiniest pair of shorts and a crop top, hating myself a little bit. Pimping myself out makes me feel all kinds of vile, but I need to make as much as I can tonight. I sigh and pull on my boots.

Please universe, don’t let anything else go wrong today. Please.

I drive to work, refusing to risk another night walking across the city because the buses can’t seem to run on schedule. My tank is dangerously low, but I get to The Velvet Room just fine. I cruise up and down the street, searching for parking.

Once I’m parked, I head up the street, delighted that I’m a few minutes early. Maybe I can duck into the alley for a much-needed cigarette before I go in.

As I’m reminding myself that I need to quit—not just for my health, but also for my wallet—Carlo rounds the corner, almost crashing right into me.

“Mr. Mancini!” I say, stepping back. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“That’s fine, Lux.” He smooths down his jacket. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, and you?” I glance around nervously. Carlo has always made me feel a bit jittery, like I can’t fully trust him. Even though we’re right outside the club, in plain sight, tension crawls up my back.

He lightly rests his hand on my shoulder, grinning down at me. “Much better now that one of my best girls is here.”

I throw him a mega-watt fake smile. Carlo hitting on me outside of work is gross, yes, but there’s no way I’m shutting him down—I need this job more than ever.

“Thanks, Mr. Mancini,” I say softly, winking at him. “I should get inside and do prep.”

He nods, sending me on my way, and continues down the street to his sports car. I thought Carlo was the reason my stomach felt weird and the hairs on the back of my neck rose, but even alone, the feeling lingers.

I sweep my gaze up and down the street. Nothing out of the usual. People come and go from restaurants and cafes to bars and clubs. The downtown core is busy, thriving tonight.

But I feel it still.

Someone’s out there. And they’re watching me.