Page 3 of Twisted Trust

“Oh, you know. Exactly like the ones in your books. Big and green and so, so smelly! This one also had a lot of trouble standing up straight so it was pretty easy to take it down.”

“Wow,” he breathes and then he presses a wet kiss to my cheek. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

His hunger admission turns into cranky complaining less than five minutes later and by the time we reach my car, he’s on the verge of a full-blown over-tired meltdown.

I hold it off by driving him to a local fast food place, and blissful silence descends as he stuffs his face with a mini-cheeseburger and a handful of fries.

I settle for just a coffee.

It’s all I can afford, and the judgmental glances from child-free assholes walking past kind of kills my appetite.

Two types of people exist in Las Vegas—the people like me who scrape by on every last cent because the cost of living is so high that every dollar is immediately swallowed by bills, or the rich assholes who think they’re better than everyone else with thousands to blow at the roulette table.

I wouldn’t mind being like the second type.

Scott eats in blissful, cheesy silence, and I enjoy it until my phone jingles in my pocket.

Easing myself out of the booth, I walk a few steps away and keep one eye fixed on Scott as I answer.

“Hello?”

“Maeve!” The fuzzy, comforting voice of my neighbor Cameron buzzes down the line. “Sorry to call you like this, but I knocked on your door and you didn’t answer.”

“I’m out at McDonald’s,” I reply. “Sorry, I’m not home right now.”

“You’re fine, you’re fine.”

“Is something wrong? I’m like a block away so I can be there in two minutes.”

“Don’t be silly.” Cameron chuckles. “I just madewaytoo much pasta tonight so I thought I’d share while it’s hot. Don’t stress. I’ll store it and bring it round to you later.”

“Thanks, Cameron.” For some reason, even that simple act of kindness is enough to bring an unexpected burst of warmth to my eyes.

“You good?” Cameron’s soft voice immediately turns concerned. “You don’t sound good.”

“Long day,” I groan.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Scott’s happy munching on his fries so I keep my voice low and immediately surge into a ten-minute rant about the assholes from work, the lack of reading comprehension in the majority of my clients, and the disaster at the activity center.

Cameron is as sweet as ever and provides just the right amount of hums and listening noises to make me feel heard right up until the end of my rant.

“Shit,” Cameron murmurs. “I thought my day was bad with stale cheese. I’m sorry, Mae. What are you going to do?”

“I have no clue,” I mutter, briefly closing my eyes. “I can’t afford to find another activity center. That one was perfect because it was so close to his school and they handled transportation. I can pay them when I get paid in two weeks, but until then…”

“Can you take Scott to work with you?”

I squint at my son who yawns widely and abandons his last handful of fries. “I could, but it’s hardly the greatest environment for a child.”

“Do you want me to watch him?” Cameron offers.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering.”

“But for two weeks?”