I find myself walking Austin out to his jeep at 5 A.M., groggy and practically swimming in one of his oversized Saints sweatshirts. Standing underneath the dim sky and the faint glow from a flickering street light to our left, we lean against the driver's side door wrapped up in each other's arms, anxiety and fear radiating off the both of us in waves.

Austin was nervous to reunite with his father for the first time, and I was nervous that he had to do it alone. Realistically, I knew hopping in the passenger seat and making the five hour drive to New Orleans wasn't possible, but it didn't stop me from wishing that it was. I made him promise that he'd call me with updates, and just to talk or rant or vent if he needed to, and he made me promise that I'd keep the deadbolt locked at all times the entire week he'd be gone.

Austin pulls me into his chest and plants a deep, sensual kiss on my lips, and with a sigh I reluctantly release my grip on his hoodie and step back. I feel like a little girl as I stand there in front of my door with a petulant frown on my lips, already missing him seconds after he pulls out of my driveway, his taillights glowing in the dark. As I lock the front door and make my way back to the comfort of my empty bed, eager to sleep the next few hours away until my shift at RJ's, I try to push away the fact that he'll be gone for a little while out of my mind. It's just for a week, I remind myself.

It doesn't work. My bed suddenly feels bigger, colder, lonelier without him in it. I'd gotten so used to sleeping with him wrapped around me each night that it feels wrong to be in bed by myself. And despite desperately needing as much beauty sleep as possible, hours later I find myself tossing and turning until my alarm finally goes off.

Sighing, I throw the comforter off of my body and stand. Sleep deprivation seeps into irritability, and I end up grumpily stomping to the bathroom without even realizing it. I quickly wash my face, brush my teeth, run a brush through my hair, and pile it in a low, messy bun, tendrils messily framing my face. I don't even bother with my usual application of concealer and a swipe of mascara, not feeling it for today and not giving a single fuck.

I hastily pull on my casual work uniform, my RJ's t-shirt feeling snug against my chest, which is sure to make me swelter as I work near the kitchen all day. Feeling lazy, I grab a pop tart from the pantry and throw it in my purse, deciding that I'll eat it on my walk to work.

After grabbing my purse and locking up, I start my walk to work, hoping my bad mood will eventually fade away.

——

Work is a shit show.

I can't remember the last time RJ's was this slammed. Alongside Sidney and three other girls who typically work opposite hours but were called in as reinforcements, we're all kept busy from start to finish as we tame the ever-growing crowd of Memphis regulars as well as hungry tourists who just stepped off of Beale Street. Every hour I attempt to reel in my grimace, my customer service facade slowly slipping by the second as my skin grows hot and sticky and my feet throb in my sneakers.

Cashing out a boisterous family of four, who's order got mixed up not once, but twice, thus resulting in only a two dollar tip (even though it wasn't my fault, I swear), I hand over their receipt with a flat stare and promptly throw myself against the counter with a heavy sigh the minute they scramble away.

"Hanging in there?" One of the waitresses, an older woman I never cared to learn the name of, asks, loudly snapping her gum.

I laugh grimly, muttering a ragged "Barely," under my breath.

Closing my eyes, I stretch my neck, lazily rolling it across my shoulders. I pause when my phone vibrates in my apron; thinking it may be Austin I pull it out, only to frown when I see "Unknown Caller" flashing across the screen. My brows furrow in confusion, irritation passing through me that the name I wanted to see on my phone isn't there. I immediately hit decline and stow my phone away, an indignant pout crossing my lips before I can stop it.

I'm pathetic.

I've become the very thing I tried so hard not to be, in love.

Love. A relationship. The one damn thing I refused to engage in.

But it's Austin. Walking away was never an option. Not that he would've even let me. He's a persistent man, if you haven't noticed.

"Here," Sidney suddenly appears beside me, plopping a plate down in front of me. "Eat some pie. You're not you when you're hungry."

I roll my eyes but pick up the fork she hands me. "I wasn't hungry, but thanks."

Sidney snorts. "No, just lonely."

Ugh.

"Is he meeting his dad today?" She asks, intercepting my fork with her own.

Nerves fill my stomach and my hand twitches, wanting to go to my apron and call him, eager to know how he's doing, what he's feeling. Like I said, pathetic. I'm aware.

"No, tomorrow," I answer. "He's planning on staying for the week to help get him settled in."

"Can't imagine how he must feel. Never would've guessed Austin's past is as muddled as it is. He just always seems like he has it together, ya know? Well, more than the rest of us at least," She rambles, licking at a dollop of whipped cream on her thumb.

"Yeah," I say quietly. Which is why I'm worried, I think to myself.

Peeling back Austin's layers has allowed me to see that he puts on a strong front, just like me. We're both plagued by skeletons in our closets yet if someone were to ask if we had any, we'd deny it til we're blue in the face. I think that's why we mesh so well. We get each other. Lord knows Austin never lets me deflect, always insisting that I'm straightforward and tell him what's up. Without even meaning to, I've done the same to him.

When you care about someone, no, when you love someone, you want nothing more than to know everything about them, to figure them out, to help them.

And it's fucking terrifying.

My heart skips a beat, a sudden thought crossing my mind. Every person in my life that I've loved, I've tried to take care of. I've worked my ass off to help them, putting their needs before my own. Am I doing the same with Austin? Will I give him my all until I have nothing left, only for him to up and leave me like everyone else?

I close my eyes and shove the plate of half-eaten pie away, my appetite gone and my brain at war with itself. My conscious reels, my anxiety trying to convince me of scenarios that may not even be true, but I'm powerless to stop them.

No, Austin wouldn't do that to me. He's not like my parents.

Right?

——

On my walk home, Savannah texts me that she's going to be late. I hate that she's eager to work overtime, but she genuinely seems to enjoy working, and she likes that she's contributing, so I step back and let her.

My head throbs, matching the ache in my sore feet. Even though it pains me, I walk a little faster, eager to fall back into bed and sleep this shitty day away. I mentally slap myself when my thoughts ponder to the fact that Austin hasn't called.

He's busy, you selfish bitch, I think. Give him some space. He'll call you when he's settled.

Scowling, I speed up, sighing when the house comes into view. I reach for my purse, attempting my find my key that seems to always find its way into a black hole as I bound up the porch steps. Finally feeling the cool metal in my palm, I glance up and freeze.

The front door is wide open. Upon closer inspection, I see that the deadbolt is busted and the chain is broken. I suck in a sharp breath, hesitantly pushing forward, even though common sense screams at me to stay put.

I step over the threshold, blindly reach for the light switch, and frown. Everything is in its place. Exactly how I left it this morning. Confused and shaken, I ease the door shut behind me. I carefully peer around the corner into the kitchen. Again, everything looks the same as it did before I left for work.

I throw my purse into the recliner and grip my cell phone in my hand, quietly tip-toeing down the hall. I peek into Savannah's room first. Empty. Mom's old room. Empty. I stop at mine, my heart hammering in my chest. I swing the door open and gasp.

My mattress lays tipped over, halfway against the wall. My comforter and sheets are thrown over the lamp on my nightstand. My closet is open, clothes strewn across the floor and the shelf up top completely bare. Snapping out of my stunned reverie, I walk to the nightstand and shuffle through the drawers. I don't keep much in here, a habit I picked up after finding mom rifling through my things on many occasions. Anyone who knows me knows that.

Nothing looks to be missing. I slam the drawer closed and go to step back, pausing when I see a stack of papers lying dead center on the box springs of my bed. How I didn't see those when I first walked in, I have no clue.

I snatch them up and my face falls. The deed to the house. "Mark Adkins" signed in bold across the dotted lines, declaring him the homeowner. Mortgage statements are stapled to it, proof that he's been making monthly payments.

Even though he isn't the one making them. I am. He now knows that I've been illegally forging his signature to do it.

My heart drops to my stomach like lead. The one thing he has on me and he's serving it up on a silver fucking platter. He's got me right where he wants me, enough leverage to tie me to a set of strings and make me dance like the perfect puppet he wants me to be.

I flip through to the end, my hands shaking as the divorce papers dad sent gleam up at me tauntingly. A handwritten sticky note is stuck to the front.

Heat builds behind my eyes. Angry, I fling the papers at the wall, watching hopelessly as they scatter aimlessly and flutter to the floor. "Fuck!"

My phone vibrates in my hand and I jump with a start, forgetting that I was holding it. The first tear falls when I read the caller ID. Hastily wiping at my cheeks, I guiltily hit decline and toss my phone on the carpeted floor, my heart heavy.

My mind races as I sweep the papers away and carefully ease my mattress back into place, wondering how I'm going to explain the door to Savannah.

I'll make something up. I have to. I can't let her know what really happened. I can't let her know about the threat hanging over our heads.

And I especially cannot tell Austin. Not when he's already going through so much.

I've handled everything else in my life on my own. I'm used to it. I can do this on my own, too.

——

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