Who I Used to Be

by Alexa Land

  “I feel like shit. Did I buy more H from you after you gave me those four bags?”

  “Yeah, two more.”

  As I returned my lockbox to its shelf, I said, “I didn’t think I had that much money with me.”

  “You didn’t. I made an exception just that one time and let you write me an IOU. I sure as hell don’t make a habit of extending credit, but figured I still owed you after that shit with Gabriel and whoever came after him.”

  “I can’t believe I did that much,” I muttered, then turned to her and asked, “Is this Sunday night or Monday?”

  Gracie consulted her phone and told me, “It’s Tuesday, just after eight p.m.” Her lids slid shut and she rested the phone on her chest.

  My heart jumped and I blurted, “Shit, I was scheduled to work at five! I’m totally going to get fired,” as I ran out of the house.

  When I reached the bus stop, I looked up and down the street, then paced and swore under my breath. That earned me a few stares from the other people at the stop. I tried to act calmer so they’d quit looking at me.

  I hoped I wouldn’t be fired. It wasn’t like I was super employable and could just find another job. Jamie Nolan, the co-owner of the bar and grill where I waited tables, had given me a chance when no one else would, even knowing I’d spent the last few years working as a prostitute. I could only assume he’d done that because he was Finn’s cousin, and my best friend’s husband had probably called in a favor. Since I was living under Chance and Finn’s roof, he had a lot of motivation to help me. As soon as I made some money, I could move. Not that Finn ever said he wanted me out, but why wouldn’t he?

  Chance had probably put in a good word, too, actually, as if letting me live with him wasn’t enough. He’d been working at Nolan’s as a waiter while trying to launch his photography career. I could see him asking the owners to help me out.

  God, where the hell was the bus? I checked my wallet and confirmed I only had six bucks, so a cab wasn’t an option. I couldn’t even call my bosses and tell them I was on my way, because my phone was dead. The worst part was, I’d only had the job a few weeks and had already racked up some late arrivals (though they were more like fifteen minutes, not three hours). If I’d been a great employee up to that point, it might not have been a big deal. But of course I wasn’t.

  *****

  By the time I arrived at Nolan’s Bar and Grill, it was after nine p.m. and the dinner rush was long over. I cut through the dining room and found Jamie sorting tickets at the pick-up counter in front of the kitchen. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, staring at my feet (and noticing I’d put TJ’s sneakers back on instead of my shoes). “I lost track of time, and my phone was out of charge, otherwise I would have called.” I actually pulled the phone out of my pocket and showed him, like a kid with a note from his mom.

  “Shit, Zachary, are you okay?”

  I glanced at Jamie, then quickly looked down again. He’d been a cop before going into the restaurant business. I had no idea if my pupils were still constricted, but if they were, that was a dead giveaway. “I’m fine,” I mumbled, even though that was miles from the truth. I still ached all over, and my migraine was so intense that the lights hurt.

  “Were you mugged? Want me to get you some ice for your jaw?”

  I’d forgotten all about the bruise on my face. “No. I, uh, got into a fight Saturday night. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  He tilted his head, trying to get a look at me as I kept my focus on the floor. “You’re really pale. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” I hesitated, rubbing my arms because I still felt cold, and then I asked, “Am I fired?”

  “No. Mistakes happen. I’m just worried about you. Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

  “Maybe.” Technically, I was coming down from something, but I couldn’t tell him that.

  I glanced at Jamie through my lashes. He looked like a surfer, not an ex-cop, with his tan and sun-streaked, shaggy hair. There was a little frown line between his blue eyes, but it was out of concern, not anger. He said, “Chance is just finishing up, he came in to cover your shift. Why don’t you catch a ride home with him and try to get some rest?”

  “Okay. I’ll be on time tomorrow, I swear.”

  “If you end up getting sick, just stay in bed and take care of yourself. But call and let me know.”

  “I will. Thanks, Jamie, for being a lot nicer about this than I deserve.”

  He gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze before turning to answer a question from one of the cooks, and I went back into the dining room and looked for my best friend. I found Chance behind the bar, refilling a couple sodas, and said, “Hey. I’m sorry you had to cover for me.”

  The concern in his blue eyes when he looked at me was becoming a permanent fixture. “It’s fine. Finn’s at work, so I was just going to hang around the house with my brother and Elijah. They were planning to watch a couple old Godzilla movies.”

  “That actually sounds like an awesome evening. What about your dad and Cory, aren’t they there, too?”

  “They wanted to do a little sightseeing before Cory starts school next week, so they took a road trip down the coast. They’ll be back in a couple days.” He looked at me closely and asked, “Are you okay, Zachary? No offense, but you look like hell.”

  Man, I was seriously failing at my usual nothing-to-see-here façade. “I’ll be fine. I just have a bad headache.”

  “Do you want a ride home?” When I nodded, he picked up the drinks and said, “I’ve finished my side work, so I can leave in just a minute. I have one table left, but they ate a couple hours ago and have settled in for the long haul. Cole said he’d babysit them for me. He’s working until closing.”

  After the drinks were served, I followed Chance to the staff locker room. He retrieved his jacket and tossed his black apron in the laundry hamper. Then we said goodbye to Jamie, Cole, and the kitchen staff and headed out the back door.

  When we reached the old, white Bronco he shared with his husband, Chance paused for a moment, then turned to me. Crap. Lecture time.

  “Zachary,” he began, then paused again as he pushed his dark hair from his forehead. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and finally said, “I don’t want to pry, I really don’t. But I’m worried about you. I wish you’d tell me where you disappear to for days on end. I know you told me you go to stay with a friend, but there has to be more to it than that. You’re a mess. I don’t say that to be unkind, I’m saying it because I’m scared for you. It looks like you haven’t slept in days, there’s a bruise on your cheek that makes me think someone hit you, and you’re so pale and thin that I barely recognize you. I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t tell you I’m concerned.”

  “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not, though. I know you’re not. If you’ve returned to prostitution, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

  “I haven’t yet, but honestly, it might happen,” I told him. “I tried to make this big change, I tried to walk away from the life, but what did it get me? I’m broke and waiting tables while mooching off you and your husband and living in your home rent-free. At least when I was turning tricks, I had my own apartment, and plenty of money, and—”

  “But look at the price! Don’t forget, I was right there too, for so long! I know what that job does to you. I know how worthless I felt, all those years I was turning tricks, and how empty I was inside. As if that’s not bad enough, every single day I was risking my health and my safety. The thought of you going back to that life breaks my heart.”

  My voice rose, despite myself. “Just stop, okay? I only said I might, not that I definitely was going to start turning tricks again, and obviously I already know the risks! But shit, Chance. You’re worried that I’ll feel worthless and empty if I go back to it? How the fuck do you think I feel every single day of my life?” I hadn’t intended to say any of that, but there it was. He reached for me like he wanted t
o hug me, but I took a step back and whispered, “Could we not? I know you mean well, but I’m so tired and so fucking hungry right now, and my head’s killing me. All I want is just to go home. Please?” My voice broke a little, right at the end, and I felt like an idiot.

  Chance was so kind. He just said softly, “I’m sorry I pushed. It obviously isn’t the right time for this conversation, so come on. Let’s get you home.”

  *****

  At least Finn was still at work when we pulled up to the converted warehouse. It was exhausting living with a cop. I felt like I always had to be on guard around him, even when I wasn’t actually doing anything wrong.

  Chance slid the big, metal door open, and as we went inside, I said, “I’m gonna go straight to bed. Thanks for the ride, and for covering my shift.”

  I headed for the stairs, raising a hand in greeting to Colt and Elijah. They peered at me over the back of the couch and waved back. Even from across the warehouse, I could see the worry on their faces. “You said you were hungry,” Chance said. “Come to the kitchen first and I’ll make you something.”

  “I’m too tired to eat.” That was a lie. Actually, I was too tired to keep acting like I was okay. I tacked on, “Thanks, though,” so I didn’t sound like an ungrateful asshole. It felt like I spent half my life thanking my best friend, and the other half apologizing to him.

  I climbed the stairs and walked along the landing, which overlooked the main part of the warehouse. Colt and Elijah were still watching me from the far corner of the main floor, their brows knit with concern. Life was so much easier when I lived alone. I didn’t have to constantly worry about the impact my bad decisions had on anyone but me.

  The row of narrow offices along the landing had been painted in a rainbow. The purple room was farthest to the left when looking up from the ground floor. They ran down the spectrum from there, so the red room was the first one I passed when I came up the stairs. It was followed by a room that was far too orange. I noticed Chance’s dad and his adopted son were using those two guestrooms. I’d selected the yellow room when I came to stay with Chance. The green room next door was a game room, and Colt and Elijah had the blue and purple bedrooms, respectively.

  The wall facing the landing was glass, and I closed the floor-to-ceiling yellow curtains when I came into my room. I then took off TJ’s sneakers and lined them up neatly beside a pair of my own before climbing into my clean, comfortable bed. It felt so good, and I burrowed beneath the covers, pulling them over my head.

  A couple minutes later, someone knocked on my door. I wanted to beg whoever it was to go away, but instead, I turned on the lamp on my nightstand and called, “Come in.” It was bad form to be antisocial in other people’s homes.

  Elijah opened the door and slipped into the room between the curtain panels. He was carrying a tray, and placed it beside me on the mattress. He’d brought me buttered toast, a mug of hot tea, and a little vase with a daisy in it, and as he said softly, “Chance said you were hungry. He also said you wanted to be by yourself, so I’m not stayin’. I just wanted to bring you something to eat.” I was overcome with gratitude. The teen surprised me by leaning in and giving me a quick hug. He’d endured an abusive childhood and tended to shy away from physical contact, so that was no small gesture. “I’m glad you’re home, Zachary. I missed you.”

  As he disappeared through the curtains, I whispered, “Thank you.”

  I started to cry silently. There was no need to wipe away the tears. No one was there to see them, so they could just be.

  Chapter Seven

  On Friday afternoon, I stood outside the little repair shop on Peartree Place and shifted a paper shopping bag from one hand to the other. It contained TJ’s sneakers and his freshly laundered T-shirt, and I’d come to return them. I could see him through the glass storefront, pacing as he talked on the phone.

  Because I didn’t want to interrupt his conversation, and because I was stalling, I waited out on the sidewalk. I had looked forward to seeing him again, but at the same time, it made me nervous. What must he think of me, after finding me strung out on his doorstep?

  I checked my reflection in the window. Did it look like I was trying too hard? I’d been such a mess the last time TJ had seen me, and I wanted to show him I was capable of more. But maybe I’d overdone it with the indigo button-down shirt and my best pair of dark jeans. I frowned a little, then rubbed the center of my forehead with two fingertips, willing the headache that had been brewing for hours to go away.

  As I waited for TJ to finish his call, I glanced around me. Peartree was perpetually in shadow, thanks to the fairly tall buildings lining either side of the narrow block. And unlike the busy thoroughfares surrounding it, the side street was quiet. That was nice, actually. It felt a bit like an oasis in the heart of the city, but I wondered how the shops and the restaurant managed to stay in business with so little foot traffic. Its entire length was also a no-parking zone, so cars didn’t have much reason to venture down it, either.

  When TJ finally spotted me on the sidewalk, he crossed the room and held the door open, and smiled at me as I came inside. I followed him to his workbench, and perched on the stool he pulled out for me. He was still on the phone, and I tried not to eavesdrop on his conversation, but that was pretty impossible. As he went around to the opposite side of the table and sat on another stool, he asked whoever he was talking to, “How soon will you know?”

  I turned my attention to the tiny creatures that dotted the tabletop. Some were recognizable: turtles and dragons kept company with octopuses and dinosaurs. Others were pure imagination. The biggest were maybe five inches long, the smallest the size of a quarter. It looked like they were made from recycled watch parts and bits of electronics. I put down the shopping bag and completely forgot about my self-consciousness as I marveled at the menagerie.

  When his call ended, I looked up from the little sea serpent I’d been studying, and he said, “That was my son. He and his husband are having a baby with a surrogate, and the procedure was today.”

  “Oh, already! I saw Josh at Jessie’s wedding last weekend, and he mentioned his dads were planning it.”

  “They’d actually been researching it for over a year, interviewing doctors and potential surrogates, and touring clinics. They’d planned to begin the process next January, but they decided to step it up. Today, the fertilized donor eggs were implanted.”

  “Which one…um, never mind,” I said, coloring slightly when I realized that question was none of my business.

  “Donated the sperm? They both did,” he said matter-of-factly. “The doctor used a combined sample.”

  “When will they know if it worked?”

  “A couple weeks.”

  He looked concerned, and I asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m excited for Trevor and Vincent, but I’m nervous for them, too. I hope the procedure works the first time. They can try again if it doesn’t, but I’d hate for them to be disappointed. My son’s so ready for this. He’s such a nurturing person, and he’s going to be great with a baby.”

  “He must get that from you.” I knew I probably shouldn’t touch, but one of my fingers snaked out anyway and ran along the shell of a little turtle.

  “Oh no, he doesn’t get anything from me. Trevor’s a kind, intelligent, remarkable human being, and I can’t take credit for any of it.” When he saw what I was doing, TJ added, “You can pick that up if you want. It’s not fragile or anything.”

  I carefully put the inch-long turtle in the palm of my hand as I said, “I’ve never heard a parent say that. It’s always, ‘she gets this from me,’ or ‘he takes after his mother.’ That bothers me. It’s as if the parents are trying to take credit for everything good about their kids.”

  “I’d never say that, even if I’d been around during Trevor’s childhood and had the chance to be any sort of influence on him.”

  I glanced at TJ. His dark hair was rumpled, he needed a shave, and he wore an old
flannel shirt over a baggy t-shirt. It struck me, randomly, that he took far better care of his apartment than himself. “You weren’t around during his childhood?”

  He shook his head. “I went to jail for making and selling methamphetamine when he was just a toddler, and when I got out, I couldn’t find him and his mom. In all, I missed almost two decades of his life. Thank God Vincent tracked me down about three years ago, or I would have missed the rest of it, too.”

  “Didn’t you try to find him?”

  He paused before saying, “I did at first, but then…well, I figured he was better off without me. Plus, I assumed his mom was taking care of him. I had no idea she completely self-destructed and went to prison sometime after I did, and that my son got handed off on one of her relatives, some asshole I never even knew existed, who treated Trevor like dirt. If I’d known any of that, I never would have stopped searching.” He tried to keep his tone level, but there was no hiding the pain in his eyes.

  “Why would you think he’d be better off without you?”

  “When I got out of jail, I was nothing but a former addict, ex-drug dealer, and ex-con with no job and no education. Even though I’d gotten clean in prison, I was sure I’d relapse. I always felt like I was one bad decision from ending up right back where I’d started.” He dropped his gaze and said quietly, “Why would a kid need someone like that in his life?”

  I was surprised he’d been so candid and had no idea how to respond. We sat there for a few moments, and then TJ reached out with both hands. I thought he was going to take my hand, but instead, he gingerly grasped the turtle and twisted its shell around. When he let go of it, the mechanical creature started walking across my palm with bouncy steps as it nodded its head. “That’s amazing,” I said. “Did you make it?”

  He nodded, apparently glad to change the subject. “They started as a way to entertain Josh. He outgrew them pretty fast, but I kept making them to keep myself busy. This shop isn’t exactly overflowing with customers, as you can tell.”