irrevocable

{Seven}

I Don't Want To Miss A Thing // Aerosmith

Jackson

The clacking of my laptop keys fills the room, the only sound at all. I'm focused on the last few emails that are waiting for a response after putting in a few hours going over inventory checklists for some clients. I've done a decent job keeping up with work remotely, thanks to Grinder letting me use his office in the mornings. Not that it's a big step up from the dingy storage room. His office has freaking wood paneled walls, and not the real wood. Faux as fuck. His desk is a time warp monstrosity, the only real wood in the room, but covered with stains and so many nicks that the surface is no longer flush. Nothing in this office space fits with the modern look of the main studio. It's the polar opposite, forgotten from long decades past. The chair is at least comfortable, worn in with use. I could get used to this chair. But it's usable space, a place to focus, so I can't really complain.

It's a perfect set up because he doesn't come in until later in the afternoon, splitting his time between the administrative side of the business and working on actual clients. Having a quiet space with a closed door has made all the difference in taking care of my responsibilities and continuing to earn a paycheck. There's no freaking way I could concentrate on the ancient couch in the storage room serving as my bed. I can't even get a full night's sleep on the thing. Grinder may find it perfect for a nap, but it's no Tempur Pedic mattress. The thing has lumps with lumps. I'm going to need physical therapy to work out all the kinks once I make it home.

Home. Fuck, I can't even think of home without getting pissed. Home to me is a broken-down mobile trailer where my mom dragged my ass years ago. A town almost identical to Fallbrook Hills with a dark side just as bad. Although, I saw where Holly lives. She may be in a house on a rock-solid foundation, but the neighborhood could get her killed. At least the other homes in our trailer park are filled with families and older retirees on a fixed budget who couldn't afford anything else. I've never walked in on a drug deal or broken up a fight. I think I may have stumbled upon both after dropping Holly off a few days ago.

Is that what's scaring the shit out of her?

I text her all the time about anything and everything. But I make sure to text her every morning and every night no matter what, asking if she's okay. I have to know. I'm fucking anxious when I think about how she flinched. And she won't tell me why. I respect her need for privacy. I get it. She's not ready to talk about it. But at some point, the two of us are going to get closer, close enough to trust me with her secret. I want to earn that trust, but I also want to kick someone's ass.

I'm closing out my work account and powering off my laptop when my phone rings. Positive that it's Holly calling me, I pull it out of my back pocket and answer with a smile.

"Hey, I just wrapped up work for the day." I lean back in Grinder's desk chair and settle in for a fantastic convo with my favorite girl.

"Bout time you answered my call."

And fuck me. It's my mom, the liar.

"You haven't called, mom. You haven't even texted. How long did it take to figure out I'd left town?" She's real funny if she thinks I'm falling for that bullshit. And I really need to change her ringtone to something I recognize so this never happens again. Maybe some kind of death march, something dark and ominous.

"I knew right away. Thought I'd give you some space since you obviously needed it. You got your fancy new job and already needed a vacation? Must be nice."

The distain in her voice makes my blood boil. I want to confront her. I want to call her on her bullshit and lies over the years, but I don't know if I'm ready.