They Call Me the Coroner | Top Gun: Maverick

Ending 2

●There are some words in the chapter "Busted Bottles. Broken Sand." And some of the same words towards the bottom of this chapter. They are italicized and centered on the page.

These are lyrics to a song I wrote specifically for this fanfic. I own the rights to the song "Like Sand."

Those are the only song lyrics I own. For the other songs, rights go to whom they belong.

Thanks.

_______________________

"Clocking out, Mr. Rodriguez." I say, as I log my hours.

"Alright." He glances at me from behind the counter. A wide crooked smile filling his face. "Got any plans tonight?"

I walk over to the cooler of the little convenient store I work at and grab a root beer out. I set it down on the counter, but he waves it away. I take that as I can keep it without paying.

"Not really." I pop it open on the side of the counter. "Just staying in. Probably going to watch a movie."

He gazes at me a while. And nods pointing a finger up like he has a revelation. "Say, why don't you come for dinner tonight? Wife makes a heck of a beef stew. You should try it."

I smile. For some reason, within the time frame that I've known him, he's never said his wife's name. He always refers to her as 'wife.' Not in a derogatory way though. He says it like a young man who's just got hitched. Like he still has the crazy love and wonder of a newlywed, even though he's been married to her for nigh 30 years.

"I will some time. I think I'll just go home tonight. Thanks for the invitation, but I'm beat."

"You sure?" He raises a brow. Something in his expression makes him look a little concerned.

"Yeah. Thanks again though." I open the door and the bell rings up top.

"Well! Hey! How about I bring some over tonight? I'll bring Wife and the kids. We could have a little party or something."

I pause, staring outside like it's my escape. I tell myself Mr. Rodriguez is a good man. A family man. He's not like the others I've come in contact with over the past six months.

I don't know him that well. But know him well enough to trust him a little. I don't think he has any ill will toward me.

When I got my dishonorable discharge because I went A.W.O.L., I started gambling. I ended up losing just about everything.

God-sent Mr. Rodriguez scooped me up and took me under his wing. Because of him, I have an apartment and enough money to pay rent and other bills.

I smile at him. "You know what? Sure. You provide food. I'll provide the place."

"You got it. Expect us around 6 or so. Good with that?"

I nod. "Take it easy."

As I step out on the sidewalk of Chicago, I take in the smells and the sights. The wind whipping my hair some. I squint at the sky and finger the sunglasses hanging on my shirt.

Rooster's sunglasses.

I never gave them back to him. I should probably do that. Mail them or something.

I just can't seem to part with them. They are a reminder.

They remind me that I need to go back. That someone loves me. That I'm wanted somewhere.

It's a nice thought to be wanted. Even when you feel like you don't deserve it.

I start down the sidewalk. It's a good thing my apartment is only two blocks away because I don't have my bike. Lost that in another wreck.