Chasing Sevens

Chapter One

CHASING SEVENS

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LIBERTY LANE

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I try to keep my work as raw, realistic, and tangible as I can. Because of this, I would like to include a trigger warning for my readers.

This story depicts or mentions topics that some readers may find troubling, including but not limited to drug and alcohol usage/abuse, childhood trauma, previous loss of a family member, sexual assault, various mental health topics, bullying, and domestic violence. For my readers who may have heightened sensitivity to any of these subjects, please proceed with caution.

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To those who sit amidst life's chaos and wonder if things will get better—they do. May you find your own streak of luck.

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1

The doorbell chimed from across the room and my head perked up. Another customer had arrived at the Inn.

"Well, Tobi, that's your guy. Go," my manager, Matt, called from behind the counter.

He rolled up the sleeves of his ill-fitting plaid flannel, grabbing a handful of silver foil coffee bags and tossing them onto the shelving below. A familiar face greeted me, waiting to be seated. The autumn breeze trailed in, leaving the door open. "Hi, Mr. Burke!" I said with a smile, pulling the door closed behind us. "Ya born in a barn?" I teased.

"Along with the best of people." He laughed, pointing a shaky finger towards the corner of the room. "My usual seat, Tobi."

His briefcase started to slip from his grip, but he realized it just in time, catching the handle of the leather bag and following me to a booth by the window.

"Will ya be having an Earl Grey Latte today, sir?"

He was a creature of habit, but I removed the menu tucked under my arm, just in case. For quite a few years now, Mr. Hal Burke had been coming to the Inn each morning for a routine cup of tea. He was a science fiction writer. Well, he wanted to be. He'd always bring in samples of his work and I'd read them, test-driving from a reader's point of view. He was quite talented, but couldn't seem to find it in him to submit his creations to any publishers. I don't understand why. His stuff's better than half of what's on the market.

"You know it, kid." The briefcase dropped with a clang, nearly blowing the menu from the table. "And boy, do I have a story here for ya! I finally finished up my manuscript."

"Oh, really?"

Morning exhaustion had set in, but his pure excitement hit me like caffeine. You can always tell when someone's going after their passion. They beam with pride as they tell you of their work. For me, music struck the right chord, but for Hal, writing was his life. He wrote a bit of himself into each and every character, and I admired the openness of it all. I hoped one day I could share mine with the world, too.