Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)
Chapter 11

Justin’s trailer had two bedrooms, one on each end of the house. When I’d moved in after we’d started dating, I’d put most of my things in the smallest room even though I’d slept in his bed. I didn’t have a lot of clothes or belongings. Everything I owned could fit in the back of my Explorer. But the closet in his room was small and cramped and it had just made sense to leave my stuff in another room.

The twin bed I’d been sleeping on since we’d broken up had been his former roommate’s bed that she’d left behind when she’d moved out a year and a half ago, right about the time we’d started dating.

Had they dated? I’d always wondered if that’s why she’d moved out. Justin didn’t really talk about her, and I hadn’t asked.

Maybe I’d been the girl he’d cheated with. Maybe I’d been her Alexa.

The idea made my stomach churn, but at least she’d left the bed. I straightened the sage-green comforter, then fluffed the pillow and straightened my throw blanket before grabbing my wallet from the collapsible TV tray that acted as my nightstand. With my keys in hand, I walked to the door, easing it open slowly. It squeaked if you pulled it too fast.

Then, breath held, I tiptoed down the hallway toward the living room.

I hadn’t seen Justin in two days. He’d been gone when I’d gotten home from work the past couple of nights, probably at a friend’s house playing video games. With any luck, I could avoid him for two more days. Three if I was blessed.

The front door was within reach when I heard the floor creak from the far hallway. “Faye.”

Shit. Before I could make my escape, Justin emerged. He walked through the kitchen and into the living room, stopping a few feet away.

“Hey.” He took in my jeans and Dolly’s Diner tee. “Heading to work?”

“Yeah.” I laid my fingers on the door’s handle. “See ya.”

“Wait.” He held up a hand. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Oh, God. Not another let’s get back together chat. “Justin, I really do have to go.”

“Look, I’m sorry to do this, but I have to increase your rent.”

Every mental wheel spinning in my brain came to a screeching halt. “What?”

“It’s getting more expensive.”

“What exactly is more expensive?” My hand dropped from the door’s handle and balled into a fist. “You own this place free and clear thanks to your parents. And I cover half of the utilities.”

“Taxes and insurance and shit is more expensive.”

“How much more expensive?”

He lifted a shoulder. “A hundred bucks a month?”

My jaw hit the trampled beige carpet. “An extra hundred dollars?”

I couldn’t afford that. Not before I’d found out I was pregnant. Certainly not after.

My apartment hunting had been disastrous at best. School had started, and any available inventory had disappeared. In all of Mission, there were six listings for roommates wanted. All six would mean living with guys. After Justin, I was done with male roommates for a while. I had zero desire to convince my roommates, male or female, how much fun it would be to live with a newborn baby come spring.

And the only available studios were within walking distance to campus. That convenience came with a high price tag.

So where did that leave me? Here. That left me here, paying an extra hundred dollars a month while I waited for something else.

It would come though, eventually, right? Treasure State had brought in a ton of new recruits over the last few years, which had zapped most availability on the rental market. But if I could just wait it out, if I could hold fast, something would eventually pop up.

“Fine,” I clipped, yanking the door open.

“There’s another option,” Justin said, stopping me before I could storm outside. “You could move back into my room. We could get another roommate.”

This. Asshole.

There was no increase in property taxes or insurance, was there? No, he was just trying to manipulate me. Begging hadn’t worked. So what now? Extortion?

“I’ll pay,” I said through gritted teeth, then before he could say anything else, I stepped onto the wooden steps and slammed the door at my back.

Shit. I never should have moved in here. I never should have let Justin trap me like this.

My nostrils stung as I marched to my car and my eyes flooded. Damn it, I was so sick of crying. I was so sick of feeling like I was never going to get ahead. Like I was always going to be living from paycheck to paycheck.

I slid into the Explorer, shutting the door and closing out the world beyond. Then I gripped the steering wheel, letting it ground me as I blinked away the unshed tears.

Justin was dreaming if he thought he could force me into a relationship. So I’d come up with the money. Somehow.

A hundred dollars a month.

I had forty-seven dollars and thirty-three cents in my checking account. Last month, I’d had to shell out a chunk of cash for books that my financial aid wouldn’t cover. It was the tenth of September. That gave me twenty days to come up with rent money, cash for utilities plus extra for this increase.

Maybe I could cut back on gas. I’d managed to arrange my class schedule so that I could swing home between classes and shifts at the diner to change clothes. But I could start taking my clothes to school and changing in a bathroom on campus. I could probably trim twenty dollars from my grocery budget.

Ramen noodles and instant macaroni weren’t exactly healthy for a pregnant woman, but I could survive on peanut butter and honey sandwiches. As a kid, I’d eaten enough of those to last a lifetime. The idea made me gag, but I didn’t have much of a choice.

Would Dusty give me a few more hours at the diner? She’d already given me more than she could afford. I wasn’t the only one struggling for cash.

And Gloria. I’d have to give Gloria less each month.

Fuck Justin. Fuck him for doing this. I really, really needed to move.

But first, I had to get to work. So I fit the key into the ignition and started the engine, then drove to the diner on the tires I shouldn’t have bought this summer.

What was it like to be rich? To never have to think about skipping a meal or two to save a few dollars? What would it be like to not know your account balance at all times?

I didn’t know any rich people to ask.

The diner was quiet. Dusty’s car was parked beside the back door. I eased in beside it and grabbed my backpack from the passenger seat before hurrying inside. Then I snagged an apron from the folded pile of clean linens to tie around my waist.

Dusty was bent over the stainless prep table when I walked into the kitchen. She had a yellow pencil in one hand, its pink eraser worn to the silver metal ferrule. In the other hand, she held a french fry, its tip dipped in her famous homemade ranch dressing. She was focused on the newspaper splayed in front of her, eyes narrowed through her wire-framed reading glasses.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi.” Her gaze didn’t break from the black print. She drew a circle on the page.

Oh no.

Dusty read the obituaries daily, never missing the local Mission news. She was estranged from her family, every single member. When her mother, Dolly, had died, she’d passed the diner to Dusty instead of to Dolly’s twin sister, Diana, as originally promised.

Diana had tried pressuring Dusty into handing it over, but Dusty had refused her aunt, and it had created a rift in their family.

Diana had told lies and forced people to choose a side—hers.

The squabbling and fighting had finally gotten so bad, Dusty had cut off most communication with her family members. It had broken her heart to walk away. But she’d honored her mother’s wishes and kept Dolly’s open.

Since she wasn’t on speaking terms with her family, Dusty read the obituaries every day to make sure that if someone important died, she wasn’t left out.

Dusty had read her cousin’s obituary in this kitchen. I’d been here when she’d circled his name.

I came to a stop at the table’s side, letting my backpack drop to the floor. “Who?”

She set the pencil on the table. “My aunt. Diana.”

“I’m sorry.”

She stared at her french fry for a long moment, then stood tall and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “It’s all right.”

“Can I do anything?”

Dusty plucked the glasses from her face, folding them to tuck into her apron pocket. “No, sugar. I’m fine.”

I walked to her anyway, arms open.

She let me hug her for more than ten seconds before squirming free. Which meant she wasn’t really fine. “You got homework?”

“Yes.”

How many times had she asked me that question over the years? She cared more about my education than my own mother. Dusty always made sure my work was done before I left here each night.

The semester had just started, but she’d been even more insistent about study time lately. Maybe because she knew it was probably my last year. And there was a chance I wouldn’t get to finish.

We’d know soon enough. My first doctor’s appointment was on Tuesday next week.

According to Google, my due date was around April twentieth, but I wanted a doctor to confirm. And once I had an official due date, I’d know if I had a chance at finishing spring semester.

“Get to work.” She walked to the dishwasher and began putting away clean mugs and plates. “I’ll make you some dinner in a bit.”

“Okay.” With my backpack slung over a shoulder, I walked through the swinging door to the diner, passing tables and chairs for the booth in the far corner.

It had been hard to muster the motivation to study. Maybe that was because the semester was young, and I hadn’t settled into the groove with classes or professors. Or maybe it was because at the moment, it felt . . . sad.

I’d graduate this spring, hopefully. I was crossing all my fingers and all my toes that I wasn’t the first pregnant woman at Treasure State and my professors would allow me to finish my last semester early.

Then what? My plan had always been grad school. Leaving Montana to try something new, even if that meant less time with Gloria. But I was ready for a change of scenery. There were three universities I’d been accepted to for next term, one in Washington, another in Idaho and the third in Oregon. I’d have to turn down them all, wouldn’t I?

But an undergrad degree was better than no degree, so I spent thirty minutes on an assignment for my Family Law and Public Policy class, then put everything away and took my backpack to Dusty’s office, leaving it inside the door as I went to work on the dirty dishes she’d piled in the sink.

The entrance chime echoed through the kitchen as I was scrubbing a bowl.

“I’ve got it.” Dusty held up a finger as she abandoned the celery she’d been chopping for her tuna salad. Then she breezed out, returning before the door had even stopped swinging. “Your boy’s here.”

“Justin?” Today, after that shit he’d pulled at home, I would let her ban him from Dolly’s.

But Dusty shook her head. “No.”

I groaned. That meant it was Rush. Again. “He’s not my boy.”

Dusty arched an eyebrow.

He was not my boy. He was just a boy. A boy who happened to have gotten me pregnant and had become a regular at Dolly’s.

“I’ll finish the dishes in a minute,” I muttered, drying my hands before walking into the dining room.

Rush was in his usual seat—third booth against the windows, the bench that faced the swinging door. His broad, six-foot-three frame was cramped into the seat like it had been nearly every single weeknight for the past two weeks.

“Hey.” His chocolate eyes snared mine as I walked down the aisle, stopping beside his booth.

My stomach fluttered. It was nerves. Not attraction because he seemed to get more and more handsome with every visit. No, it was just nerves.

There was barely an inch between his stomach and the table’s edge, and when he shifted, his knees knocked the table enough to rattle the salt and pepper shakers.

“Why don’t you sit at a table where you can move the chair away a little?”

He shrugged. “I like sitting beside a window.”

“But you barely fit.”

“I don’t mind.” He splayed both hands across the table’s surface. “I like this spot.”

My heart beat a little faster, like it usually did when he was around. Nerves. It was only nerves. And a healthy dose of self-consciousness.

Rush belonged anywhere else but here. He looked so out of place. This diner was too small, too dingy, for a guy like him.

Textbooks and papers were stacked around him like he was gearing up to stay for a while. Exactly like he had last night and the night before.

Since our fight at the fieldhouse, Rush had come to the diner every evening that I’d been working, without fail. How had he known I would be here tonight?

Normally, I didn’t work on Wednesdays, but Mike hadn’t been here for a while. He and Dusty must be on one of their off-again moments. So when she’d asked if I wanted another shift, I’d jumped at the chance.

“Did Dusty tell you my schedule?” I asked.

“No.” He reclined in the seat, as much as possible, stretching one of those muscled arms across the back of the booth. The size of his arms, those roped biceps, never failed to make me do a double take.

Muscled guys weren’t my type. Or they hadn’t been before Rush.

“What?” The corner of his mouth turned up.

“Nothing.” I ripped my gaze away from the veins that snaked over his forearms. “How did you know I’d be working tonight?”

“I didn’t. I came out after practice and saw your car.”

“Oh.” So he’d driven all this way just to see if I was here. “Why didn’t you just text me?”

“I don’t like to text.”

Apparently not. He’d asked me to stop texting and so after I’d made my appointment with the doctor last week, I’d called and left a message.

“You could have called me to see if I was here.” He’d asked me two weeks ago if he could call me but he hadn’t. Not once. Instead, he visited the diner.

He lifted a shoulder. “Seemed easier to come out.”

“Every night?” Dolly’s was twenty minutes from campus. He’d drive for nearly an hour just to see if I was working. “Why?”

Rush’s gaze shifted to the window like he didn’t know how to answer that question.

The glass was slightly hazy, filmed with a layer of grease and dust that should have been cleaned away months ago.

For the first time in years, I felt as grimy as the glass. Since Rush had started coming here, I’d noticed more about the diner. The coffee stains on the tables. The chipped tile inside the door. The cracked vinyl booths and the neon OPEN sign that no longer flickered on to glow red.

I loved this little diner. It was more like home than work. But I knew what people saw when they walked through the door. I knew the way it looked.

I knew the way I looked.

We might not have much, but we could have clean windows.

Dusty hated cleaning windows and she couldn’t afford a service. Mike usually cleaned them when he had a few extra minutes, but if he was gone, well . . . I’d do it for her later tonight or tomorrow.

“I like to study here,” Rush said, tearing his gaze from the pothole-riddled parking lot. “It’s quiet.”

Unfortunately quiet. But I was doing my best to change that. Today, I’d tacked up a handful of fliers on various informational boards around campus. Once upon a time, Dusty had told me that Dolly’s had been a popular college hangout. Maybe it could be that again.

“The library on campus is quiet too.” And the library was in exponentially better condition.

“The food’s better.” He gave me a crooked grin. “And so is the company.”

Me? I was horrible company. I avoided him, hiding in the kitchen because I didn’t know what to say or how to act.

Was that why he kept coming? Because he knew we couldn’t always have this awkward tension between us. Because he was brave enough to try.

I had to try too, didn’t I? I had to figure out a way to be around Rush. And since he was here, I might as well start now.

“How are your classes going?” I asked, sliding into the opposite side of the booth, keeping my legs tucked close so our knees wouldn’t touch beneath the table.

“Not bad. You?”

“Good. I’ve had all of my professors before so I know what to expect.”

He nodded. “You feeling okay?”

“The mornings are a little rough.” Thankfully, my first class wasn’t until eleven and by then, I was usually done puking.

“So . . . Tuesday.” My doctor’s appointment.

I nodded. “Tuesday.”

“Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“Sure.”

Part of me wanted to go alone. It was hard to concentrate with Rush in the room. Besides that, I was used to doing things on my own. Alone was easier.

But he’d asked to come, and I wouldn’t cut him out.

Rush’s phone vibrated on the table. MOM looked like WOW from this side of the booth. He tapped the button and sent it to voicemail.

“I can go if you need to answer that.”

“Nah. I’ll call her later to talk.”

Talk about what? “Have you, um, told them? Your parents?”

His gaze dropped to the table. His hair fell onto his forehead, so he dragged a hand through it, shoving it away.

Why did that have to be sexy? My core clenched. I needed him to be unsexy. Immediately.

He smoothed his hair again and this time, the scent of his cologne wafted across the table, rich and masculine, but also clean like soap. He smelled good. He smelled so, so good.

Ugh. I had to stop thinking about his shampoo or biceps or the way his jaw looked so rugged with that day-old stubble.

“I, um, haven’t,” he said.

“Haven’t what?”

He gave me a sideways glance. “My parents. I haven’t told them that you’re pregnant.”

“Oh.” Right. Shit. I’d asked a question, then my brain had been scrambled by sexy hair.

“But I told my roommate,” he said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I looked to the wall that separated the kitchen and dining room. “I told Dusty.”

He nodded, tracing a circle on the table with his finger. “I’d like to tell my parents. When you’re ready.”

I swallowed hard. “Can you wait? At least until after we have a due date?”

“Sure.”

It wasn’t that this pregnancy didn’t feel real. My morning sickness had made sure I knew exactly what was happening with my body. But the idea of announcing it to his parents or to my sister made my palms sweat.

Family, in my experience, only made stressful situations worse. His parents would be disappointed. So would Gloria. I was carrying enough disappointment of my own that I didn’t need more at the moment.

I hoped his parents could at least be civil. And kind, if not to me, then to this baby. To their grandchild.

They’d be the only grandparents he or she would have because I sure as hell wasn’t letting my mother into the mix.

And Dusty was, well . . . Dusty.

As if she knew I was contemplating the idea of naming her Nana Dusty, a loud crash came from the kitchen, the sound of metal clanging on metal followed by a muted string of curses.

“I’d better go check on her.”

Rush nodded as I slid out of the booth. Except before I could walk away, he called my name. “Faye?”

I stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

Here was my chance to have a night without him around. To not worry about the looks Dusty would give me or the tension that came anytime I was in the dining room. All I had to do was say no. To tell him to come back next week.

But I hated lying.

My father had been a liar.

He’d promised to come back for me.

And I hadn’t seen him since I was five.

“Yeah, I’m working,” I told Rush. “Three to close.”