Chapter Eight

Aria

“Aria, snap out of it and get to work,” Mona called to me, bringing me back to the present with a bump. I was jumping at every dark-haired man that wandered past. I felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for Stone to appear.

I served drinks and wiped the counters, refilled the icebox, and emptied the glass washer. I moved with a special kind of rhythm that busy nights like this inspired, like I was dancing with my job, to music only I could hear, under the watching eyes of the truckers and travelers that filled the old bar.

For the longest time, I’d rebelled against the idea that my life would just be this. Truck stops and strippers, sticky floors with scattered peanut shells. I’d felt above it, disdainful even. Billy hadn’t helped much. He’d seemed just as over our mundane trailer park lives as I was, and yet, he made no effort to change it. Now, as the days passed, carrying me further and further into adulthood, I knew.

The ideas of having a better life were just dreams.