Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)

Ninety-nine percent of me knows I need to keep him at arm’s length. There’s no point considering him. He’ll get one look at my shit and he’ll run, leaving a bigger mess behind. And yet, as I eye the washer where he just stood, where his bed sheets swirl, I give serious consideration to stealing them and leaving a “come and get it” note in its place. No. I shove angry hands through my thick mane, gripping the back of my head as if to keep it from exploding. I need to stay away from him. He’s going to ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to put in place.

Suddenly, I can’t get out of that laundromat fast enough.

***

Mia and Livie sit cross-legged on the living room floor with a Chutes and Ladders board game between them. A freshly showered Storm dumps a pot of spaghetti noodles into a pot of boiling water. “I hope you don’t mind veal in your sauce,” she says as I step in without knocking. I figure we’re past the knocking stage. I just touched her thongs, after all.

“That’d be great. Your clothes are all here.”

She looks over her shoulder at the hamper and shock twists her face. “Did you fold my underwear for me?”

“Uh ... No?”

Turning a bit more to see my face, still drenched from the tap water, she frowns. “What happened to you?”

How do I explain I had to have a mini-cold shower in the laundromat because that damn smooth-talking neighbor of ours cornered me? I don’t.

“It was Stephen King’s Maximum Overdrive all over again. The washing machine came to life and attacked me. Laundry and I are officially on no-speaking terms.”

“I’ve never read that book,” Storm says at the same time that I hear a tiny frightful gasp.

“I’m not surprised,” I mumble as I head toward the kitchen, catching a scathing glare from Livie for scaring Mia. Our dad made us watch all the movies from his era as a way of keeping the classics alive. Most of the time, no one in my generation has a clue what I’m talking about.

Storm turns to face me wearing an apron that reads, How’s the sauce? Has anyone seen my Band-Aid? and a big grin. “Hey, so I spoke to my boss. Job’s yours if you want it.”

“Storm!” My eyes bug out.

Her long blond locks sway as she tips her head back to laugh, my surprise apparently amusing. I can tell she’s happy to give me the news. I get the impression that she genuinely wants to help us and for no reason other than because she’s just that nice.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Liar, yes you have. Good money is good money and as long as I don’t have to strip, I can handle standing in the middle of a vagina circus.

“What job is this?” Livie pipes up, her curiosity peaked.

“A job with me, where I work,” Storm explains.

“My mommy gets paid to give people drinks, in a restaurant. Like this!” Mia scrambles to her feet and runs over to grab an empty cup from the counter. “Would you like a glass of lemonade, Madam?” She carries it to Livie with the utmost care and bows.

“Why, thank you, kind waitress,” Livie gushes theatrically and proceeds to gulp back the imaginary drink like she’s just crossed the Sahara desert, finishing with a wink for Mia. But, when she turns to me, her brow is furrowed with unease. “Serving more than lemonade, I take it?”

I nod, dropping my focus to re-arrange the cutlery on the table before I can meet her worried gaze again. Her bottom lip is sucked into her mouth. She’s trying hard to stop it from quivering and I know what she’s thinking. She’s afraid I’ll spiral back into that dark place where the tequila is flowing and the one-night-stands are frequent. Even though I’ve promised her a hundred times that that phase is over, she’s still terrified of losing me to it again. I can’t blame her.

That’s why I’m surprised by her next words. “You should take it, Kacey.”

My head cocks to the side as I regard her.

She shrugs. “If you’re serving them, you can cut them off, right?”

“Right.” I nod slowly, processing that logic. Livie always finds the good in things. I steal a glance at Storm to see her intently focused on stirring her tomato sauce. I know she must have heard that. She’s got to be wondering what dark skeletons these two neighbors of hers have in their closet. As usual, she has the decency not to pry.

“And there’s good money in tips from what I hear,” Livie adds. “Maybe I can get fake ID and get a job there too!”

“No!” Storm and I shout in unison and share a silent look. A look that says this is good enough for us, but not for Livie. She’s too good for this world.

“Mommy? Are you working tonight?” Mia’s tiny voice chirps up, delaying more of Livie’s questions.

Storm smiles sadly at her daughter. “Yes, honey bear.” It has to be hard, leaving her six nights in a row.

“Can I stay with Livie? Please, Mommy?” Mia holds her hands together in front of her as if she’s praying.

“Oh, I don’t know. Mia. I think you’ve monopolized enough of Livie’s time today, don’t you think?”

“But, noooo … Mommy!’ Mia whines and stomps around the room in a circle, reminding everyone that she is only five years old. She stops in a huff, throwing her arms around herself, and scowls. “I don’t like Mrs. Potterage!”

“She’s a nice lady, Mia,” Storm says with a sigh, like she’s said it a hundred times before. To me she leans in and whispers, “I don’t blame the poor kid. Potterage smokes like a burning oil field. But I can usually rely on her for at least four nights a week.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Livie jumps in with a pat on Mia’s back.

“See Mommy? Livie says, yes!”

Storm cringes. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. In fact, I’m more than happy to watch her every night if you want,” Livie offers with complete seriousness.

“Oh, Livie. I work six days a week. That’s a lot to ask of a fifteen year old. You deserve to go out and party or, whatever fifteen year olds are doing these days.”

Livie’s already shaking her head. “No it’s not and I don’t mind.” She pinches Mia’s cheek, as taken by the child as Mia is of her. “I’d love it.”

There’s a long pause and Storm swallows, considering it. “You’d have to let me pay you for your time. No more arguing.”

Livie’s hand waves dismissively. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. She’ll be asleep most of the time anyway and Kacey will be at work with you, right? So at least I won’t be alone.”

All three turn to look at me hopefully.

I heave a loud sigh. “Just drinks, right? I’m not serving anyone … anything else.”

Storm’s irises twinkle. “Not unless you want to.”

“And I don’t have to wear anything revealing?”

“Well …”

My head drops back and rolls from one side to the other. “Here we go.”

“I was just going to say that you’ll make more money showing a bit of cleavage than you will dressed as a Mormon. A lot more money. I’d show a teensy tiny bit of skin, if I were you.”

I sigh again. “And I can quit if I don’t like it? No hard feelings?”

“Absolutely, Kacey. No hard feelings,” Storm asserts, holding a wooden spoon in front of her face as if she’s pledging.

A long pause, just enough to make Storm squirm. “Okay.”

“Great!” Storm throws her toned arms around me, oblivious that the contact is making my insides churn and the voice in my head scream. She breaks away just as quickly and moves back to her pot of sauce, allowing me a chance to exhale. “You start tonight, by the way.”

“Tonight. Fun.” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my voice as butterflies start their mad dash around my belly, killing my appetite. I hug my arms tight to my body, acknowledging that a club’s worth of new people means handshakes and questions about personal shit that are none of anyone’s business. I’m not ready for this. I haven’t prepared … One … two… three … four… By the time I reach ten, I’m freaking out.





Stage Three ~ Resistance





Chapter Four





We pull up to Penny’s Palace in Storm’s Jeep just as the sun is dropping over the horizon. Storm doesn’t even have the thing in park before I jump out. When she walks around to meet me on my side, it’s with a look I’m long since used to—a mixture of surprise and concern. She doesn’t comment though.

She does comment on me tugging at the short black skirt I borrowed from her. “Stop fidgeting.” She swats my hand away. “I never would have taken you for the nervous type.”