Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Now was an excellent time to stop staring.
I cleared my throat and stood up. “I’ll find you some clothes. Everything go okay in there?”
He nodded with a dip of his chin. “Thank you. I, uh…” He exhaled a chuckle, looking mildly uncomfortable. “It felt real good to brush my teeth. I’ve tried to be careful, but I think I need to see a dentist at some point.” He rubbed his fingers over his cheek. “My last wisdom tooth isn’t in good shape.”
I grinned faintly. “I’m surprised you have any left. I’d yanked all mine before I turned twenty-five.”
He followed me down the hall where I had a row of closets I’d bought for cheap at IKEA.
“My mother was a dental nurse before she retired,” he murmured.
That explained it.
I opened the first closet, the only one I used, and dug through my pile of sweats. There should be one pair… There. Farthest in. Gray pair.
“These should fit.” I handed them to him and took the same journey with my tees. Only, I had more options. Ma didn’t always get it right. “And this.” A baggy tee from Florida. Thankfully without dolphins and neon colors, just a tiny palm tree against the black fabric. He’d survive that. “You hungry? I made nachos.”
“Thank you, but I fear the food downstairs already did a number on me.” He smiled politely and…then just dropped the fucking towel. All right. Okay. Yeah. Fuck modesty, right?
Jesus fucking Christ.
The man was hung.
I averted my gaze as he stepped into the pants.
“Okay, uh…” Think, man. Think. “If, uh—if you need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, don’t hesitate to knock. Seriously. Those stomach cramps can be hell.”
I also preferred to be woken up rather than finding a pile of shit on the stoop in the morning.
It’d happened before.
“I think I’ll be okay,” he said, putting on the tee. “You’ve done enough…uh.” He cocked his head. “I think I heard a couple of the staff call you Trace?”
Jesus. Hadn’t I introduced myself?
My bad.
“That’s right,” I replied, and I automatically extended my hand. “Trace Kalecki.”
His mouth twisted into the faintest smile, and he shook my hand. “Thank you for saving me tonight, Trace. I owe you.”
I shook my head. No, he didn’t.
The bed was weirdly comfortable, but it squeaked loudly every time I turned over.
Still nothing from Angie.
I scrolled through my messages, partly relieved. I didn’t want her to worry. It wasn’t like I could get a message to her now anyway. I’d have to wait till I found a hot spot. Maybe they had Wi-Fi downstairs. I hadn’t thought to ask earlier.
I was so goddamn tired.
Just in case, I checked for Wi-Fi. Network after network popped up, all of them locked. And there we go. The Dearborn Clover GUEST Wi-Fi. Also password protected.
I returned my phone to my boot, then rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.
It was painted in the same muted green color as the walls.
A breath gusted out of me, and I carefully brushed my hand over my wound. The pain had faded into a dull, constant ache.
Could I actually sleep here?
The silence was deafening. I couldn’t handle silence. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d experienced it.
Maybe Trace didn’t count it as silence. I mean, there were some faint sounds—plumbing, the occasional squeak, the wind whipping up against the building… But it was silence to me, compared to what I was used to.
Ah, there. The distant call of sirens.
I breathed deeply and closed my eyes.
Trace Kalecki.
Under no circumstances could I stay here for long. A night or two, tops. I’d help out with the soup kitchen, of course. It was the least I could do. He’d done way too much for me. And then I’d be on my way. I had to see Alvin on Friday anyway. Even if I had to walk all the way out to Elmwood Park.
CHAPTER THREE
Trace Kalecki
“Ben, can you look outside and give me an estimate on how long the line is?” I asked.
Four giant stockpots, each one holding approximately seven gallons of chicken and vegetable soup, usually cut it. But we always circled back to the same sentence.
This fucking weather.
Everyone was cold. Everyone was seeking out heat, whether they came right off the streets or they’d traveled far for food they couldn’t afford at home. Most visitors weren’t actually unsheltered; they just didn’t have enough money for food.
The alley had been filled with people of all ages coming and going since we’d opened, some of them sticking to the heating vents for extra warmth when the booths in here were full. We tried to ensure that those who arrived with kids could sit down at a table.
Marisol and Julie stepped up the pace to empty bags of bread, and we were running low on that too. Four slices per head, and I didn’t wanna make cuts on carbs in this fucking weather. Coffee and tea were easier; we had tons of packets of insta-coffee and way too many tea bags. Ben had spent an hour bagging insta-cocoa and marshmallows for the kids as well.