They were going to The Oceanfront Music Festival. Had hired a car to take them to a hotel so they’d be closer to the action. Got enough backstage passes for a fricking army.
But nothing for me.
Never anything for me.
I knew Lydia didn’t like me. Even before my father had died, she’d made veiled insults about me. He’d never caught them, but I had. I knew exactly how she felt about me. So I don’t know why I was surprised.
Sheknewhow I felt about music.
Since I was a little girl, I’d dreamed of being a backup dancer. And I’d been talking about going to The Oceanfront Music Festival for months. It’d been the one bright, shining spot that had gotten me through the darkness after my dad’s death. And she’d waited until the last minute to put me on the schedule this weekend? Meanwhile, they’d had VIP passes this whole time?
It felt like a physical blow.
“Emma.Emma!Get the bags, Emma!”
I jolted at Lydia’s bellowed order. I’d dazedly taken all of three steps toward the house when the driver pushed past me.
“I’ll grab your bags, ma’am.” He tipped his hat at me, and I shrunk into myself at the pity I saw in his eyes.
Right.
Shaking my head, I walked back to my garage apartment.
“Emma!” Lydia shouted, glee clear in every syllable. “Don’t forget about Lucy. We’ll be gone through Monday. Don’t make me regret putting you in charge.”
I fluttered a hand over my shoulder at her, stomped up the stairs, and slammed the door shut behind me. Leaning against it, I scrubbed my hands over my face and fought like hell to keep the tears at bay.
Because I was done crying about them and their bullshit.
It was beyond time to get my life under control.
I just needed to figure out where to start.
* * *
They were brave words, but after watching a rom-com marathon and a restless night’s sleep, I was no closer to an answer.
As I walked up to the diner the next morning, every step felt like I was fighting through a waist-deep marsh. I didn’t want to go in. Even the thought of seeing Gwen’s smiling face didn’t cheer me up.
I was done with this place. But how did I escape it?
I had hardly any money saved. All my dad’s money and property had gone to Lydia after his death, and Lydia charged me rent. Most of my savings had gone into getting a car a few months back, after the one my dad had given me had also died on me. And like hell would Lydia ever help me out with anything.
That was a direct quote, by the way.
There was literally nothing keeping me here. But I was afraid if I picked up and moved to LA, I’d be stripping—or worse—within a month. I simply couldn’t afford to chase my dreams.
I was stuck.
It took me a minute when I entered the kitchen to clock the silence enveloping me. Then I noticed the absolute lack of any yummy smells.
And where was Gwen?
I was supposed to be the mid-shift server today, covering lunch and dinner, and depending on who else was on, maybe stay until after closing. Okay, I always stayed after closing.
But people should’ve been here. The diner should’ve been at least slightly busy. Despite what Lydia had claimed, this wasn’t our biggest weekend. People usually ate at the small army of food trucks that descended on our small city this weekend. It was kind of a big deal. But we usually had our diehards.
Where were they?
