“And?” she asks. “You no longer work at Rocks—” “But I need the money…” she whispers after a beat, even though there’s an acceptance in her gaze. She expected this, and for some reason that scores a deeper cut into my flesh than the knife wound that sits there now. She knew something like this was coming. Pen hasn’t had it easy, but like with everything in her life, she handles it. The least I can do is the same.
