When You Start to Miss Me

Excerpt

Lincoln

My stomach has moved past the point of rumbling as I trudge down the boulevard, my feet protesting every step. Most of the shops have closed for the night, and the only light comes from the street lamps above. 

Wait. There’s light coming from a business. 

Hope rises within me, but I shove it down because all I have is two dollars in my pocket. If this place actually has food for sale, what can I get? This part of town doesn’t offer any dollar menus. Even the bottled water is out of my price range.

Sighing, I glance in the window as I trudge by. 

A restaurant. Devereaux Delight. Looks like one of those fancy places I grew up going to with my family before I moved out and started eating ramen noodles and college cafeteria food as my staples.

I pass the window and keep going. 

Then I hear a scream—shrill, horrified. Or someone’s just playing. But it doesn’t sound like it.

I stick my hands in my pockets and continue on.

Another shriek, this one even louder.

As tempting as it is to keep going—whatever’s going on is clearly none of my business—I can’t. What if something is wrong? I might be able to help.

It’s doubtful, but I have to at least take a look. If nothing else, maybe whoever’s inside will have pity on me and box up some leftovers. Or maybe even offer me a ride home.

I’m going to get my roommates back for this prank. Leaving me on the opposite side of town without my wallet or car, in my grimy workout clothes no less. 

I push on the door, fully expecting it to be locked. It isn’t. I stumble inside, regain my footing, and stand up straight.

Can’t see anyone. Everything looks pristine and perfect, ready for tomorrow’s customers. Perfectly straight black tablecloths with elegant matching silver candles on each one.

I’m turning to head back out into the night when something catches my attention.

Sobbing. Someone sounds miserable.

No way I can ignore that. I follow the cries, heading toward the back of the restaurant. The lingering aromas from the night make my mouth water, reminding my stomach to growl. The delicious smells from the night are a cruel, false hope—my mouth waters and stomach growls in anticipation of a meal I cannot eat.

“Hello?” I call.

Nothing. Sobbing continues, coming through a set of double doors. 

“Is everything okay?” Stupid question, I know, but I can’t let the person think I’m in here to hold the place up. “Can I help?”

I take the lack of response as my invitation to enter. After pushing through the doors, I’m in a sparkling kitchen full of gadgets I can’t name. 

The cries are to my left, louder. 

I hurry toward them, and find two people on the ground. A guy, unconscious, who looks even less like he belongs in this expensive restaurant than I do, and a girl about my age. She’s the one in tears.

“Do you need help?” Another dumb question.

The girl sits up and whips around to look at me. Her long, dark-brown hair flies out, her eyes are red, and her face tear-stained. She stares at me like she can’t tell if I’m real or not. The girl looks like she’s probably beautiful under normal circumstances.

I kneel next to her and nod toward the guy. “What’s with him?”

She wipes her eyes, and I see her name tag. 

Malia.

I get lost in her green eyes for a moment before realizing she’s speaking. “Can you repeat that?”

“My brother just collapsed.” Her voice is strained, probably from the screaming.

“Have you called for an ambulance?”

She shakes her head no and collapses on his torso, begging him to wake up.

“Where’s the phone?” I leap to my feet and look around. Can’t see one—probably because everyone has cell phones. And mine has a drained battery at the moment. Totally useless.

Malia turns back to me. “I can’t call them!”

I give her a double-take. “He’s your brother, right?”

“Yeah, and his system is full of illegal drugs!” She presses her hands on her face. “He can’t go there.”

My mind spins, trying to make sense of her logic. “But if he dies, it’s over! He gets no more chances for anything.”

She leaps up. “You can’t call!”

And she has me there. Not with a phone that won’t power on. “We have to do something! No offense, but crying isn’t going to help.”

Malia leaps to her feet. “We need to make him throw up!”

“What? Here?”

She nods rapidly and pulls hair behind her ears. “It’s the only way to get it out of his system!”

I look around. “Where’s the bathroom? I’ll get him there.”

It’s as if she doesn’t even hear me. She lunges for a counter and grabs a wooden spoon and turns to me wide-eyed. “He’s out cold. We have to do it here. With this.” 

“I’m not sure I follow.” I glance back and forth between her and the spoon.

Malia kneels next to her brother again. “Hold down his arms!”

“We really should call the professionals.”

“He might wake up and fight us. Don’t let go.” She opens his mouth and aims the thin end of the spoon.

My pulse races. What have I gotten myself into? This dude could die. I’d be an accessory. Or held negligent at the very least. Honestly, I have no idea, but there’s no way this can end up good for any of us. Least of all for the guy about to have a giant spoon shoved down his throat.

Malia glowers at me. “Do I need to do everything?”

She’s enchanting, even when shooting me with that look. I can’t say no to her. 

So I grab her brother’s arms and press them against the floor. He doesn’t resist at all. I’d be worried he was already dead if his chest wasn’t moving up and down.

My crazy partner in crime shoves the spoon into his mouth. 

That elicits a reaction. His arms pull away from my grasp. 

I regain my hold and press harder. Pray that I don’t wind up in jail over this. Isn’t there a good Samaritan law or something? I sure hope so. Malia only cares about her brother not getting locked up. I need to watch out for myself.

And I’m doing a terrible job at that. 

I have to squeeze harder to keep the druggie still. He’s strong, and he’s not happy about this situation. Not that I blame him, but he did get himself into it. Sure, I’ve made a ton of crappy decisions over the last few years, but nothing like this.

He starts gagging. Then common sense hits me. I roll him to his side so he doesn’t choke.

Just as I get him sideways, he spews his stomach contents. I close my eyes and try to forget the sight. My stomach lurches. Now I’m glad there’s nothing in it. Can’t puke without food in there—at least I hope not. 

For once, my life choices have worked to my advantage. 

Unlike the dude I’m holding down. He’s still retching, and the smell is atrocious. 

He may prove me wrong. I might be able to vomit with an empty stomach, given the way my insides are heaving.

Finally, he stops. Starts shaking. Gasping.

I want to shout, don’t throw up again!

Instead, I cover my mouth, hoping that’ll help keep me from retching. Then I scoot away and finally dare to open my eyes, trying desperately not to look at the mess.

Malia leans closer to him, seemingly oblivious to the rancid mess between them. “Are you okay?”

He moans, rubs his eyes.

“I said, are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“Then sit up,” she demands.

This Malia is completely different from the one a minute ago.

Her brother groans.

“Holden. Sit up!”

The dude glowers at her, and finally I see a resemblance between them. Otherwise the sandy blond, with what has to be a week-old beard, looks nothing like her.

“Do I need to call your sponsor?” Now she whips a phone from her pocket. That would’ve been useful five minutes ago.

“No.” Holden struggles to sit up. “See?”

“You’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah. Leave me alone.”

“You idiot!” She slugs him in the shoulder.

“Hey!” He rubs the spot. Then he glances my way. “Who’s the dude?”

“Don’t change the subject.” She guides his chin back to her. “What did you take this time?”

He shrugs.

She shoves him. “You better clean this up.”

Holden glances down at his vomit and winces. “That’s gross, dude.”

“I’m not a dude.” Malia rises and dusts her hands on her pants. “Now get up and clean this mess before Mom and Dad see it.”

He shakes his head. 

“Fine. I’ll call your sponsor and let him know about this.”

“Give me a minute, okay?” Holden rubs his temples then turns back to me. “Seriously, who are you?”

Before I can respond, Malia answers. “He helped save your life. You could try thanking him.”

He just stares at me like I’m out to get him.

“I’m calling Dad to come get you. Clean this mess.”

Holden turns his disdainful expression to her. “You wouldn’t.”

“No? Try me.”

He struggles to his feet, holds his stomach.

“What’d you take this time?” Malia taps her foot, narrows her eyes.

“I don’t remember.”

“Smooth. What would you have done if I weren’t here? If he weren’t here?” She makes a sweeping motion toward me.

Holden stumbles toward me. “You work here or somethin’?”

“Nope. Just passing by. Heard a commotion.”

He scowls. 

“You should try thanking your sister.”

“My warden, is more like it.”

Now I want to punch him. But I shove my fists into my jacket pockets. “She saved your life.”

“He doesn’t care.” Malia slides her finger around her phone’s screen.

“Who ya callin’?” Holden flares his nostrils.

She lifts a brow. “You don’t want to know.”

His mouth forms a straight line.

I stand between them and glare at him. “If you’ll be grateful to your sister, I’ll help you with this mess.”

He tilts his head, sizes me up. “Why?”

“Because you need to cut her some slack. I wanted to call an ambulance, but she insisted I couldn’t.”

His brows draw together. He starts to say something but then his hands fly to his stomach, his face paling even more. “I don’t feel so good.”

I grab his arms and drag him, following the signs to the bathroom. Then I shove him into a stall. He falls to his knees and the door slams behind him.

Retching sounds, along with the sounds of water splashing.

This is definitely not how I saw my evening playing out.

Malia

I put the mop away and wipe my forehead. Yet another of Holden’s messes for me to clean up. It’s not even close to the first and it won’t be the last. And I’ll never receive any thanks, unless that guy in the bathroom with my brother actually gets him to thank me.

Can’t see that happening.

I lean against a counter and look around to make sure I haven’t missed any of my brother’s vomit. My parents will never let me hear the end of it if they discover even a speck. 

If only I could break free of this family. But that’ll never happen. Every one of them needs me. They don’t appreciate me, but they need me. And I need the money. Although, sometimes living on the street does seem more attractive than constantly putting up with the things I have to deal with.

Footsteps sound. Holden is leaning against the mystery man. 

It’s too bad I’ll never see him again. I could use a distraction like him. But he’s going to run out that door and never look back. Not that I can blame him.

Just one more way my family has managed to ruin my life.

“I think he’s going to be okay,” the guy says. “He really should have a doctor look him over though.”

Holden throws me a pleading look.

“He probably should.”

My brother glowers at me. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wasn’t there something you were going to tell your sister?” asks the guy. 

I really have to find out his name.

“Nope.” Holden pushes himself away from the stranger and stumbles out of the kitchen.

“Should we go after him?” 

I shake my head no. “What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yeah. I assume you have one. Mine’s Malia.” I hold out my hand.

He glances at the still-swinging door then back to me. “I’m Lincoln. Everyone calls me Linc.”

“Like the game. Cool.” I shake his hand.

“Why don’t you seem concerned about your brother? He could’ve died.”

I draw in a deep breath and rearrange a vase of orange flowers as I try to think of a reply that won’t take hours. “It’s complicated.”

Linc leans against the counter across from me and rakes his fingers through his messy dark hair, then rubs the dusting of his beard. His hazel eyes seem to stare directly into my soul. “I’m going to wager that complicated doesn’t begin to describe it.”

“You could say that.” I hold his gaze, waiting for him to bolt. Any sane person would.

“How long have you been dealing with his drug addiction?”

“Long enough.”

We stare each other down until I can’t take the silence. “Want something to eat?”

He tilts his head. “You want food now?”

“There’s plenty.” I pan my palms around the kitchen. 

Linc glances at the floor where my brother’s vomit was ten minutes ago. “That didn’t put off your appetite?”

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

He cocks a brow, and for some reason that makes my heart skip a beat.

I turn from him. “So, what brings you here tonight? Everything on the street is closed by now. I can’t imagine you were just wandering the streets.”

“It’s complicated.”

I study him—he’s gorgeous, well dressed, and clean. Hardly seems like the type to be wandering around with such bad luck. Sighing, I play with the flowers again.

“You seem to like those,” he says. 

“Orange is my favorite color.”

“You must love this time of year.” He leans against the counter. “You dressing up for Halloween?”

“Maybe. I’ll probably take my youngest brother trick-or-treating.”

Linc slides his hands over his scruff again. “Cool.” 

“So, you want grub or not?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah, sure. Like what?”

I shrug. “Let’s have a look.”

“You sure your boss won’t get mad?”

“My parents won’t care as long as I leave everything sparkling clean.” I open the nearest refrigeration unit and scan the contents. 

“Your parents own this place?”

“Yeah. Why do you think Holden came here all strung out?”

“I’d say he was more than just strung out.”

I move onto the next fridge, hoping one of the cooks left something to eat. They often make the most popular dishes before they’re ordered and sometimes end up with extras and save those. My brothers and I usually eat them. My parents may be world-class chefs but they almost never make anything at home. Mostly because they’re rarely ever there.

“There aren’t any prepared dishes. You up for cooking?”

“I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve made anything fancier than ramen noodles, though.”

I pull out some ingredients. “But you do know how to cook?”

“The basics. I can’t make anything like this place sells.”

“Good, because we’re not making one of those dishes.”

He purses his lips into a slightly playful smile, an expression that makes him even more attractive. 

I shove that thought aside and put the ingredients on a counter. “Grab one of those large pans and some cooking oil. Avocado, if there is any.”

Before he can reply, I spin back around and pull out the rest of what we need.

“Coconut oil okay?” he asks.

“If there’s no avocado.”

“None that I see.”

“Sounds great.” I look over everything on the counter and start organizing everything based on when I’ll need the item. “Turn on the stove to medium and oil the pan.”

“You got it.” He gets to work. “What are we making?”

“You’ll see.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite. My mom used to make that all the time when I was a kid.”

The corners of my mouth twitch. 

He winks as he rubs the oil over the pan. 

Warmth creeps into my cheeks and I look away. “Here, start with the onions.”

He caramelizes the bowl of already-chopped veggies while I measure and mix the other ingredients.

“Still won’t tell me what we’re making?” he asks. “What if I have a food allergy?”

I glance at him. “Do you?”

“No.” He gives me a playful expression before stirring the onions some more.

“Then why ask?”

“Why not? What are we making?”

I pour some sauce into a pan. “Like I said, you’ll see.”

We tease each other as we make the meal. After I roll out the dough and flip it in the air, his brows draw together. “Pizza?”

“You ask too many questions. Turn on the oven to four-hundred.”

“Does this place actually make pizza?”

“I do.” 

He smirks. “Aha. Just got you to admit what we’re making.”

I snort. “You still have no idea. What kind is it?”

“Caramelized onion pizza.” Linc folds his arms.

“Go ahead and think that.” I busy him with tasks until our dish is ready for the oven. 

After he sets the timer, he turns to me. “Will you tell me now, or do I have to wait? And shouldn’t we check on your brother?”

I sigh. “He’s fine, trust me.”

He doesn’t. Without a word, Linc exits the kitchen. Comes back five minutes later. 

I’ve already got half our mess picked up. “Let me guess. Holden’s fine, like I said.”

Linc nods. “He said you’re making caramelized onion, gruyere, and pepper bacon gluten-free pizza. At least I think that’s what he said. That’s a mouthful.”

“It’s also the best thing your taste buds will have ever come into contact with. You’ll be begging me for the recipe.”

He lifts a brow. “I just made it with you. I don’t need no stinking recipe.”

I laugh out loud. And it kind of makes me sad because I can’t remember the last time that happened. To make matters worse, once Linc’s belly is full, I’ll never see him again.

“Why do you look disappointed?”

“I’m not.” I hand him a floury bowl. “Wash this in that sink over there.” 

He clearly doesn’t believe me, but he also doesn’t push it. 

Is it bad that I want him to stick around? Yes, it actually is. I’ll bring him nothing but pain and misery. Well, good food, pain, and misery. The food only keeps them coming back for so long. Especially after meeting my family. And he’s already seen Holden in all of his glory.

But even with as messed up as the middle Devereaux sibling is, he isn’t the one who will freak out Lincoln the most. Not even close. One interaction with my parents will send him running for the hills.

I sigh and try not to think about it as I take care of the rest of our mess and then check the oven. My masterpiece is almost done. It’s bubbling and golden, and the smell makes my mouth water immediately.

Linc turns around. “That smells amazing.”

I close the door before he can see my pizza. “And you’re going to have to wait until it’s done.” 

He smirks as he turns around and rinses the bowl. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“I’ll take it.” I put it with the others and find him cleaning the rest of our mess. 

Linc holds up a wooden spoon. “This isn’t the one from earlier, is it?”

“Of course not. What kind of monster do you think I am?”

He tilts his head and gives me a crooked half-smile. He really is good looking. “Hard to say. I just met you.”

“That’s true. Keep in mind I grew up around this. My father runs a tight kitchen—everything has to be done just so.”

“What did you do with the spoon, if I may ask?”

“I tossed it in the garbage.” I nudge him out of the way and check the pizza. 

Perfection. I grab an oven glove and pull it out.

“Can I finally look?” Linc teases.

“It’s out, isn’t it?” I set it on the counter. “What do you think?”

“Hard to say without tasting it, but I have to say it looks much better than the frozen pizzas I usually cook.”

I give him my best horrified look. “How dare you compare this to a grocery store brand? Do you realize what you’re about to taste?”

“Not really.” He taps his fingers along the counter.

“You’ve got that right. Grab some plates while I cut this.” I point to where the plates are stored.

“How many? Are we sharing this with your brother?”

“Yeah. Get three.” I find a pizza cutter and slice twelve equal pieces. It really is a piece of work, so I pull out my phone and snap a few pictures. I’ll add filters and upload one to social media later. For now, I want to devour it.

“Do we need anything else?” Lincoln asks. “Drinks?”

“I nearly forgot about those. Soft drinks or wine?”

He lifts a brow. “I’m only twenty.” 

“So? I’m not going to card you.” 

“Don’t want to get your restaurant in trouble.”

“It isn’t mine. What do you want?”

“Surprise me.” He grabs the pizza and balances it with the plates, then heads out to the dining area.

I want to carry the food myself—as a lifelong waitress, I have the technique down. Not sure he has any experience. But I let it go and wander over to the drinks and try to decide. Holden and I aren’t of legal drinking age either, but it’s not something my parents have ever cared about. They’ve always given us samples, going back as far as I can remember. 

Maybe that’s part of what led my brother down the path he’s currently drowning in.

I pick some higher end soft drinks and find Linc and my brother at a table near the back. No surprise, given that my brother likely doesn’t want anyone seeing him through the windows. They haven’t touched the pizza yet—that has to be thanks to Linc. Holden would have devoured half of it before I even arrived.

My brother looks up in surprise. “You did make it.”

“Of course.” I set the drinks down. “It’s my favorite. Leave enough for all of us.”

He scowls at me. 

I sit next to our guest. “Don’t act like you don’t scarf down food before anyone else can have any.”

Holden turns to Linc. “Don’t listen to her.”

“I’m not judging anyone.”

I turn to him. “Do you have any siblings?”

“A brother. He’s older.”

Holden grabs a piece of pizza. “So you feel my pain.”

“Hey, I just made you dinner after cleaning your puke. You have no room to complain.”

He just shrugs.

“Try it.” I nudge Linc.

“The chef should eat first.” 

I sit taller. “No, the guest should.”

“If you say so.” He grabs the nearest piece and takes a bite. His eyes widen before closing for a few moments. “This is amazing.”

“Like I said.” I give him only half the smile I’m feeling inside and have a bite myself. It’s so good I could eat it for every meal and never get sick of it.

“It’s really gluten free?” Linc asks.

I nod, my mouth too full to answer.

“Don’t ask what flour she uses,” Holden says. 

“Why not? It’s delicious.”

My brother takes another slice. “It’s not so much the weird flour but the ground veggies she adds in that will make you shudder.”

“There’s nothing strange about that.” I sip my grape-flavored drink. “It’s healthier.”

“It tastes great,” Linc says. “That’s all I care about.”

We laugh and joke as we finish the meal. If only my life was actually this normal. I try to make it last because once Lincoln walks out the door, I’ll have to face reality again. 

And that’s the last thing I want.