I was a mess—a very literal jumbled mess that had bones and skin keeping it together, but it really hit me at that moment. I mean, it had hit me at various times over the last year, and I was doing this whole denying routine to keep myself from falling apart, but in this moment, the reality of how destroyed I was inside became crystal clear.

I was nearing thirty. Three years away was really not that long.

I’d been fired from a job I kinda enjoyed doing, but also didn’t really give two craps about at the same time. It was something that paid the bills and I hadn’t hated it.

I was now doing dishes at my old childhood job, literally hiding from my life, and I had no idea how to move forward.

I snuck a look at Owen and Hadley. It made sense that they were here.

Owen had a plan. The normal kitchen staff were off, otherwise Owen was the one who usually ran things around here. Even Keith being here made sense. He was the director. Those were two respectable careers, and Hadley was here to support her husband. They had kids. She was a mom too. That was the most important job in the world.

Grant was head of the maintenance crew. That was a good job anywhere.

What the hell was I doing?

I had no kids. No boyfriend. No life.

I was trying to keep myself from becoming a gawking stalker. I mean, pathetic much? That was me.

The normal staff were usually college kids, doing a fun job during the summers while they went to school to get to the real careers they wanted in life. Even they had direction.

I was embarrassed.

“Charlie.”

I literally jerked out of my thoughts, stepping backward and hitting the wall behind me. Two drying crates hung there crashed to the floor.

Keith had been making an announcement, but he stopped, and everyone looked at me.

I hissed, feeling the tears on my face.

Grant had been the one to say my name, his eyes now narrowing before he looked around us.

He stepped forward, shielding me from the rest of the room, except I looked around him. Reese Forster still had a direct line of sight to me, and he was staring like everyone else—except his jaw was clenched. His eyebrows pulled down, and he frowned.

Was he mad at me? Because I was crying?

Feeling an irrational burst of anger, I flipped him off.

The dish window hid most of me, but I raised my hand to my waist, with just the one finger showing. His eyes dropped to it and lingered.

I waved it from side to side until I realized what I was doing and tore myself away.

Then I did what I always did.