Rally (Treasure State Wildcats Book 3)

The diner’s door chimed as Rush walked inside, his hair full of stark white snowflakes.

It was early March, and for a blissful week, it had almost looked like spring. Green grass had started sprouting amidst the brown. But we’d woken up this morning to gray skies and ominous clouds. It had started snowing during my eleven o’clock class and hadn’t stopped since.

“Hey,” Rush said, ruffling his dark hair. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay.”

He unzipped his coat and tossed it over the back of the nearest booth. “The roads are shit. I think we’d better leave your car here tonight, and we’ll come get it tomorrow after the plows have had a chance to catch up.”

“Okay.” I didn’t like being without a car, having that freedom taken away. But I didn’t want to drive on bad roads either, especially now that it was getting more and more uncomfortable to sit behind the wheel.

My belly was enormous. In the past two months, it had grown so fast that I hardly recognized myself in the mirror every morning. At my appointment last week, the doctor had predicted Squish was going to be a nine-pound baby. This was the problem with having a child with a human giant.

“How was the team meeting?” I asked.

“Fine.” He shrugged. “I stayed late to talk to Coach Ellis. He wanted to check and see how things were going.”

With the baby. With me.

I was a little bit jealous that Rush had his coaches. From everything he’d told me, they’d all taken an active interest in this pregnancy. They knew that my doctor’s appointments were a priority and if they conflicted with workout or practice schedules, his coaches excused him from the mandatory requirement. They genuinely cared about him and his future.

They were a team.

Rush had told Maverick two months ago that I was his team. I hadn’t really understood at the time why he’d used that word. But the more time we spent together, the more I realized just how important a team was in his life.

There weren’t many pregnant students on campus. It was fairly common knowledge around campus that we were having a baby. There was just no hiding my bump, even behind my winter coats and thick, warm layers. I was a small person and it looked like I’d swallowed a watermelon whole.

I did my best to ignore the strange looks and focus on school, which was drowning me at the moment.

Rush came to the table where I was sitting, pulling out the chair next to mine. He kissed my hair and draped his arm around my shoulders. “You okay?”

“Stressed.” I nodded to the textbooks and papers scattered across the table.

This last semester should have been the easiest. I didn’t have a huge class load, except what other seniors were doing in four months, I was cramming into three. My professors had given me an accelerated schedule so that I’d take my final exams two weeks before my due date.

I only hoped that my two-week buffer was enough. If Squish came early, well . . . I couldn’t even think about that right now.

We didn’t have the nursery set up. Rush kept asking me to move my things into his closet but I’d been so busy I hadn’t made it a priority. I didn’t have baby clothes or diapers or a crib. We needed to go shopping, but I couldn’t afford much. Rush would buy whatever we needed, but I was . . . running out of time.

Soon, everything would be different.

It was good right now. So, so good. Life was better than it had ever been. I wasn’t ready for different.

I wasn’t ready for the good to end.

“Maybe this weekend we should go shopping.” The words felt thick and heavy as they came out.

“All right. My mom wants to buy the crib. How about we split the rest?”

“Sure.” I gave him a sad smile, grateful that he hadn’t offered to just buy it himself.

Someday, if this worked out between us, I’d have to learn how to take his money, wouldn’t I? The idea made my skin crawl, but in time, I hoped it wouldn’t feel like I was leaching. Like I was giving up my independence. And it wasn’t like I wouldn’t work. I would always contribute.

But if he went to the NFL . . . well, that was a level of wealth I couldn’t really comprehend.

And now was not the time to try.

I shook away the thought, getting way too far ahead of myself. We still had another year to survive first with a newborn baby.

Without school expenses, I was hoping to save more of my paychecks. Unless daycare turned out to be more expensive than I’d researched. But maybe I could work during the hours Rush was home to stay with the baby.

The logistics were fuzzy and my head began to throb.

I hadn’t spoken to Dusty about a maternity leave. I was only planning on taking a couple weeks away, but what if I needed more?

There were too many questions, too many unknowns. Why hadn’t I figured these things out by now? How could I be six weeks away from my due date and have no plan?

Most parents probably had these things sorted by now. This urgency to figure it out, figure it out now, had been plaguing me for days.

“Sweets.”

I jerked at Rush’s voice. “Yeah?”

“You’re in your head.”

Yes. Yes, I was. “It’s overwhelming.”

“Break it down. One thing at a time.”

“Okay.” I glanced around the diner. “How long should I take off after he’s born?”

“Couple months?”

My eyes bugged out. “I can’t take off two months.”

“Why not?”

Money. That was the real answer. Except I knew what he’d say to that. He’d tell me we had money, so I gave him a different answer. “Dusty. She needs my help.”

He kept his eyes trained on mine, his mouth shut.

We were alone in an empty diner.

Dusty didn’t need my help, not really. Since she and Mike had gotten back together, he was here with her more often than not. Last night, I’d overheard them talking about getting a third snake. A python. Eww.

If they really were serious this time, she could wait on tables while he cooked in the kitchen.

“Talk to her,” Rush said. “See what she’s thinking.”

I nodded, staring blankly at the book open in front of me.

“What else do you need to do here tonight?” he asked.

“Not much. Turn up the chairs and mop the floors.”

“I’ll help. Maybe Dusty will close early. I doubt anyone is going to come in with this weather.” He stood, holding out a hand to help me to my feet.

We’d just started on the chairs, picking them up to put on the tables, when the swinging door to the kitchen opened.

Dusty stormed into the dining room, her face red and her mouth pursed in a scowl. The only other time I’d seen her this angry was when a customer had called me a little bitch three years ago when I’d accidentally spilled a water glass on his table.

“What’s wrong?”

She lifted a hand and, in it, a neon-yellow flyer. The paper and its headline—SAVE DOLLY’S DINER—was crumpled, like she’d balled it into a fist, then flattened it out. “A friend of Mike’s who works on campus gave it to him today. What the hell is this?”

“Um, marketing?” Shit.

Rush’s heat hit my back as he hovered close, like he was going to leap in front of me if Dusty took another step closer.

I would have told him he was being ridiculous, but she was livid. At me.

She’d never been mad at me before.

Okay, so maybe SAVE DOLLY’S DINER was a slap in the face. I hadn’t meant to humiliate her, I’d simply been trying to snag attention. If people came out of pity, they’d stay for her food. We just needed to get them through the door.

“Dusty.” I held up both hands. “I was only trying to spread the word about the diner.”

“Don’t,” she snapped and my entire body flinched.

Tears welled in my eyes as she stared at me, her entire body vibrating with rage. Then it all stopped. One blink, she was furious. The next, her shoulders curled inward and that flyer in her hand floated to the floor.

“I am so fucking tired of this restaurant, Faye. I hate this place. Most days, I wish I could burn it to the ground.”

My mouth opened, but I had no idea what to say.

Dolly’s was her life. Her legacy. She hated it here? Since when?

“I can’t sell it,” Dusty said. “My mother would roll over in her grave. My family . . .”

Her family hated her for getting this restaurant. They’d despise her if she sold it. She’d never told me about that dinner with her cousin. I’d assumed it had gone well, though as far as I knew, they hadn’t met again.

“Doesn’t matter.” She flicked a hand in the air. “It doesn’t fucking matter. I can’t sell it because it doesn’t make any money. No one wants an old diner that’s slowly going bankrupt.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

Dusty dropped her chin, staring at the floor as she planted her hands on her hips. For a minute, I thought she might cry.

I’d never seen Dusty cry. She was tough as steel. As solid as stone.

“I’m trapped here.” When she looked up, the emotion was gone from her face. She stared at me with a blank look that was even more unnerving than the anger. “I get to face my failures each and every day.”

“But Dolly’s doesn’t have to fail. That’s why I made⁠—”

She held up a hand, stopping me short. “The only way I’m free of this place is if it fails.”

I shook my head. “You want it to fail?”

“It’s not if, sugar. It’s when.” The hopelessness in Dusty’s voice stabbed me straight through the heart.

Even if she had the chance to save Dolly’s Diner, she wouldn’t take it, would she? Was it spite for her family keeping her here? Or loyalty to her mother’s wishes? Both? It made no sense that she wouldn’t sell this place and walk away. That she’d sacrifice her pride and go down with a sinking ship.

How much money had she dumped into this restaurant? How long would she let it bleed her dry?

Until the end. Until she had no other choice.

Stubborn. She was so freaking stubborn.

“I don’t want you tied to this diner,” she said. “Not like me.”

“All right.” I wasn’t tied to this place. Yes, I loved it here. Dolly’s had been such a big part of my life, it had become a piece of my heart. But I’d always known someday I would walk away.

“You’re fired.”

I staggered, my shoulders crashing into Rush’s body. “W-what?”

“You’re fired.”

“You’re firing me?” Was this a joke? She was firing me because of some silly flyers?

“Yep.”

My jaw dropped. “But I need this job.”

“I’m cutting you loose. You’re too attached, babycakes.”

“Attached to my paycheck? Yes.” My voice was too loud with a panicked edge. “You can’t fire me.”

No one was going to hire me, not this pregnant.

Dusty’s gaze dropped to my belly, like she was realizing that if she fired me, I’d truly be screwed. “You’ve got until that baby is born. Then you’re done.”

“Dusty—”

“I’m not gentle, you know this.”

No. She wasn’t gentle. But she wasn’t cruel.

This was cruel.

She bent and picked up that flyer, wadding it into a tight paper ball. “It’s for your own good, sugar.”

“You actually believe that,” I whispered.

“I do.” She nodded once, then spun around and disappeared into the kitchen.

When the door stopped swinging, a heartbreaking silence filled the room. My heart ached with every beat.

Fired. She’d just fired me. She’d taken away my livelihood without so much as a pause. She’d taken this from my child.

So she’d stay here out of loyalty to her mother, stay here so her asshole family members couldn’t say she’d quit, all the while losing business in the hopes that it would fail because that was an outcome they could accept.

What the fuck sense did that make?

How could her loyalty not extend my direction? After all these years, this was how my time at Dolly’s would end?

A part of me never wanted to set foot in this restaurant again. To leave her tonight and never look back. But I needed this job. I needed the money for rent and baby clothes and diapers. My own pride would bring me back here tomorrow afternoon for my regular shift.

I was just as trapped in this building as Dusty.

“It’s okay.” Rush wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me against his body. “Give her some time.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat as more tears welled. “She won’t change her mind.”

“She’s just mad.”

He didn’t know Dusty, not the way I knew her. The decision was made. She wouldn’t waver.

“I want to go home,” I said, walking out of Rush’s hold. “I’ll be fine to drive.”

“Faye—”

“I don’t want to leave my car here.” I went to the table with my books and began stuffing them into my backpack. I’d just zipped it up when the door’s chime had my face lifting to the door.

“Sorry, we’re closing up,” Rush said.

He didn’t realize that the woman in the entryway wasn’t here for a meal.

She was frail and thin. Too thin. Her cheeks were sallow and her skin gray. She brushed snowflakes from her head scarf. The fabric was the same strawberry-blond color as my hair. The same color as hers should have been.

Except she had no hair.

When her caramel eyes met mine, they were dull and muted, but she forced a smile. “Hi, Faye.”

Where was her hair? “Hi, Mom.”