VERA

The phone felt like a block of ice in my hand. I swiped to answer and held it to my ear, my throat too tight to form a word.

“Ms. Hayes?” It was Linda, Jett’s favorite nurse. Her voice was always too gentle, like she was constantly telling me bad news. Which, to be fair, she usually was.

“Yeah. It’s me,” I managed, my voice a rasp.

“I’m calling about the surgical schedule. They’ve confirmed a date for Jett’s procedure two weeks from Friday. The… the third one.”

The one that’s supposed to finally let him walk again. She didn’t have to say it. The words hung in the air between us, heavy and expensive.

“The hospital administration requires the deposit to be paid by the end of this week to secure the spot and the surgical team. The amount is… twenty thousand dollars.”

The number didn’t just land; it dropped like a bomb, vaporizing every other thought in my head. Twenty. Thousand. Dollars. I’d been worrying about my twenty-dollar copay for a textbook.

I must have made a sound, a tiny gasp or whimper, because Mrs. Thompson was in front of me in a second, her warm hands on my shoulders. “Vera? Honey, what is it?”

I lowered the phone, the world tilting around me. “It’s Jett,” I whispered. “The surgery… the one that’s supposed to… it’s scheduled. The deposit is twenty thousand dollars.”

Mrs. Thompson’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my Lord. Twenty thousand?” Her eyes darted around the café, as if the money might be hiding under a table. She pulled me into a quick, hard hug. “Listen to me. We’ll figure this out. I’ve got some set aside for Ray’s… well, for a rainy day. This is a monsoon. I can give you… I can give you five thousand.”

Five thousand dollars. It was a fortune to her. It was a drop in the ocean for me. But the kindness behind it was a life raft. Tears I’d been holding back pricked my eyes. “Mrs. T… I can’t…”

“You can and you will,” she said firmly, squeezing my arms. “You’re a special girl, Vera. You don’t deserve all this suffering.” She looked at me with so much pity and love it almost hurt more than the news.

“I’ll make you proud,” I whispered, the promise feeling flimsy even as I said it.

“You already do, kid. You already do.”

The bus ride home was a blur of gray streets and my own ghostly reflection in the window. Twenty thousand dollars. Brett’s angry text felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe his mood wasn’t just about the party. Maybe it was because I’d refused his “offer” to work at his bar. “You’d make a killing in tips, V,” he’d said, his eyes trailing over me in a way that made it clear what kind of “tips” he meant. I’d rather die than have my mother in heaven—or Jett—see me like that. A waitress in tight shorts, fending off drunk guys for dollar bills.

But now… how far would that same Brett go if I asked him for twenty grand? The thought made me feel sick. It was one thing for him to cover meds. The first two surgeries didn't cost this much. This was different. This was a down payment on my entire soul.

I got to my apartment, the silence deafening. I pulled the little black dress from the back of my closet. It was Brett’s favorite. “It shows off what’s mine,” he’d say. I slipped it on and looked in the mirror. The girl staring back had wide, light-brown eyes that looked too big for her face, and blonde-brown hair that desperately needed a cut. For a second, I didn’t see what Brett saw. I just saw a scared kid playing dress-up.

The bar was called The Gilded Anchor—a stupid, pretentious name for a place that smelled like beer and desperation. It was packed. I spotted Brett immediately, holding court at a high-top table with a bunch of guys in button-downs who looked like they’d never worked a day in their lives. He was in his element, flashing that charming smile with the dimples that had hooked me freshman year.

I remembered meeting him through Sasha. He was a third-year Business major, impossibly cool and older. That wicked green glint in his eyes had been exciting then. Now it just looked like a warning light. It was only later I’d pieced it together—that the Sterlings were our old neighbors. I remembered my dad arguing with Mr. Sterling, his voice low and angry through the walls. I remembered Brett, a lanky teenager, staring at me with a blank, cold look I didn’t understand. They moved away right before my mom got sick. I’d forgotten all about them until Brett reintroduced himself.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Brett’s voice cut through the noise as I approached. He didn’t get up. He just looked me up and down, a slow, approving smirk on his face. “Took you long enough.”

One of his friends, a guy with a too-tight collar, whistled low. “Damn, Brett. You didn’t tell us your girl was this hot.” His eyes scanned me like I was a car he was thinking of buying. My skin crawled.

I leaned into Brett, my voice low. “Brett, can I talk to you for a second? It’s important.”

“Later, V. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” He turned back to his friends, dismissing me.

Just then, I saw Sasha across the room. She waved, all bright smiles, and started heading over. Thank God. A familiar face. But before she reached us, some guy slung an arm around her and pulled her onto the dance floor. She laughed, going with it. She was so easy with them. I wished I could be like that.

I felt a heavy hand land on my thigh. It was the friend with the tight collar. “So, Vera, is it? What do you do?”

I froze. Don’t embarrass him. Don’t make a scene. I tried to subtly shift away, but his grip tightened. Brett was laughing at something someone else said, completely ignoring me. The guy’s hand slid higher.

That was it. I couldn’t do it. I jerked away, my chair scraping loudly. “Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice trembling.

The table went quiet. Brett’s head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing. The guy held up his hands, a fake apologetic smile on his face. “Whoa, easy, sweetheart. Just being friendly.”

I didn’t wait. I turned and practically ran to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall. I leaned against the door, my heart hammering. I stayed there until the music outside became a dull throb and my breathing slowed.

A sharp knock on the door made me jump. “Vera. We’re leaving. Now.” Brett’s voice was flat, cold. Scarier than if he’d been yelling.

I unlocked the door. He didn’t look at me. He just turned and walked out. I followed him to his car, the silence between us a physical weight.

He didn’t start the engine. He just gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?” he finally said, his voice dangerously quiet.

“Brett… that guy… he had his hands all over me. You saw it. What was I supposed to do?”

He turned to me, his face a mask of cold fury. “You were supposed to be cool. You were supposed to be the girl on my arm who makes me look good. Not the one who freaks out because my friend paid you a compliment.”

“A compliment? He was grabbing me!”

“Oh, poor you,” he sneered. “You think you’re so special that guys aren’t gonna look? You’re so ungrateful for the life I give you.”

Tears of frustration welled in my eyes. “No boyfriend who cared about her would just sit there and let that happen!”

The words hung in the air. Brett’s eyes darkened. His hand twitched, and for a terrifying second, I thought he was going to smack me. He stopped himself, his arm freezing mid-air. He took a sharp, furious breath.

“Get out.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“Get. Out. Of. The. Car.” Each word was a bullet.

“Brett, it’s freezing, we’re miles from my—”

“I DON’T CARE!” he roared, the sound exploding in the small space. “GET OUT!”

I fumbled for the handle, my hands shaking so badly I could barely work it. I stumbled out onto the curb. The door slammed shut, and the car peeled away, leaving me alone in the cold.

I walked all the way home, the icy air biting through my stupid dress. By the time I got to my apartment, I was numb. I sank to the floor, the tears finally coming, hot and shameful.

There was only one option left. One person I could ask. The thought made me want to vomit.

I was going to have to swallow every last shred of my pride and beg my stepmother for money.