“How’s the job hunt going?”
I’m at band practice. I’ve been doing quite a lot of it in the two weeks since Kieran put Connor in the hospital.
I quit my job. Sent Connor a text message with photos of the finger-shaped marks on my neck and told him that if he tried pressing charges against Kieran, I’d press charges against him. He didn’t. Called me a useless slut and told me he was done with me.
So at least there’s one positive thing to come out of all this chaos.
“Not great,” I tell Brady. “Everybody wants references, and I’ve only ever worked at Connor’s restaurants. I listed John, obviously, not him, but they must be calling him, anyway.”
“You’ve still got the job at the Daily Dose, right?” asks Remy, our blue-haired bassist. “Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to start paying full price f
