Chapter 5 Maya’s Despair
1189 Words
“s**t,” she muttered under her breath. “Of all the damn places…”
She spun on her heel before he could turn his head, heart already kicking harder. Her fingers fumbled the phone out of her pocket as she pushed through the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. The cool air hit her face.
She scrolled through contacts, thumb hovering.
Maya? Ethan?
She kept scrolling. Names blurred past. Mom? Dad? The list ended.
Chloe stared at the empty screen, thumb still frozen. No one left to call. Not tonight.
She let out a small, shaky laugh that sounded more like a sigh, then shoved the phone back in her pocket and started walking—fast.
The cello pressed against Maya’s chest like dead weight tonight. The practice room was half dark, only the scratch of her bow cutting the quiet—fast, messy, angry—until her phone buzzed hard against the music stand. She glanced down. Dylan.
She answered on the second ring.
“Maya? Please. You gotta help me.” His voice was thin, shaking, the same panic she’d heard too many times.
“I gave you everything last month, Dylan. I’m eating toast for dinner so you can keep ‘figuring s**t out.’”
“This isn’t about me figuring s**t out! They’re done waiting. They said if I don’t have fifty grand by Friday, they’re breaking both my legs. Maya, please—you’re the only one who can get that kind of cash.”
“Fifty thousand pounds? I play cello, Dylan. I’m not a f*****g ATM.” Tears came fast, hot, sliding down her cheeks and landing on the glossy varnish. She didn’t wipe them off.
“Talk to that photographer guy. Or his rich cousin. Just—do something. Please.”
The call cut off. Maya sat frozen, staring at her bank app. Three digits. Barely enough for groceries, let alone bail money.
She stared at the words. Liam’s life was soft lights, good wine, galleries full of people who paid thousands for a single print. It was beautiful. It was also useless right now.
Maya gripped her phone tight, thumb frozen over Liam’s name. She hit call. Straight to voicemail.
She typed fast: “Liam, where are you? I really need to talk.” Sent. No read receipt. No typing bubbles. Just nothing.
She exhaled through her nose, scrolled again, stopped on Ethan’s name. Ethan had money, connections, the kind of quiet pull that could make guys like Josh disappear with one short conversation.
It rang twice.
“Hey, Maya.” His voice came through smooth and easy, like he’d been waiting for her call. “This is unexpected. You almost never dial me first. I’m honestly flattered. What’s going on—finally ready to let me take you out?”
He gave a small laugh, the kind that usually loosened things up between them.
Maya didn’t smile. Couldn’t.
“Uh… yeah, hi,” she said. Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. “I just…”
“Actually… it’s nothing,” she finished. “I just felt like saying hi. That’s all.”
A beat of quiet stretched on the other end.
“Okay…” Ethan said slowly, the warmth cooling just a fraction. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Totally.” She forced the word out. “Anyway—gotta go. Talk soon.”
She hung up before he could say anything else.
Across town, Ethan lowered the phone and stared at the blank screen. Maya never called just to “say hi.” And that shake in her voice—she hadn’t hidden it as well as she thought.
He muttered to himself, “Something’s wrong.”
The easy grin he’d had a minute ago was gone. His eyes narrowed, sharp now, focused.
Liam had been stuck in the corner booth for two hours, staring into the cold dregs of an espresso like it might talk back. He couldn’t face the studio—Maya’s cello would just pile on more guilt. He couldn’t keep replaying Chloe’s stiff back in the elevator. He just needed somewhere quiet where nobody knew him.
Nancy had noticed him months ago. The guy always took the same corner seat, camera bag on the floor, tipping well even when he barely ordered. He had that kind of quiet handsomeness—sharp jaw, careful eyes, the way he moved like he was used to being watched but never asked for it. Today was different, though. His shoulders were lower, his stare emptier. Something had hit him hard.
She walked over with a fresh coffee, set it down with a soft clink, and leaned one hip against the table.
“How’s it going, Noel?” she asked, voice low, easy. “You look like someone kicked the s**t out of your day.”
Liam glanced up, then back down. “Nothing. Just… down. And nowhere to put it.”
Nancy tilted her head, studying him for a second. “Yeah? Well, if you want to dump it somewhere, I’ve got thirty minutes on break. Back room’s empty. I can listen.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and walked toward the swinging door that led to the back, hips moving with the same casual confidence she always carried. Liam watched her go. He felt the pull—not love, not even want, just the simple relief of someone offering space without strings. He stood up, left the cold cup sitting there, and followed her through the door.
The back room was tight—stacks of flour bags and crates shoved against the walls.
He pushed Nancy back against the metal shelving, mouth on hers fast and rough. They were already deep in it, breaths mixing with the smell of old coffee grounds and her cheap floral body spray.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Noel?” she got out between kisses, fingers digging into his leather jacket. “You usually got more to say…”
“Don’t call me that,” he said against her neck, voice low and scraped. “Just Liam.”
She laughed a little, breathless. “Easy… I still gotta go back out there. Can’t serve tables with my shirt all twisted.”
He didn’t slow down. His hands moved quick, sliding under her top, unhooking her bra in one smooth tug like he’d done it a hundred times. It wasn’t about her. Every touch was aimed at erasing the feel of Chloe’s skin, the sound of her voice cutting him open.
“You always do this? Let guys unload their s**t while you’re on break?” he asked, mouth against her ear.
Nancy tilted her head back, a small sound slipping out. “Nah… only when it’s you.”
That was it. The last bit of control he had left broke. He yanked her skirt up, tugged her underwear aside, spun her around so her chest pressed against the cold shelves. His own belt and zipper came open fast. No words, no pause—he pushed into her from behind, hard and steady, chasing silence more than anything else.
- Writer
