Red Riding Jack

Chapter 2

I never stayed the night after a one-night stand. Ever. I hated the awkwardness of waking up next to someone whose name you probably didn’t even remember, hated the heavy breathing in your ear, or worse, when they tried to cuddle like we were some kind of couple. Disgusting.

So imagine my relief when I opened my eyes and found the bed empty. Alone.

Relief only lasted a second though, because when I blinked up at the ceiling, the first thing I saw wasn’t a chandelier or a cracked paint line—it was a goddamn mirror. A giant mirror, staring down at me, reflecting every inch of me sprawled naked across a stranger’s bed. My hair was sticking up in a dozen directions, my makeup smeared, and my neck and thighs covered in hickeys that looked like someone had been playing connect-the-dots on my skin. I groaned, dragging a hand over my face.

“Nice, Amanda,” I muttered. “Classy.”

I shoved myself upright, snatched my red gown off the floor, and tugged it on. My purse was tossed in a corner, my panties hanging half-off the nightstand, and my heels—hell if I knew.

Spotting a door across the room, I figured it was the bathroom and shuffled inside. The bright light made me wince, but I leaned over the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on my face. Mascara-streaked eyes stared back at me from the mirror, lips swollen and raw from too many kisses.

“You’re so freaking dumb, Amanda. Ugh.” I shook my head at myself and dug through my bag for foundation, dabbing it over the worst of the marks on my neck. Once I looked less like I’d been mauled, I went back to the room, crouched, and started feeling under the bed.

“There you are,” I hissed, dragging my heels out from under the frame. As I straightened, dress riding up, I debated slipping them on now, but the thought of click-clacking across the house while sneaking out made me roll my eyes. I decided to carry them.

The door squeaked when I opened it, and I froze, glancing down the hall. Empty. Good. Hugging my shoes to my chest, I padded toward the stairs, praying I could ghost my way out.

Almost made it too—until a deep voice hit my back.

“Leaving so soon?”

I jumped, heart slamming against my ribs, and spun around.

It was him. Mr. Dig Bick. Only now he wasn’t shirtless in bed, he was shirtless in his kitchen, sweatpants hanging indecently low on his hips, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. His abs were so sharp it looked like I could cut myself on them, and of course my gaze stayed glued there longer than it should’ve.

“My eyes are up here,” he said dryly, sipping his coffee.

I scoffed, hugging my shoes tighter. “Yeah, well, I should be going.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, turned his back, and walked toward the kitchen.

I gave him the middle finger—petty, I know, but it made me feel better—and slipped out the front door before I did something stupid, like ask for another round. Outside, I slid my heels on and muttered under my breath, “Asshole.”

———

Home was a run-down apartment that smelled faintly of stale smoke and spilled vodka. I didn’t bother checking my mother’s room. I already knew what I’d find—her sprawled on the bed, half-drunk, half-high, fully gone.

I showered fast, scrubbing the stench of s*x and cheap perfume off me, then dressed in black skinny jeans and a white cropped top. My brown coat went on next, followed by my scuffed black boots. It was October, the air sharp with cold, the kind that cut straight through skin and rattled in your bones.

Two days. That’s how long it’d been since I last visited my little sister in the hospital, and guilt twisted in my chest every time I thought about it. Anita didn’t deserve being left alone in that sterile white room, surrounded by tubes and beeping machines. She didn’t deserve any of it.

She was diagnosed six months ago with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, and ever since, the hospital had been her second home. I’d been scraping together every penny I could, trying to save enough for her operation. Every night I went out, every man I f****d, every hustle I ran—it was all for her. And maybe, if luck didn’t spit in my face for once, she’d get better before the year ended.

On my way, I ducked into a small gift shop. I knew exactly what to get. Ani loved stuffed animals—especially elephants—so I grabbed the softest one I could find, tucked it under my arm, and kept walking.

The hospital doors slid open, letting out a rush of warm air that smelled like antiseptic and faint coffee. The receptionist smiled the second she saw me.

“Morning, Amanda!” she chirped.

I lifted a hand in greeting, not in the mood for small talk, and kept moving down the hall. My boots echoed softly on the linoleum, a reminder of how empty the place felt during mid-morning hours.

I pushed open the door to Ani’s room. “Hey, Ani.”

She was propped against her pillow, a book in her lap. Her whole face lit up when she saw me. “Amanda!”

Her little arms stretched out wide like a bird waiting to be scooped up, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I walked to her and hugged her tight.

“Missed you,” I murmured into her rainbow-colored beanie, pressing a kiss to the top of it.

She giggled, pushing at my face. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” I sat on the edge of her bed, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, even though most of it was tucked beneath the hat.

Then she glanced at the door, eyes dimming with that too-familiar hope. “Where’s Mom?”

The question sliced me open. Every damn time. Ani already knew the answer, but she kept asking like one day it might change. Like one day our mother would walk in sober and smiling, arms full of flowers and apologies.

I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “She’s not coming.”

Ani’s sigh was soft, but it still felt like it weighed a ton. She gave me a tiny smile anyway, like she was the one trying to comfort me.

“Guess it’s just us, huh?” she said.

“Always has been,” I replied, moving to the chair beside her bed and digging into my bag. “But I did bring you something.”

Her eyes lit up when I pulled out the stuffed elephant. She squealed, hugging it to her chest before setting it proudly with the rest of her collection. A whole parade of stuffed animals lined the edge of her bed and windowsill—bears, rabbits, cats—but the elephants always made her happiest.

Every weekend, we’d take them around the hospital together and give a few away to kids who didn’t have visitors. Watching Ani’s smile grow brighter with each gift made my chest ache in the best way.

She cuddled the new elephant close, eyes sparkling. “Thanks, Amanda.”

“Anything for you, kiddo.” I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms. “Besides, you’ll need a whole zoo once you’re out of here.”

Her grin softened, and for a second, the machines, the IV drip, the sterile smell of the room—they all faded. It was just us. And for that brief moment, I could almost believe everything would be okay.

Almost.