The Contracted Substitute

-MIA- "Preetty pleease... If you take the creepy bald guy’s table, I swear I’ll give you half of today’s tips." Susan laid it on thick, batting her fake lashes and puckering her glossy lips into a pout that was about as real as her tan. "I can’t this time. My shift ended ten minutes ago, and I’m about to miss my bus," I said, already turning to my locker and unbuttoning my uniform. "How about we trade shifts this week? I take the dead-end night ones where people forget tipping exists, and you get the day crowd. You’ll make more in one shift than I do in a week," she added sweetly, leaning into my locker like she owned the place. Ugh. She knows exactly where to hit. With Mom stuck in the hospital and my brother Dennis still in high school, the bills are stacking up like bad luck. Collin's letting me double up on shifts, but the night ones suck. There are barely any customers, and the ones who do show up are usually either drunk or annoying. I let out a puff of air, my shoulders slumping. "Fine. But you’re covering my Uber. I still need to make it to the hospital before visiting hours end." "Yay!" she squealed, clapping like a kid and flashing those blinding porcelain veneers. I buttoned my uniform back up, yanked my ponytail tighter, and crossed the kitchen. Collin gave me a look from behind the grill, one brow raised, already guessing what had happened. I just shook my head. He went back to flipping burgers, no questions asked. He knew Susan had worked her charm again. We’re both twenty-one, about the same age. But we couldn't be more different. She’s everything I’m not. Curvy, with platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She’s the kind of girl people notice the second she walks in. Bubbly, sexy, confident. Some customers come in just for her, and she makes more in tips than she does on her actual paycheck. Me? My chestnut waves are always escaping my ponytail, my brown eyes are easily forgettable, and my slim frame doesn’t exactly scream bombshell. I’m plain. Invisible. But whatever. Dating’s not even on my radar right now. I was halfway through scribbling the creepy guy’s order when my phone buzzed. I ducked into the storage room to check it, expecting a text from Dennis. Instead, the hospital’s number lit up the screen. My stomach dropped. "Miss Walker?" Dr. Miller’s stern voice crackled through the line. "I was hoping to talk to you today, but I couldn’t find you. It’s about your mother." Oh God. I leaned against the cool surface of the freezer, bracing myself. "Is... is she okay?" "She’s stable. But unfortunately, her tumor has grown. It’s pressing on a major artery, and she’ll need surgery soon. Can we meet today to discuss the next steps?" Her words blurred beneath the roar of blood in my ears. "Of course," I managed. "I’ll be there in thirty minutes." I finished my shift in a daze. I barely remember stepping out of the Uber before I found myself in Dr. Miller’s office, sitting across from her, trying to hold it together. "As you can see," she said, pointing to the X-ray with the tip of her pen, "the tumor has grown significantly over the past month. Surgery is the only option, and it needs to happen as soon as possible." I stared at the blurred gray mess she was pointing to. It could’ve been a cloud or a smudge for all I knew. I nodded anyway. "How much, Doctor?" I asked, cutting straight to the point. She wouldn’t have called me in so urgently if it wasn’t serious. My crappy insurance barely covers Mom’s stay in the infirmary. They charge me for everything they claim isn’t part of the basic plan. She turned to face me, her eyes soft behind the dark rims of her glasses. "Even with my fees waived and some hospital subsidies, we still need a significant amount. Fifty thousand." My heart stopped. Fifty? Fifty thousand? Dollars? I’ve never even seen that kind of money. My bank account barely scrapes five hundred. My throat tightened. The walls felt like they were closing in. "H-how much time do I have to decide?" "Not much," Dr. Miller said, her lips pressed into a thin line. "The sooner we remove the tumor, the better. But I’d say we can wait until the end of the week." Tears burned behind my eyes. I stood up before I crumbled right there in her office. "Thanks, Doctor. I’ll talk to you next week." "I’m sorry, Mia," she said gently as I reached for the door. "I’ll try to find another way to help fund the procedure." "Thanks, Doctor," I repeated, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I pushed through the crowd in the hospital hallway until I reached the garden outside. I barely made it to the bench before the tears came, crashing down like a storm. _________ -ASHER- "You can go, Jake. Pick me up in an hour," I said to my driver as he pulled up to the hospital curb. I was here to visit Boyd, my best friend since kindergarten and business partner. He’d injured his shoulder on a ski trip last winter and just had surgery. Nothing major, but the guy’s got a phobia of needles and hospitals. I figured he could use the moral support. I crossed the pathway toward the entrance, but something stopped me before I reached the glass doors. A woman sat on a concrete bench, her head cradled in her hands, silently crying. Her shoulders trembled, her tears pooled on the pavement like rain. I’m not usually moved by women crying. But something about her hit me square in the chest. I took a few steps closer and froze. She looked just like Linda. Linda, my ex. The only woman I’ve ever loved. The one who died three years ago in a car accident. "Linda?" I called out, unable to stop myself. She lifted her head, confusion flickering in her tear-soaked brown eyes. "I’m sorry. You must be mistaking me for someone else. I’m not Linda. My name is Amelia." I took a closer look. Up close, the differences were clear. Her hair was darker, her eyes rounder. Her nose was smaller, her lips thinner. She had a softness to her, like a deer caught in headlights. Linda had been all fire and seduction. A siren. Still, the resemblance was uncanny. I hadn’t seen Linda’s face in three years. But here it was—almost. My heart started beating again, unable to know the difference. "I’m sorry. You look just like someone I lost," I said, scanning her hand for a ring. "I’m Asher Holbrook, by the way." I stepped forward and offered her a handkerchief from my pocket. She took it, clearly thrown off by the gesture. I would’ve been too. But I wasn’t trying to flirt, far from it. I just needed to know her full name. "Thanks," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "I’m Amelia Walker. But my friends call me Mia." She folded the handkerchief to return it, but I shook my head. "No. Keep it," I said, then turned and walked away before giving her another glance. Fishing my phone from my suit jacket, I dialed my assistant's number. "Mr. Holbrook?" Dylan’s voice came through instantly after the first ring, the way I like it. "How can I help you?" "Find everything you can on Amelia Walker. Family, hobbies, relationship status. Hell, even her pet’s name. Call me back in one hour." I hung up and crossed the reception, the sterile scent of antiseptic hitting me like a wall. An idea was already forming in my brain. Dear Mia. You just stepped into something far bigger than you know.