"Lela, table 13's food is in the window," one of the cooks at the grill calls out to me, breaking me out of my trance and reminding me of the hungry customers who are most definitely waiting for me outside the kitchen.

"Sorry Noa," I apologize, retying the apron strung around my waist before I start piling the hot plates of food onto a large, round serving tray.

"You good?" he checks, peeking between the space of the metal shelving between us. "You don't seem like yourself today."

"I'm fine," I lie, forcing a smile on my face. Steering away from any more conversation, as well as the thoughts of Brodie now streaming through my head, I focus my attention back on my work. "Could I get a cup of teriyaki sauce, please?"

"Sure thing," he grins back, filling a small plastic cup with the brown glaze and sliding it over to me.

"Thanks," I say, grabbing it quickly and taking it, along with the full tray of food, with me into the dining room.

Am I good?

No. In fact, I'm the farthest damn thing from good because the only thing that I've been able to think about for the past couple of days is Brodie, my mind going over all the reasons why he didn't answer my calls this weekend and how it's possible for his absence to leave such a horrible ache in my chest. My head replays the look in those beautiful brown eyes of his, and the sadness they wore after the fight that broke out between him and Hammond. Things weren't supposed to turn out the way they did, and my Dad- sure as shit- wasn't supposed to find out about the two of us. At least not then, not after the competition, and by hearing it from that conceited asshole of a man. We should have been granted just a little bit more time. I would have told him eventually, I swear I would have because I couldn't bear the idea of hiding Brodie anymore.

I try my best to shake away my uneasy thoughts as I approach my table, forcing a smile to my face as I begin handing out the steaming meals piled on top of the tray.

"Alright, we have a Manapua here," the female sitting in the booth nods and I place the plate in front of her. "And the Loco Moco?"

"Right here," the male across from her smiles, happily taking the dish from my hands. "Thank you."

"Mhmm," I nod, still wearing my disingenuous grin. "Can I get anything else for you guys?"

"No, we're all set. Thanks."

I take that as my permission to leave, somehow finding the will to push the anxious thoughts threatening to haunt my mind away as I find a table to clean up.

My hands work fast to move the mostly eaten plates of food onto the empty tray in my hands, slinging it back against my shoulder once I've gathered all the silverware and glasses. My feet move fast as I make my way back to the kitchen, but my efforts to keep myself busy in an attempt to hold my racing thoughts at bay fail me entirely, my mind still finding a way to trick me into thinking about Brodie all over again.

I don't want to believe everything that was said this past Saturday at the competition. I don't want to accept the idea that once again I've been fooled into believing a man who only speaks broken promises. Because a piece of my heart tugs at me, whispering with certainty that he would never do something as vile as sharing those pictures in the way Hammond accused him of doing. He would never do that to me because he loved me, deep down I knew that at least had to be true.

But he never answered any of my calls, hasn't even tried reaching out once since everything went down.

My throat burns as I swallow back that truth, doubt suddenly snaking its way through my veins as my head replay's my Dad's words: "He admitted to having the pictures, Lelani. What more do you need to know? Baby, he doesn't love you."

And suddenly the voice of the girl I used to be all those years ago plays through my head, invading my thoughts. Maybe I am naive. Maybe my Dad is exactly right and maybe Brodie is just like the last time. A thread of shame has my eyes beginning to sting with tears, and when my awareness is finally brought back to whatever the hell I am even doing in the first place a large body smacks into me, knocking the tray and all of its contents out of my grasp.

"Shit," I curse.

The noise is loud as they crash into the floor, glass breaking everywhere and making the voices fall to silence all around me. I'm left stunned, only finding myself able to stare at the mess now scattered against the tiles of the kitchen.

"I'm so sorry, Lela," my Dad apologizes quickly, his green eyes taking in the pieces of glasses and plates strewn around us. Our eyes meet and I know he must notice how glossy mine have become because immediately he checks, "Are you alright?"

I force my tears away, refusing to shed a single one of them right now despite how badly my chest is aching from the conflicting thoughts toying with my mind.

"I'm fine," I bite out, dropping to my knees and starting to pick up what remains of the broken dinnerware.

"Hey," he hushes back, crouching down to my level and insisting, "I've got this, alright?"

"I said I'm fine," my voice clips again.

"Lela, look at me," he requests. My gaze meets my Dad's once more, not lingering there long before I'm unable to help but pull it away. "Just worry about your tables and I'll clean this up, okay?"

"Okay," I quietly agree because I honestly can't stand to be back here right now, my body heating with the sudden suffocation of the kitchen walls all around me.

The air conditioning of the dining room is refreshing against my skin as I rush out of the kitchen, Alana immediately behind my tail as I make my way to the hostess's stand in the front. I'm thankful that she gives me a few seconds to breathe before she starts her interrogation, "What's going on?"

"Nothing," I attempt to lie.

"Bitch, don't give me that," she rolls her eyes, knowing me all too well. "Is it your Dad?"

"I dropped a tray, that's all."

"You're full of shit," she huffs. Her eyes skim across my face, my cheeks heating with the pressure of these last couple of days. "Talk to me. What did he say?"

"Nothing," I bite back harsher than I intend to. "He hasn't said anything and that's the problem. He or Brodie. It's fucking torture," I say, my voice wavering a little bit as my head quickly sorts through everything again. "All the silence is fucking torture. Why hasn't he called me? After everything- everything he's said and we've done and he hasn't even tried making one call?"

"Maybe he's still trying to sort through things-"

"No," I shake my head with sureness. "Something's wrong. He wouldn't just ghost me like this after all these months. I know he wouldn't."

Her eyes soften as they look at me, a glint of pity hanging behind her dark irises and making my chest grow tight. Disappointedly, I say, "You think he would, don't you?"

"No," she quickly blurts back, "I mean, I don't think he would. It's just-I mean," she gives herself a moment to organize what she wants to say, "When has a challenge ever stopped him before? Hell, that boy faked being an 11-year old just to get you to talk to his ass."

"Exactly," I nod, holding on tightly to the sense of hope her reassuring words gave me. "That's exactly what I'm saying-"

"But that's what worries me, Lela," she finishes, stealing back every speck of faith she had given me seconds ago. "It doesn't make any sense why he would have given up so quickly and not called unless he-"

"He didn't show those pictures, Alana," I grit through my teeth, not being able to stand the thought of it any longer.

"I didn't say that," she argues back.

"But that's exactly what you were thinking."

"Lela," she starts with a sigh, only to be interrupted by the chiming of the doors in front of us.

Several bodies of camouflage stroll into the cafe, and I search the group of masculine faces carefully, disappointed when I don't see Brodie's among them.

"Hi there," Alana greets them for me as my voice fails; fails to say anything at all. "How many?"

"We've got 8," the Marine smirks back at her, leaving me confused as I count the seven of them.

My eyes roam to the rain-covered windows of the cafe, the glow of the restaurant sign outside illuminating the darkness of the parking lot beyond the glass. A tall body begins to pass outside, his eyes meeting and locking onto mine and making my heart quit beating for a moment.

Not even thinking twice, I bolt out of the entrance doors, shoving them open and feeling raindrops hit my skin as soon as I step onto the pavement outside.

"I was hoping to run into you," he smiles and my cheeks heat with the million different emotions running through me.

"You need to go," I hiss back, gripping onto his wrist tightly and walking him back to the truck I know he came from.

"Ah, ah, ah," he chides with a trouble-some smirk, yanking his arm out of my hold. "I'm hungry."

"Dammit, Hammond, just leave!"

"Someone's not happy today, huh?" His fingers graze against my cheek, "Boy troubles got you down?"

"Don't touch me," I snap back, slapping his hand away from me. "Go. Now."

"And miss the chance of being served by the prettiest little waitress on the island?" He taunts, starting his stride back towards the door, "Nah, I don't think I will."

My ears are hot with my growing anger as I force myself back in front of him, stopping on my heels and looking him dead in the eye. "You need to go now," I growl. "I'm serious. My Dad is in there-"

"I was wondering why he was missing today at work."

I wondered the same thing, questioned why Dad was so insistent on helping Momma at the Cafe today, but quickly came to the realization that it's probably his attempt of keeping an eye on me. Making sure that I haven't broken into a million pieces or something like that.

"He won't be happy if he finds you here. You need to leave."

"Aww, you don't think so?"

"Hammond," I say his name scornfully. "Go home."

Completely ignoring me, he responds, "I thought he'd be chipper to see me and all considering the favor I did for him."

"Favor?" I scoff, "Fuck you."

"I mean, you are single now, aren't you?" He quips back, "Cause you know what they say about long-distance relationships and all-"

Long-distance relationships?

I go quiet, unable to respond as I soak in his words. Hammond looks me over, and I try my best to mask my confusion at the statement he just made, but a glint of humor crosses his eyes and he cocks his head, wearing a sly smile.

"Oh, shit," he chuckles, the tips of his hair becoming wet with the rain. "You don't even know do you?"

"You are such an asshole, do you know that?" I shove him once, earning another amused laugh from him. He's fucking with me, and trying to get a rise out of me. I won't give him the satisfaction. "Go home."

"But this just got fun."

The door opens behind us, making both of our heads turn back to Alana now storming out of it. "Get the hell out of here," she demands at Hammond. "Lela, let's get inside."

She grasps my arm, tugging me back towards the entrance she just came out of.

"Hey," Hammond chimes out, stopping both of us in our tracks. "Tell Dawson that I said happy travels."

Immediately my pulse quickens, my stomach twisting into a million knots and making my legs feel weak. I try to keep my voice steady, but it has a slight tremble as I ask, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I was right," he grins, "you don't even know."

Jerking out of Alana's hold, I step toward him. Knowing that insulting him is the only thing that will get past his thick ego and provide me with a straight and quick explanation, I fire back, "Quit being a coward and beating around the fucking bush. I don't know what?"

"I thought at least Dawson would have told you. I tried warning you about him, Lelani, but you're a stubborn thing aren't you?"

"He didn't show those pictures to you and you know it. You lied." He fights back a smile, and that's the only answer that I need. With that, he turns for his truck, stalking back to it and refusing to answer the only question I really care about. "Tell me," I demand.

He opens the driver's side door and begins to climb inside, "You know," he clicks his tongue, "I think I'll just go home like you said."

"Goddammit, Hammond," I cry out, rushing over to the truck and wedging myself between the door before he gets a chance to shut it. Angry tears are threatening to appear, but I keep them hidden as I keep my voice stern, "Tell me what the hell you're talking about."

With cold eyes- and for a second, only a second, I could swear that there's a hint of a little bit of shame and guilt behind them- he nudges my hand off of the door and pushes me aside.

"You're Dad's shipping him off," he says flatly, no ounce of emotion behind his voice.

"W-when?" I ask, nausea causing my stomach to turn inside-out.

"A week." The door slams and the engine of his truck roars to life, the headlights flicking on and blinding me before he drives away.

I'm numb- completely numb- because for once, I believe every single word that just came out of Hammond's mouth. My Dad is shipping him off. My Dad is shipping him off. A week. Only a fucking week until he's forcing the person I've grown to love so damn much away, and he wasn't even going to tell me. Instead, he was going to make me a fool, leaving me completely clueless as to the decisions he's made for me- the choice he's made for Brodie's and my relationship. The rain is pouring relentlessly, flashes of white light filling the sky every so often before the roars of thunder echo behind it. My damp skin would be freezing right now if not for my boiling blood beneath it.

"Lela," I hear Alana's voice call out behind me, but I can't seem to stop, my feet already finding themselves back in the dining room and my body weaving through the maze of tables. The sizzle of the grills and the stacking of clean plates flood my ears as I enter the kitchen, and my body is tingling as I try to accept the truth that has been revealed to me.

"Where's my Dad?" I ask the first cook I see, trying to keep my voice calm.

"With your Momma, back in the office," he answers me, and I immediately continue making my way towards the back of the restaurant.

The door is shut as I reach it, but I don't let that stop me from barging into it. "How long?"

My parents' eyes dart back to the announcement of my arrival, and my Dad has the nerve to ask, "What sweetie?"

The glare in my eyes grows heavier as I pin it solely on him, and I watch him take a hard gulp. "How. Fucking. Long?"

"Lela," Momma gasps at my foul language, and by the look on her face, I can tell she has absolutely no clue about the matter I've come here to discuss. "What's going on?"

But I refuse to look at her, using all my strength and will to keep my stare locked on my Dad. Again, I press, demanding an answer, "How long were you going to try and keep it from me?"

"Baby, please, just understand-"

"Don't you dare do that," I bite out through clenched teeth with a pointed finger. "You lied to me. You made me believe that it was his choice he wasn't answering my calls, but it was because of you, wasn't it? You told him not to talk to me anymore because you didn't want me to find out about your little plan."

"Matt," my Mom cuts in again with an uneasy tone, wearing a worried expression. "What did you do?"

My Dad stands from the chair he had taken beside her, taking an easy step towards me. "Who told you? Was it him?"

I laugh at his absurd question, bitterness, anger, and disbelief shaking me to my very core. "Does it matter who it was? Or are you just upset that I found out, huh?"

"He doesn't have good intentions, Lela. What else would you expect me to do? How many times do you have to be reminded of the last time?"

"You don't know his intentions! This isn't like the last time!" I shout, not even caring anymore about all the people probably listening in on the two of us. "I'm 18. I'm not a fucking kid anymore," my voice starts to go hoarse, my throat stinging with the hurt of what he's done- what he's doing. "Who I am with is not your problem. You can't control me anymore! You're crazy, you know that?"

"I'm not crazy," he shakes his head. "I did what I had to, to protect this family. To protect you."

"You're not protecting me. You're hurting me!"

"Is someone going to tell me what in the actual hell is going on?" Momma speaks up, her eyes taking in the tension growing between the two of us.

"Tell her, Dad," I say bitterly, "Tell her what's going on."

"This isn't the right place for this," he responds, cutting his eyes over my shoulder and behind me. Without even having to turn around, I know the several sets of stares that are on us now.

"No, this is the perfect place for this," I counter back. "Why don't you go ahead and tell her about your plans to ship Brodie off, huh? How he'll be gone in a fucking week and you weren't even going to tell me!"

"Matt," she sighs, rubbing the furrow of her brows tirelessly. "Please. Please tell me you're not having that boy sent off to another base-"

"Honey, I didn't have another choice-"

"Yes, you did," I interject, "you had the choice to let me handle this, to let me deal with this on my own!"

"He was showing you around, showing you off to God-knows-who back in the shop!"

"Hammond lied, Dad, why wouldn't you ever listen to me? Why can't you ever believe me?" I choke on the words, my tears refusing to hold themselves back any longer. My cheeks are wet, and somehow my quivering voice manages to get out, "Brodie loves me. And I love him, and you're sending him away from me. You're cruel for that."

"I was never trying to be cruel," he says softly, taking a step towards me to embrace me.

"You don't have to try," I cry with furious and sad tears, shoving him back hard. "You just are."

My sight is distorted through my watery eyes as I walk out of the office, the gazes of my fellow employees and my best friend burning a hole through me. Behind me, my Dad calls out, trying to stop me, "Where are you going, Lela?"

"None of your fucking business," I strike back, more and more tears running down my face, and refusing to stop as I yank my bag and keys off of the hooks on the wall beside the backdoor.

I hear a rush of feet behind me as bolt out of the restaurant, the rain falling harder and more violently than it was a few minutes ago as I quickly make my way out to the car. My ponytail of curls is soaked by the time I reach the driver's side door, and my Dad, Mom, and Alana yell out to me through the curtain of the storm falling from the darkened, night sky above. "Lelani!"

"Baby please," I hear Momma beg me from behind. "It's not safe to drive with it raining like this! At least wait until it lets up some."

But I don't stop moving as I climb into my car and crank its engine up fast, my lungs pleading for air through the spaces of my sobs. My limbs work on autopilot, my hand shifting the gear into drive as my foot presses down against the gas pedal.