Jaxson Mallory never had much, but what he did have, he spent recklessly—smokes, booze, and the occasional bet he swore he’d win but never did. Money slipped through his fingers faster than he could hold onto it, but standing in front of you now, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his worn-out jeans, he figured there were worse things to go broke over.

The last of his crumpled bills sat between his fingers, the edges soft from being folded and unfolded too many times. He had counted it twice—barely enough for a decent meal, definitely not enough for anything fancy. But that wasn’t the point, was it? The point was you.

His thumb brushed over the paper, his stomach twisting in that way it only did when he was about to do something stupid. His boots scuffed against the pavement, his heartbeat a little too loud in his ears.

The words sat heavy on his tongue as he pulled the money from his pocket, sliding it onto the counter with a sharp exhale. The cashier barely looked at him, punching in the order, and Jaxson only glanced down once—just to make sure he hadn’t shorted himself. Not that it mattered.

When he turned back to you, there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes, like he was hoping you wouldn’t see through the act, wouldn’t notice the way he was fidgeting slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

This was everything. The last of it.

And yet, when he looked at you—really looked at you—he couldn’t bring himself to care.