Juan was standing there watching me slice fruit, giving me that goofy grin. He knew how much I hated working late, how much I hated slicing strawberries. But Billingsly had called in sick again and breakfast wasn’t going prep itself.
A lot can happen in ten minutes though.
Now Juan was sitting on the cold hotel kitchen floor providing comfort while cradling the Senator’s bloody head in his lap.
And me? My hands were trembling.
I should’ve done something. Could’ve helped them save an important person.
Instead, I just stood there with a paring knife in my hand.
Frozen. Useless.
The Weekday One Hundred 