Page 77 of Feeding Hope
The refrigerator door opened with a soft push of cold air. She stared inside longer than necessary, not sure what she was looking for. Reaching in she grabbed her comfort food. Taking the pizza box over to the counter she pulled slices out and placed them on a tray.
Sliding it into the air fryer, she punched in the time, the quiet beep echoing in the quiet room. Before it could even start to hum, Constance was already turning away.
Across the house, she stripped out of her work clothes piece by piece, letting them fall where they may, and slipped into something soft and worn—comfy enough to feel like a promise that the day was finally over.
Constance drifted back to the kitchen as the air fryer chimed, the sound grabbing her attention long enough for her to keep her moving. Grabbing a plate from the rack she opened the air fryer; the pizza was hot when she pulled it out. Cheese bubbling with crispy edges, just how she liked it.
From the fridge she snagged a canned soda and hip bumped the door closed. Tucking the roll of paper towels under her arm she carried the plate in one hand, drink in the other as she headed over to the living room and sank down onto the sofa. Setting the plate down next to her she pulled back the tab on the can popping it open with a sharp hiss then took a sip.
Tucking her legs beneath her Constance picked up the remote and hit the power button. The TV flickered to life; a movie she’d seen a dozen times filled the room with familiar noise. Pickingup a slice of pizza she snuggled into the cushions enjoying her leftovers.
She’d barely finished the pizza when the first yawn hit her. Tipping her head back she closed her eyes letting the glow of the screen and the murmur of the movie wash away the rest of her stress.
Chapter Two.
The bell above the door jingled, and Constance looked up, brow furrowed. A man stood in the doorway, his vest unmistakable. The one-percent patch caught the harsh fluorescent light, glinting like a warning. Her stomach tightened. “What’s your angle?” she asked, cutting straight to the point.
Jinx lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. “No angle,” he said, his voice calm. He stepped fully inside, letting the door thud softly behind him. “I just… thought I could help.”
Constance’s eyes narrowed. “You think wearing that patch makes you trustworthy? You think I’m stupid?”
He shook his head. “No. I know it doesn’t. But hear me out.”
There was a pause, a measured silence that made the small room feel heavier. When he spoke again, his voice carried a steady gravity, tinged with something she couldn’t quite name. He told her about nights overseas, in places where bombs had left nothing but rubble, and families scavenging for scraps of food. How he’d share what little he had with children who didn’t know if morning would come.
“And when I came home,” he continued, “I saw hunger everywhere. Even here. In towns small enough that nobody should be going hungry, nobody should be homeless or struggling.”
He shrugged, a quiet weight in the gesture. “I have the time to help. If you need it. That’s why I’m here.”
Constance crossed her arms, studying him. There was honesty in his eyes—pain, sure, but also something harder to ignore, something carved from a life she recognized, even if she didn’t know it yet.
“I noticed you’re having a problem,” he said, his tone casual but deliberate. “whoever they are, I’ve seen they’ve been messing with your building… I think my chapter could help you handle that.”
Her brow lifted. Help—from someone wearing that patch? It sounded almost too easy. Her gut told her to be wary, but there was something in him—the quiet certainty, the lines of hardship etched into his face—that made her hesitate.
She didn’t know much about bikers, only what she’d seen on TV shows and documentaries.Maybe… just maybe, this was the help she’d been waiting for. But she didn’t trust it. Not entirely.
“You can volunteer,” she said slowly, crossing her arms tighter. “But I’m not interested in your… chapter,taking care of my problems.”
When the conversation ended, he handed her a business card, the edges smooth under her fingers.
“If you have any problems with yourvisitors,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a moment longer than necessary, “call me.”
She watched him leave, the door swinging shut behind him. Tapping the card against her palm, Constance tried to ignore the thought that maybe… she might actually need to call them. Was that inviting a turf war? Sliding the card into her back pocket, she pushed the question aside.
Turning, she saw the other women fanning themselves with their hands, wiping sweat from their brows. Shaking her head, Constance smirked. He wasn’t young enough to be her child, not old enough to be her brother, but close to both she hadn’t checked him out.
“Let’s get back to work,” she called over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth twitching.“Even if just one person stops in, we need it ready for them.”
The ladies nodded, picking up their papers again. Constance thought about the card in her pocket for a moment longer, a flicker of something she couldn’t name running through her chest—hope, maybe, or a warning she wasn’t ready to admit.
Checking her watch, Constance noted the time. Fifteen minutes until they’d close the doors. Another day with too many meals unclaimed. Yesterday she’d loaded the leftovers into boxes and taken them to the shelter, handing them out to people lined up along the building’s side. Tonight, she planned to run them over to the park, see if anyone there would take them.
The bell above the door jingled again. She turned, expecting maybe Jinx returning—but it wasn’t him. It was two of the jerks who had been harassing them, their sneers sharp as they stepped inside.
Constance stiffened, her fingers curling at her sides. The room seemed to shrink, the fluorescent lights glaring off the linoleum like a spotlight on trouble. Her heart thumped in her chest—not from fear, exactly, but from the sudden tension that prickled along her nerves. She knew these two. They thrived on intimidation, liked to push people around just to see how far they could go.
And tonight, it seemed, they were back for more.She watched in disbelief as they grabbed the brown paper food bags, tearing into them with careless force. One of them bit into a piece of fruit and spat it onto the floor, the slick thud echoing in the small room. Another tore open a sandwich, chewed for a moment, then let it drop.
