Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
kane
Work Song – Hozier
What a fucking Monday. The day has gotten progressively worse from where it started.
I’m here for yet another extra shift to help Seth, exhaustion hitting down to the very bone at this point, but it was either this or sit at home all night and contemplate my CPS call and what the fallout could be.
My mind has whirled since my interaction with Trevor this morning.
The very last thing I want to do is serve drinks on a Monday night to people who can barely utter the word please.
Thoughts of quitting have been hitting me more and more now that I have access to my trust. I wanted to leave it untouched as long as possible, but constantly being here night after night is starting to wear on me.
I feel as if these past few months I have been stuck buffering in life, unsure where my path should take me next.
I had been thinking about going back to school—maybe to get my master’s and become a therapist. I’d always thought I’d like to be someone who works with foster kids or kids from abused homes, but I don’t know.
This is usually something I would run by Avery, making my already jumbled thoughts worse with the growing urge to text her.
All I thought of all weekend was what I should say next.
I told her she could take some time to figure out what she wanted because I knew what I wanted, but then I worried that maybe I wasn’t clear enough when I said I wanted her.
I need her, in whatever capacity I can have her. I’m ready to let her in fully.
Steve and I talked about it during my last lunch session with him, about letting myself be my most honest self around her and trusting that she will keep that part of me safe.
It’s been nice to talk to Steve and have him help me discover new parts of myself I haven’t appreciated before—how strong I am for getting on the right medication and letting someone help me sort through the mess my childhood left me with.
He helped me talk through the explosion with my parents and how finally letting them know how I felt frees me from the weight that has been on my shoulders. It was a good step in my healing, finally feeling safe enough within myself to tell them how I feel without knowing how they would react.
After spending the weekend ruminating on ideas of what to say to her, I feel ready to lay it all out there—even if she just wants to fight with me.
I will let her rage at me all night if it means I get to be in her space again.
These past few months have been some of the hardest in my life, harder in a way my childhood never was.
I know that because I would relive that repeatedly if it meant I ended up meeting her every single time.
Those years feel inconsequential compared to the way the past few months have felt without her.
The noise in the bar snaps me back to focus as I notice Lindsay at the other end—the little five-foot spitfire putting a man more than twice her size in his place.
I give her a few moments before stepping in, but once I see she has the situation handled, I turn my focus to the couple in front of me.
I take their order and start on their drinks.
The gleaming back wall of bottles looms over me—all two hundred and eighty-three bottles that decorate the back wall are stored with the more frequently used ones at the bottom and the more expensive bottles lining the top shelves.
The count varies by season. The crowds seem to be bigger in the winter and spring months, leaving people to find things to do indoors to avoid the cold that moves in.
The hours behind the bar fly by, along with even a short stint in the kitchen when they need extra hands.
Our usual line cooks have been taken down one by one with this virus going around, leaving the bar short-staffed.
I spend the last hour in the back before I finally get to take a breather and cross the threshold that separates the back of the bar from the front.
The crowd has grown since I went back there, so I survey the bar to see where I might be most useful until I hear it: that laugh.
Something I could recognize long after every breath leaves my body.
I look around for the source of my every fantasy until I see her next to Morgan.
Her long brown hair drapes over her shoulders—the maroon top she is wearing shows off her ample cleavage, and I feel the fire start to spread through my veins.
The bright smile on her face blinds me for a moment, the radiance of it catching my breath.
My vision turns red as I glance over to see the cause of that look. A brown-haired douche sits way too close to my girl and makes her fucking laugh.
As if anything that pretty boy can say would be funny.
I huff out a breath through my nose and try to quiet the raging I feel inside my chest. My vision is hazy with one clear focus as I watch her lean over and touch the side of his arm while she laughs, the action causing her drink to spill all over the table.
I don’t realize I’ve started moving until I see the distance between us getting shorter.
I make it to the table just as he reaches over and grabs my girl’s hand.
I black out as I rip his hand from hers and shove it away. I take a small step in front of her as if I can shield her from him.
“How about you take your fucking hands off my girl before I remove them from your body,” I threaten darkly, leaving no room for argument.
He takes a step back and raises his hands. “Hey, man, there’s no need for that. I was just checking that she was okay.”
“Well, next time don’t touch someone without their permission,” I spit as I cross my arms.
“Kane, stop it.” I feel small hands pull at my elbow, my gaze unmoving from this jackoff. My blood is still pumping, rage still simmering low throughout my body.
“We were just talking, man,” the fucker reasons as he looks at Avery behind me, as if he has a right to her.
“Well don’t,” I command.
“Kane,” I hear again as the hands grab onto my elbow and plead with me to look at her. Yet I remain unmoving.
“Hey, she can talk to whoever she wants,” the fucker has the nerve to say to me.
“Of course she can do whatever she wants, but you have no chance with her. She’s too good for someone like you,” I scoff as the hands let go of my elbow with a huff.
His eyes narrow as he sizes me up. The fucker has the nerve to smirk at me. I take a step forward, and a look of fear crosses his face.
“Kane, enough!” a small voice yells behind me firmly, causing me to look at the little hell cat glaring at me, arms crossed.
“Look, man, I think some wires got crossed—” he starts, but I turn and glare at him, effectively cutting him off before turning back to face Avery.
“Really, pretty girl? Trying to date at my fucking bar?” I ask, tilting my head, regarding her.
Fire burns in my veins as my eyes rove all over her face at the way she’s done herself up for him.
The jealousy eats me alive because he gets to see her like this.
Her eyes are black with liner, and her lashes are impossibly long with mascara.
I trail my eyes to her deep red lips and feel the need to bite down on my fist with how fucking irresistible they look.
“This isn’t your bar, Kane, and you lost the right to tell me what to do months ago,” she spits back, a haughty look on her face.
“I don’t think anyone is brave enough to tell you what to do.”
“You’re interrupting something, Kane. Leave,” she snarls.
“No,” I fire back with an air of nonchalance.
“Yes. This doesn’t concern you,” she argues with a jut of her hip and mirth in her eyes.
“Anything having to do with you concerns me, baby, don’t you know that by now?”
Shock lines her features at my words. The statement freezes her where she stands. Then she turns and takes off toward the restroom. I hesitate for a moment before I take off after her like a bullet, refusing to let her out of my sight again tonight.