Chapter 1 #2
The words hit me like a sucker punch, unexpected and devastating.
I have to look away, blinking back the sudden sting of tears.
In all the years since I left this place, no one has ever acknowledged what those nights cost me.
No one has ever recognized the weight I carried, the responsibility that should never have been mine.
“She left me everything,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the jukebox. “The trailer, all her debts, and apparently a million dollars from a lottery ticket.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” Devil leans against the bar, crossing his arms. “Hell of a thing.”
“Is it, though?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “She finally got everything she always wanted—enough money to start over, to be somebody new. And she died before she could spend a dime of it.”
“Maybe,” Devil says carefully, “it wasn’t meant for her.”
I look up at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe the money was for you. Universe moves in mysterious ways.”
I snort, swirling my drink. “Yeah. Real mysterious.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts.
The bar has gotten busier while we’ve been talking—a few construction workers settling in at a corner table, some women my age sharing a pitcher and catching up on gossip.
Normal Tuesday night stuff, the kind of ordinary human connection I realize I’ve been missing in my carefully curated Portland life.
“What’s your plan?” Devil asks eventually. “You sticking around, or just here long enough to tie up loose ends?”
“Not sure. I’m between jobs right now.”
I flip houses. Buy them cheap, fix them up, sell them to people with more money than taste. Turns out I’ve got a knack for breathing life back into things people think are ruined.
Not sure what that says about me, but I’m sure a therapist could make a pretty penny analyzing it.
Something shifts in Devil’s expression, becomes more thoughtful. He reaches for another glass, polishing it with the same methodical precision, but I can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
“A million gives you a nice cushion to take some time off,” he says, setting down the glass and really looking at me. “Gives you time to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life.”
“What are you getting at, Devil?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes taking in the bar around us, the scarred wooden floors, the mismatched furniture, the neon signs that have welcomed the lost and lonely for decades. When he speaks, his voice is almost hesitant.
“I’ve been thinking about retiring, Kya. Thirty years I’ve been behind this bar, and I’m tired. My joints ache when it rains, and it rains a lot more than it used to. Been thinking it might be time to hand the keys over to someone younger.”
My heart skips a beat. “You’re selling the bar?”
“Thinking about it. Problem is, this place…” He gestures around the room, taking in the peeling paint and the cigarette-stained walls and the general air of beautiful decay. “It’s not just a business. It’s a lifeline for a lot of people. Your mom included.”
I remain silent at that comment.
“It needs someone who understands that this place is about connection. Someone who won’t just rip it apart and slap on some laminate flooring and a rustic fucking beer sign from some trashy website.”
I tilt my head. “Are you… warning me off?”
“Nope.” He meets my eyes. “I’m offering it to you.”
My heart stutters.
“You want me to take over Devil’s?”
He shrugs. “You flip houses. I’ve seen your work. You’ve got a good eye. Clean lines, strong bones. This place? It’s got the bones. It just needs someone to see past the nicotine stains and ghosts.”
I blink. “You’ve seen my work?”
“’Course. Your mom showed me.”
I file that tidbit away for future Kya’s consideration. I’m too raw right now to give it any sort of attention.
I look around at the bar. The worn floorboards. The dim lights. The jukebox that still somehow plays even when no one’s touched it in hours.
“You want me to flip your bar?”
“I want you to run it for six months. Clean it up, fix what’s broken, figure out if you want to keep it or flip it and go.
I’ll hand you the keys right now, no cost—just sweat equity and time.
After six months, if you want to buy it, I’ll give you a price no one else will match.
If not, you walk and when I sell, you get a cut of the profit. ”
It’s a business deal. A good one.
He leans forward, bracing his hands on the bar. “Come on, you’ve got time to kill and a million dollars burning a hole in your pocket. What else you gonna do?”
I look around the bar again, trying to see it through different eyes. The worn wooden floors that have absorbed a thousand stories. The chairs where people have shared their deepest secrets and wildest dreams.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not safe. It’s certainly not the life I planned when I was building in Portland.
But maybe that’s exactly the point.
“The town won’t like it,” I say finally. “Patty Sullivan’s daughter taking over Devil’s Bar? They’ll have plenty to say about that.”
Devil’s grin is sharp, all teeth and mischief. “Let them talk, sweetheart. You’ve got something they don’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Money. Power. And most importantly?” His eyes glitter with something that might be pride. “They’ll respect you, if you give them the chance.”
I drain my whiskey and set the glass down with a decisive clink.
It’s insane. Absolutely, completely insane.
I should get in my rental car right now, drive to the nearest hotel, and spend the next six months figuring out how to invest a million dollars in something sensible.
Index funds, maybe. Real estate in a town that isn’t dying.
Something safe and boring and guaranteed to increase in value.
Instead, I hear myself saying, “Alright. I’ll do it.”
Devil’s smile could power the neon signs for a week. “I knew you would.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” I warn, but I’m smiling too.
Please, God, don’t let this be a stupid mistake.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He extends his hand across the bar, callused and warm and steady. “Welcome home.”
I shake it, thinking of how the town will react when they hear the news.
Let the town gossip. Let them whisper about Patty Sullivan’s daughter and her grand delusions.
Kya Sullivan is back, and this time I’m not leaving.
Devil holds up the bottle. “Another?”
I push my glass toward him. “Why not?”