Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Wendy
The bar is already a madhouse by the time I clock in. It's trivia night, which means the usual mix of regulars, die-hard competitors, and the occasional group of drunk idiots who think it's funny to shout 'The answer is Beyonce!' no matter what the question is.
I weave my way through the crowd, squeezing past tables and chairs as I make my way to the bar to grab my tray and notebook. My boss, Todd, is leaning against the counter with his trademark scowl.
"You're late," he barks, even though I'm right on time.
"I'm literally not," I reply, keeping my voice even as I look down at the time on my phone. No way I'm giving him the satisfaction of seeing me snap.
He eyes my uniform, which is just the usual black tank and jeans, and smirks. "Would it kill you to dress up a bit from time to time?"
I grit my teeth so hard I'm surprised my jaw doesn't crack. "If you don't mind, I'll get to work now," I mutter, snatching up my tray and heading into the chaos.
By the time the first round of trivia starts, the place is packed. I'm running around like a headless chicken, ferrying drinks and dodging wandering hands. One table tries to get me to answer a trivia question for them, and when I give them a deadpan stare, one guy laughs so hard he snorts beer through his nose. Right onto me.
Classy.
But it's not all harmless fun. The drunker the crowd gets, the bolder the guys become. I'm used to the occasional flirty comment, but tonight, it feels like every other dude in the bar thinks I'm part of the entertainment.
"Hey, sweetie, how about a smile?" one particularly nasty guy slurs as I drop off his drinks. I would tell Todd to cut him off, but he's never been a fan of stopping the money from coming in.
"I'll smile when you tip me twenty percent," I shoot back without missing a beat, earning a laugh from his friends.
But not all of them are so easily brushed off.
It happens when I'm carrying a tray of drinks to one of the back tables. A hand grabs my arm, hard enough to make me stumble.
"Hey, doll, where are you rushing off to?"
I look down to see a guy with greasy hair and a lecherous grin. His buddies hoot with laughter, clearly egging him on.
"Let go," I say, yanking my arm back. My tray wobbles, and a glass tips over, spilling beer onto the guy’s lap.
His grin vanishes, replaced by a scowl. "You little?—"
Before he can finish, a hand clamps down on his shoulder.
"She said let go," Cole growls, his voice low and dangerous.
I blink, startled to see him standing there, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing. The greasy guy shrugs Cole off and stands up, puffing out his chest. Where the heck did he even come from? And why was he here?
"What's it to you, pretty boy?"
Ethan appears a second later, his expression cold and calculating. "I'd listen to him if I were you," he says, his tone deceptively calm.
The guy sneers, and before I can intervene, he swings at Cole.
And just like that, all hell breaks loose.
Great. Just what I needed.
Cole ducks the punch and shoves the guy back, sending him crashing into a table. Beer and nachos go flying, and the guy's friends jump up, ready to throw down.
Ethan steps in, blocking one of them with an elbow that looks a little too practiced for comfort.
It really is pandemonium. People are yelling, chairs are tipping over, and somehow, in the chaos, someone grabs a beer bottle and hurls it across the room.
It hits me before I even see it coming.
Pain explodes in my shoulder, and I stagger back, my tray clattering to the floor. The noise is drowned out by the sound of fists meeting flesh and the shouts of the crowd. Before I can stop my backward momentum, my feet slip on some of the spilled drinks and I crash onto a downed table. And hit my damn head.
"Wendy!" Cole's voice cuts through the noise like a knife. He's by my side in an instant, his hands on my shoulders as he looks me over. "Are you okay?"
"I—I think so," I stammer, wincing as Cole's hands tighten on the spot the bottle hit me. This in turn has my head pounding. My hand moves to the bump on my head and comes back sticky with blood.
Ethan appears a moment later, his shirt torn but his expression calm. "We need to get her out of here."
Before they can move me, Todd storms over, his face red with fury.
"What the hell is going on?" he shouts, looking from me to Cole and Ethan. "You think you can bring your boyfriends in here and start a fight?"
I gape at him. "They're not my boyfriends! And I didn't start anything?—"
"Save it," he snaps. "You're fired."
"Fired?" I echo, the word hitting me like a punch in the gut.
"Get out of my bar before I call the cops," he says, turning on his heel and storming off.
I stand there, stunned, as the weight of his words sink in.
Fired.
Just like that.
"Wendy?" Cole says gently, his hand on my arm. "Let's get you to the emergency room, and get you checked out. Come on."
I want to argue, to tell him I'm fine, but the pain in my shoulder and head, and the lump in my throat won't let me. I let them lead me out of the bar, their concern written all over their faces.
As we step into the crisp night air, I feel a flicker of something I can't quite name. Gratitude? Relief? Whatever it is, it's enough to dull the sting of humiliation.
For now.
The ride to the emergency room is quiet, but the tension in the air is thick enough to choke on. Cole drives like he's auditioning for NASCAR, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. Ethan sits in the back with me, his arm steadying my shoulder even though I'm already buckled in.
"You're sure your head's okay?" Ethan asks for the third time since we left the bar.
"I don't know, Ethan," I snap, the words sharp and cutting.
So. I turn into a bit of a bitch when I'm in pain and tired. Sue me.
I do, however, regret the words as I say them. It's not his fault—or Cole's—that not only my night, but my life is imploding. It's kind of been imploding for about two years now.
Heck. Who the hell am I kidding? It's been a crapshoot pretty much from birth.
Still, the throbbing pain in my shoulder and the dull ache in my head have turned my usual filter into a sieve.
Ethan doesn't flinch at my harsh tone or words. He just gives me a calm, measured look, like I'm a puzzle he's trying to figure out. "We'll get it checked out. Just hang in there."
When we finally pull up to the ER, Cole rushes out of the driver's seat and opens my door before I can even reach for the handle.
"I can do this myself," I mutter as he offers me a hand.
"Humor me,” he pleads, his tone clipped but his touch no less gentle as he helps me out of the car.
Once inside, Ethan takes charge of checking me in while Cole sticks by my side like a guard dog. His presence is comforting, but it also grates on me. The way he's hovering, constantly asking if I need anything, feels... too much.
"Cole, I'm not going to break," I say, my voice sharper than I intend.
"I didn't say you were," he replies evenly, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.
"No, but you're acting like it," I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and regretting the motion immediately when my shoulder protests. "You're not my Daddy."
His lips twitch, and for a moment, I think he might actually smile. Instead, his voice drops an octave, low and smooth as silk. "If I were your Daddy, sweetheart, I'd have tanned your ass by now for talking back when your health is at stake."
I freeze, my mouth falling open as his words sink in. A rush of heat floods my cheeks, and I look away, suddenly finding the linoleum floor very interesting.
Ethan's voice breaks the tension, calm but laced with amusement as he approaches with the paperwork. "Normally, I'm the one that gets him to use that bossy tone." He waggles his eyebrows at me. "Want me to give you two a minute?"
"I'm not—he's not—" I sputter, glaring at them both as Ethan smirks and Cole raises an eyebrow.
The nurse calls my name before I can dig myself into a deeper hole, and I practically bolt for the exam room, muttering under my breath about insufferable men.