Chapter 16 #2
It’s early enough, the crowd’s thin, a few regulars hunched over the pool table, drinking bottles of domestic beers. A group is in the back corner, celebrating the end of a workday. There isn’t a town hall meeting this week, so the bar should stay pretty sparse.
I flip my loose curls over my shoulder, smooth down my flowy, high-low floral dress, and let my boots carry me straight to the bar.
Russ’s back is pressed against the back wall of the bar as he scrolls on his phone.
I take a second to admire how much he’s changed—no longer the scrawny loner with black hair that dusted his shoulders.
No, Russ has grown into a rugged man with muscles on muscles.
His hair is still black, but cropped on the sides and longer on the top.
In school, Russ would cut class to sneak behind the multi-purpose building where the weight room was located to smoke pot. Somehow, he managed to graduate.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Silo Bay princess.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname as I press myself onto a barstool. “Hey, Russ.”
He pushes off the counter and steps closer to this side of the bar. “The usual?”
“Make it a double, please.”
His eyebrows lift with curiosity, but he gets to pouring.
As soon as he sets my drink in front of me, I bring the glass to my lips and take a hefty sip. The whiskey burns all the way down, and I let out a sigh.
“You okay?”
I paste on a grin, and I know he can see through it. “Define okay.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head and dive into my purse. Pulling out my wallet, I place a handful of twenties on the bar.
“That’s way too much.” Russ pushes the stack of bills back toward me. I have no idea how much I laid out, but I don’t care. I need this. I need tonight.
“You haven’t heard my demands.”
He huffs a laugh. “Look at Princess Drummond walking into my bar like she owns the damn place.”
I snort a laugh as he continues. “What’re your demands?”
“I’m in charge of the touch tunes all night.”
He groans, but I raise a hand in defense. “But I promise nothing too pop. Wouldn’t want to tarnish the reputation.”
Russ barks a laugh as I take another gulp. “Keep the drinks coming. Don’t water them down. I—” I hesitate with how much I want to give away. “I need this, Russ.”
He must see something in my eyes because he simply nods. “I won’t watch you hurt yourself.”
“I know, but you know my limits. You know when I get to that point. I…need to forget,” I whisper the last part, but Russ hears it.
He sticks out his hand, palm side up. “Keys.”
I huff but pull out the ring with the old Chevy keychain and give Russ the keys to Dad’s truck.
“Thank you.”
I nod before finishing off my first drink. “I’ll take another when you get a chance.”
I’m a few drinks in, and the warmth of the whiskey has reached my fingertips, leaving me buzzing.
I’m standing at the modern jukebox, scrolling through songs like I’m flipping through a memory book.
Each song I stumble over hits me in the chest. The Spillway has a variety of everything: pop hits, country ballads, and hair bands our parents listened to.
I feed in plenty of cash, stacking the queue until I’ve got hours of music coming.
When the first song starts, a soft smile spreads across my lips and my hips begin to sway.
The rest of the bar fades away until it’s just me and my glass of whiskey.
I melt into Shania Twain as she sings about how any man of hers better walk the line.
I shout a “hell yeah” as I wiggle my hips to the beat.
I can feel eyes on me from the pool table, but I pay them no mind.
Let them look. I want them to see the hot mess princess they’ve labeled me as crumble beneath their gaze.
They think they know me. I’m the girl who moved West, made it to TV, and came home with nothing to show for it.
But they don’t know the demons that haunt me every night.
I can feel them in the darkness, watching me with their sharp claws and beady, glowing eyes, waiting for me to let my guard slip.
They don’t know I’ll never let these walls crumble. I can’t risk it…not again.
Tonight, I want to dance. I want to drown the pain and sorrow in alcohol, laughter, and good music.
The bass thumps through me, pulsing in my chest, filling the hollow spaces. I spin, hair flying, and for a second, it almost feels real. Happiness.
But my chest aches and my hands shake when I bring the amber liquid to my mouth. Tipping the glass, I’m hit in the lips with ice.
Oops, I chuckle to myself. Guess it’s time for another drink.
I fling myself against the bar, unable to control my giggles as Russ eyes me. He reaches below the bar and pulls out a glass.
“Russ, my man,” I slur. “You knew exactly what I needed.”
He slides the glass toward me, but instead of a whiskey sour, it’s ice water. I pout. “Aw, wrong drink.”
“Wren.” His voice is careful. “Maybe slow down. Have some water now.”
I flash him a smirk as I lean over the bar. My fingers wrap around the neck of Jim. “Slowing down is overrated. Tonight, I have a date with Jim and only Jim.”
He takes the bottle from my hand. “You’re on your fourth.”
I make a show of glancing around the bar and huff. “That’s weird.”
“What is?”
“I don’t see my dad here.”
His eyes narrow. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Nope,” I say, popping the p.
The song changes to “Ain’t Going Down (‘Til the Sun Comes Up)” and I chuckle at the irony before stumbling off the stool.
“I’ll take another,” I call over my shoulder, laughing too loud as I practically skip toward the pool table. I feel the glare of a guy twice my size as I reach a hand out. He hands me a pool stick, and I sing an off-pitch version of Garth Brooks before leaning over the table.
“Wait, are you solids or stripes?”
“Stripes,” he grunts.
“Bullshit,” his buddy calls out. “He’s fucking with you, darlin’. He’s solids.”
I scoff, feigning hurt before I adjust my position as I line up the solid six in my sight.
Closing one eye, I take a deep breath before plunging the stick forward.
The clack sounds, and I watch in amazement as the ball rolls and slides into a corner pocket.
I toss my hands in the air—still holding the stick—and cheer like I won a championship.
Inside, I feel like I’m dying.
By nine, the bar has a decent crowd. It’s louder as voices mingle and laughter rings out.
Plumes of smoke filter down the hallway from the open alley door, where people stand outside smoking.
The same alley where I followed Jett when I first arrived in town.
It’s the same alley we used to sneak stolen kisses and touches in high school.
I shake off the memory, letting the music lull my body into a reckless state.
I sway my hips, an arm in the air, while the other grips my glass like a life preserver.
The dance floor is no longer a party of one.
I stumble into people and we laugh it off.
Tomorrow, I’ll be the talk of the town, but right now, I’m happy.
I feel alive.
I feel nothing.
I feel everything.
As I’m doing another laughter-filled lap around the room, Russ corners me before I can bypass the bar. I sway too hard, hitting my ribs against the thick slab of wood.
“You’re not supposed to be on this side of the bar, mister.”
“Sit, Wren.”
“Bossy.” I flop onto the barstool, resting my chin in my hand.
He grabs the glass of water and thrusts it toward me. “Humor me.”
I grumble as my smile falters. “Ever feel like if you stop moving, everything will catch up to you?”
His eyebrows pinch as he lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. Sometimes.”
“Pain’s a bitch.” I gulp the water to appease him. Then drain the whiskey sour. “Another, please.”
He groans, but I’m staggering on my feet before I can hear him lecture me. If I wanted to be treated like a child, I would’ve come to the bar with my brother.
With the jukebox playing another song, I fling my arms out, spread wide like I could take off in flight. I feel as light as a feather. There’s nothing quite like Jo Dee Messina singing “Heads Carolina, Tails California.”
I wonder what it’s like to be a bird. To be able to spread my wings and fly off whenever I want.
People cheer as I break into some kind of contemporary line dance like I’m auditioning for Dancing with the Stars. As the song comes to an end, I bow dramatically, pretending to accept the Len Goodman Mirrorball Trophy. My laughter rings out, but it’s short-lived.
Inside, I’m hollow.
I’m breaking.
I feel like I’m dying.
Today’s date circles in my mind like a hawk looking for its next victim. I chuckle to myself at the image in my head. It’s funny because the Silo Bay mascot is a hawk.
I shake off my spiraling thoughts and move toward the bar. When I’m close, I smile at Russ’s watchful gaze before attempting a pirouette. I stumble, getting my feet wrapped up before grabbing the bar.
Russ’s jaw is tight. I’m surprised he hasn’t broken a tooth. “I’m cutting you off.”
I gasp, clutching my chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would.” He steps closer, reaching below the bar and bringing a glass to the bar top. “Last one.”
“I knew you loved me,” I slur. “You’re stuck with me tonight.”
He shakes his head, turning toward another customer.
An hour later, I’m collapsing in the corner booth. My legs ache, my tongue feels too heavy, and I can barely keep my eyelids open. The crowd is still going strong, but I’m crumbling.
I smile back at the faces who watch me, pretending to be happy on the outside, but I’m bleeding out on the inside.
Can you see me? The blood is pouring from my open wounds. How are you not noticing?
Russ drops off a glass of water and a flannel. I slip the soft fabric over my bare arms. The shirt smells like The Spillway mixed with Russ’s cologne. It’s comforting, but it’s not leather and vanilla.
Every year, this date haunts me, but being here, in this town, with Jett... It feels like a category five hurricane destroying my foundation, brick by brick.
My eyes burn with unshed tears.
I’ve danced until my legs gave out, my voice has gone dry, and my ghosts are drowned…at least for now.
Tomorrow, I’ll pick up the pieces like I do each year, but right now, I need to close my eyes.