Chapter 27 #3
“Are you kidding? It’s perfect!” Maren’s getting animated now, counting off on her fingers.
“It’s classy, shows off your legs, will look amazing under stage lights, and that dark blue is ridiculously flattering on you.
Plus it has all those little silver stars beaded on it.
You’ll literally be wearing stars while becoming a star. It’s a sign!”
“Okay, yes, I love me some signs from the universe.” I laugh. “I’ll take all the extra cosmic support I can get. The universe speaking through sparkly embellishments.”
“Exactly!” Maren laughs. “The stars have aligned. On your dress.” She’s grinning so wide now. “Ooh, and maybe some cute boots? Knee-high maybe. Or heels. Tricky though.”
“God, I love cute clothes,” I say, and for a moment I actually feel lighter. Like maybe everything will be okay. Like maybe I can do this.
Maren reaches for her back pocket, then pats her other pockets, frowning. “Oh shoot, I left my phone at home again.” She looks at me apologetically. “You okay if I run and get it? I’m expecting a call from my editor tonight and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Yeah, of course, go ahead.” I wave her off. “It’s not too busy. Sarah’s got trivia handled. I’m good.”
“You’re the best.” Maren squeezes my hand and heads for the door. Her house is only a few minutes’ walk from here, so she’ll be back before I know it.
I turn back to the bar, pulling out my phone to scroll through my Vegas performance outfit ideas on Pinterest, trying to stay in that lighter headspace we just created. Sarah’s voice carries over the crowd, and there’s laughter from one of the teams. It’s a good night. Easy.
The door chimes. I glance up automatically, expecting to see a regular or maybe a young couple looking for a place to grab drinks.
Brandon stumbles in.
“What the fuck,” I breathe.
He’s drunk. Obviously, spectacularly drunk. He catches himself on the doorframe, then straightens up with exaggerated care and heads straight for the bar. A few people look up, conversations pausing. The easy energy in the room shifts immediately.
He reaches the bar and leans heavily on it, and the smell of cheap gin hits me from three feet away.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I keep my voice low but firm, very aware that we have an audience now.
“I hope you’re happy.” His words are slurred, his eyes unfocused.
“Kelly left me. Just fucking left. Packed her shit and went back to Seattle.” He points at me with one unsteady finger.
“And your asshole boyfriend punched me. Did you know that? Jack Midnight punched me in the face a few weeks ago. And I was a saint and didn’t report it, though I fucking should have.
So are you happy now, Lark? Is this what you wanted? ”
I’m not sure which part of that to process first. But mostly I’m just furious that Brandon is here, in my space, drunk and making a scene.
“Yeah, actually, I am pretty happy about that.” I cross my arms. “Now get the hell out of here before I call the cops.”
“You think you’re so much better than me now,” Brandon spits out, his voice rising. “With your fancy boyfriend and your little music career. But you’re still just—”
“You need help, honey?” Eleanor appears at my elbow like a guardian angel in a cardigan.
She’s one of our regulars, part of the Romance Raiders book club that meets here every other week.
Mid-seventies, always has a paperback with a shirtless cover model, and sweet as pie until you piss her off.
Right now she’s glaring at Brandon like she’s planning exactly how to dispose of a body.
“No, I’ve got this,” I say, but I’m grateful for her presence. I can see Eddie and Marcus standing up from their table in my peripheral vision, other regulars shifting in their seats. My people. Ready to back me up if I need it.
“You’ve got nothing,” Brandon snarls. “You’re a bartender playing dress-up as a musician. You always were too much. Too loud. Too ambitious. That’s why—”
“Stop talking.” My voice cuts through his, sharp and clear. The entire bar has gone quiet now, everyone watching. I’m vaguely aware that I’m giving everyone the best damn show they’ve seen at trivia night in years. Might as well make it count.
“You don’t get to do this anymore,” I continue.
“You don’t get to come into my workplace and try to make me feel small.
I’m done shrinking myself for you. I’m done second-guessing everything because you spent years making me doubt myself.
” I lean forward, my hands flat on the bar.
“So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to walk out that door right now.
And you’re never going to come near me again.
Not at this bar, not anywhere in Dark River. Are we clear?”
“You can’t tell me—” He reaches across the bar like he’s going to grab my arm.
“Yes I can. Get the hell out of here. I’m not going to ask you again.” My voice is steel now, all the therapy sessions and self-work and rebuilt confidence pouring into every word.
The kitchen door swings open and Jayson appears, wiping his hands on his apron. He’s a big guy, easily six foot, and right now he looks ready to commit violence. “Everything okay out here, Lark?”
“I’ve got this,” I say, not taking my eyes off Brandon.
But Brandon’s looking around wildly now, at Eleanor still planted at my elbow, at Eddie and Marcus on their feet, at Jayson, at all the regulars staring at him with varying expressions of disgust and anger.
“Oh, is everyone in this fucking place on this bitch’s side?” he yells, stumbling around the bar and staggering toward me.
I don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Just react.
My knee comes up and connects solidly with his balls. Hard.
Brandon makes a sound like a deflating balloon and crumples, catching himself on the bar before sliding to the floor.
There are audible gasps from around the bar, followed immediately by a few shocked laughs. Someone near the back yells, “OH SHIT!”
“I said get out,” I tell him, my heart pounding but my voice steady.
Jayson steps forward, Eleanor’s already moving closer, and I can hear chairs scraping as more people stand.
But something in Brandon’s expression shifts—maybe a flicker of sobriety breaking through, or just self-preservation finally kicking in.
He staggers to his feet, still bent over, looking around wildly at the circle of hostile faces.
He stumbles toward the door, moving like every step hurts, and crashes directly into Maren as she’s walking back in.
“What the—” Maren stops, taking in the scene. She presses herself against the doorframe as Brandon lurches past her and out into the night. The door swings shut behind him.
You could hear a fucking pin drop in The Black Lantern.
“What just happened?” Maren asks, looking from me to Eleanor to the crowd of standing regulars.
“I just kneed Brandon in the balls,” I say, and suddenly I’m smiling wide. Because holy shit, I just did that.
Maren’s jaw drops. “Oh my god. OH MY GOD. I can’t believe I missed that because I went to get my stupid phone!”
Sarah’s voice comes over the mic, barely containing her laughter. “Okay folks, let’s get back to trivia. Question nine: In what year was the first women’s self-defense class officially recognized as—”
The whole bar cracks up. Someone whoops. Eddie starts a slow clap that turns into actual applause.
Maren is staring at me with this mix of shock and pride and absolute delight. “You actually kneed him in the balls.”
“I actually kneed him in the balls,” I confirm, and then I’m laughing too, this giddy relieved laughter that bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest. “That felt amazing.”
“You’re my hero,” Maren says solemnly.
“You know what? I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself too,” I say, still grinning like an idiot.
Eleanor pats my hand where it’s still pressed flat against the bar. “That’s my girl. I’m adding that move to my repertoire.” She heads back to her table, already pulling out her phone. Probably texting the entire Romance Raiders group chat.
Jayson gives me a thumbs up from the kitchen door before disappearing back to his domain.
And for the first time in three days, the weight in my chest feels just a little bit lighter.