Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
IVY
I’m just finishing up my charting for the day when my phone rings, and I immediately get a bad feeling.
As I pull the device from my pocket and check it, that feeling is confirmed when I see that it’s Ben, one of the full-time bartenders at Lucky’s, my family’s bar.
“Hey, Ben,” I say in greeting as I close the laptop and rub my hand over the back of my neck.
“Hey, Ivy. Brenda didn’t come in for her shift today. I’m okay right now, but I haven’t heard from her, she’s not answering her phone, and I thought you should know.”
My mother is on my last damn nerve.
“Who’s on this evening?”
He sighs, and I close my eyes.
“Your mom is supposed to cover the evening shift,” he says.
“Got it. Thanks, Ben, I’ll swing through there soon and let you know what’s up.”
“Appreciate it.”
He hangs up, and I take a deep breath. Because what I want to do is cry, but there’s no time for that.
It’s a good thing that I work the early shifts at the hospital, just three days a week, and I’m able to babysit everything going on at the bar. Because my mom is supposed to be in charge there, and well . . .
That’s going pretty crappy.
I grab my things and walk out of the hospital in Bitterroot Valley, climb into my black Tacoma, and then head home, which is about thirty minutes away in the smaller community of Silver Springs.
Frankly, I’m fucking tired. Pulling long days as a physical therapist at the hospital, followed by long evenings at the bar because my mother is too out of it to work her own shifts, is slowly sucking the soul right out of me.
I love being a physical therapist. Sure, this isn’t exactly what I had planned when I went to school, but at least I’m working in my field, and work is never boring.
What I hadn’t planned on was taking care of my mother and the bar on top of a full-time, demanding job.
I make a quick stop at home to say hi to Cally, my cat, and change out of my scrubs. Cally follows me into the bedroom, meowing at me, and I pause to sit on the bed and pick her up, nuzzling her soft fur, and take a moment to enjoy the quiet and just breathe.
“Hey, sweet girl. I missed you today too.”
I feel bad because I haven’t been home enough for her. I know that cats are known to be independent, but I want to spend more time with the sweet kitten. She’s not even six months old. She’s just a baby. This precious girl loves to be held and cuddled, and I feel like I’ve been neglecting her.
I hate that.
“I have to go to the bar again tonight and probably deal with my jerk of a mother, but I’d rather stay here and snuggle with you in front of the TV.”
Cally purrs and nuzzles into my neck, and it makes me smile.
This cat might be my only friend in the whole world.
And isn’t that just pathetic?
It’s not that I don’t know people. I know most of the people in this town. I grew up here. But I don’t know that there’s anyone I would consider a close friend. I’ve always kept a low profile, and I’m socially awkward enough that it’s just better that way because I inevitably embarrass myself.
“Okay, sweet pea, I have to go, but I’ll try to be back soon.” I kiss her some more and then set her down so I can change into a pair of jeans and a tank top under a loose sweatshirt.
I don’t love to wear tight clothes, but I get more tips if I’m in sexier outfits, and I figure if I have to be there, I might as well make good money while I’m at it.
But hopefully Mom will be sober enough to work tonight.
After I feed the cat, I get back in my truck and drive over to the bar, but before I can get out, my phone rings again. This time it’s my boss.
“Hey, Sara,” I say when I answer.
“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you. I have news for you. There’s an athlete in town who injured his knee, and he requires full-time therapy so he can go back to his sport as soon as possible, which I’m pretty sure is going to take at least another six months.”
My brow furrows as I listen.
Holy shit, this sounds amazing.
“And because you’re the one therapist on staff who trained to work with elite athletes, I immediately thought of you. I’d pull you off the hospital rotation, and you’d have to work a couple more days a week, but this would be your only priority until the patient is recovered.”
“Sara, you do know that this is literally my dream job, right?”
She chuckles on the other end of the line. “I knew you’d say that. Since it’s Friday, you’ll start on Monday, and I’ll send through the patient’s contact information along with his chart so you can get familiar with everything over the weekend.”
“Great, thank you. Who’s the patient?”
“Oh, sorry, I thought I said. It’s Xander Hendrix. You know, the hockey player?”
Xander Hendrix.
Yeah, I know him.
I’ve only been in love with him since I was fifteen, and he barely acknowledges I exist.
Awesome.
“Yes, of course I know Xander. Okay, thanks Sara.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
She ends the call, and I close my eyes as my stomach suddenly explodes with butterflies. I’m going to be working closely with Xander Hendrix for months.
This is both thrilling and nauseating.
But I don’t have time to think about that right now.
I climb the steps to the apartment above the bar, where my mom has lived since before I was born.
My biological dad died when I was a baby, leaving the bar to my mom.
There have been stepdads who came and went.
The one who stuck around since I was a teenager, Chris, left three months ago. And honestly, I can’t blame him.
He ran the bar for close to twenty years and took care of everything, all while dealing with an abusive, addict of a wife.
So it’s been a fun few months without him here.
I knock on the door, but Mom doesn’t answer, and I lean my forehead against the wood.
“Come on, Mom.”
I knock again, but when there’s still no answer, I use my key to unlock the door and push inside, wrinkling my nose against the stench of cigarettes and stale booze. I think I smell rotten food, too, which has me pulling my sweatshirt up over my nose.
“Mom?”
She’s not in the living room, which tells me she’s passed out in bed.
Great.
I walk back and, sure enough, find her in bed, the covers pulled up over her head, snoring.
“Mom, you need to wake up.”
I pull the covers back and almost gag again. She needs a shower bad. Her gray-streaked blond hair is greasy, and she has crumbs from something by her lip.
And, of course, she’s cradling a bottle of vodka like it’s a baby.
“Mom!” I yell now, trying to get her attention. “Wake up!”
She snorts, and her eyes open, and when she sees me, she scowls.
“The fuck do you want?”
“You missed your shift again, Mom. I need you to get up.”
“No.”
She turns over.
“Yes. Please, Mom, I need you to sober up—”
“Get the fuck out of here, you stupid bitch! Leave me the fuck alone! I can’t stand looking at you. You ruined everything. Get out!”
She starts to throw pillows at me, and I can’t stand the thought of them touching me, so I scurry out of the room, resigned to picking up another night at Lucky’s.
But tomorrow, I have to have a conversation with her because if this continues, I’ll be working myself to the bone, and I know it’ll kill me.
It’s my day off from the hospital, so after a shower, I return to the bar and walk up the steps to the apartment.
She never even bothered to lock the door after I left yesterday. I don’t even know if she’s awake. She might have drank herself back into oblivion by now.
I knock twice, and without waiting for an answer, I push inside and lift an eyebrow in surprise when I see the window is open and my mom is sitting on the couch, not passed out. In fact, she’s had a shower and doesn’t look like a strung-out junkie.
“Go away,” she barks, but I walk in anyway and cross my arms over my chest. She takes a drag of her cigarette and looks at the TV.
“Mom, we need to talk.”
“Don’t got nothin’ to say to you.”
“Well, I have things to say,” I reply. “I know you’re having a rough time with Chris leaving, but—”
“You don’t know shit,” she interrupts.
“Yeah, I do.” I sigh because I’m just so damn tired.
“You still own the bar. I don’t even technically work there, but I’m there at least five nights a week, filling in for you.
And half the time, you empty the bank account and I have to pay our people, our utilities, all from my own personal money.
Mom, you’re behind in the taxes, and I don’t have the money to cover it. ”
“So the fuck what?” She won’t even look at me.
“I can’t keep doing it.”
“Then don’t. I don’t really care.”
“If you let the bar go to shit, you won’t have an income. Or a place to live. Or any more vodka.”
Her eyes narrow into slits, and I know that was the wrong thing to say.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” she says. “You’ll do what you have to do to keep the bar going. You won’t let me be homeless. You may hate me, but you don’t—”
“I don’t hate you. I’m mad at you.”
“I DON’T FUCKING CARE!” She stands and starts throwing shit again, and when an ashtray full of butts goes flying past my head, I leave, listening to her scream and break things as I descend the stairs.
Okay, so maybe I hate her.
Lucky’s was never supposed to be my responsibility, but clearly she’s not capable of taking care of anything. Unfortunately, the bar can’t afford to hire more help, so I’ll be the one filling in, tips being my only wage for the hours, for the foreseeable future.
But, just like I always do, I’ll make it work.