Chapter Two #3
I made the drink on autopilot, aware of the weight of those gazes still on me. The Raptors had settled into their booth but they kept glancing over, curiosity obvious in the way they tracked my movements. New girl. Stranger in their territory. Of course, they’d want to know who I was.
Ace appeared at the bar so smoothly I almost didn’t see him move. He had been across the room a moment ago, yet now he stood beside me, body positioned to shield me from the Raptors’ line of sight. “How you holding up?” he asked, voice lowered so only my ears caught the words.
“Fine.” I slid the Jack and Coke to the waiting customer and took his money. “Busy night.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t move, didn’t look toward the corner booth, but I could feel his awareness of them like a physical thing. “You need anything, you let me know.”
“I will.”
He stayed there for another moment, a solid presence between me and the rest of the bar, before moving away. But not far. He drifted toward the Raptors’ table, his path casual enough to look like coincidence. Except nothing about Ace ever came across as coincidence.
One of them -- the man sporting a beard -- stood and headed toward the bar.
I tensed, readying myself for whatever was coming, but Ace intercepted him halfway, a hand on his shoulder and words I couldn’t hear over the music.
The bearded man glanced at me, then back at Ace, and nodded.
They talked for maybe thirty seconds before the Raptor returned to his booth and Ace continued his circuit of the room.
My hands were shaking again. I shoved them in my pockets until it passed.
The rest of the shift unfolded under the same strange tension.
More customers came and went, drinks were poured, money changed hands.
Beneath the noise and motion, I stayed hyperaware of Ace’s movements.
The way he always remained within eyesight whenever I gathered glasses from tables.
The way he redirected a drunk who grew too friendly, guiding the man away with a hand on his back and quiet words.
The way he positioned himself between me and anyone approaching the bar in an aggressive stride.
He protected me. Subtle, careful, never demanding attention, yet impossible to miss once my eyes learned the pattern.
A part of me relaxed every time he stood close, body angled just enough to block danger.
Another part tightened painfully under my ribs, pulled toward him without permission.
Confidence radiated from him, steady and unshakeable, and something in me wanted to lean into that strength even though I knew better.
I had no idea how to process any of this.
No clue whether gratitude or fear made more sense now that he decided I needed protection.
People who protected you usually wanted something in return.
Usually carried motives far from kindness.
And yet… every time his presence brushed mine, the attraction hit just as hard as the warning in my pulse.
But he didn’t ask for anything. Just kept doing his job while somehow also watching over mine.
A glass shattered somewhere in the back, the sound sharp but easier to manage because I expected the noise this time. I cleaned up the mess without freezing. Small victory. I swept up the shards, reassured the apologetic customer, and got back to work.
The clock crawled toward one AM. The crowd thinned gradually, people settling tabs and drifting toward the door in ones and twos.
The Savage Raptors stayed in their booth, nursing their drinks and talking in low voices.
I caught them watching me a few more times, but Ace’s earlier intervention seemed to have established some kind of boundary. They looked, but they didn’t approach.
By one thirty, the bar had emptied except for a handful of stragglers. Wildcard began his slow circuit of the room, a silent encouragement for people to finish up and head out. The jukebox had gone quiet, leaving just the hum of coolers and the low murmur of final conversations.
I wiped down the bar for what felt like the hundredth time, my body running on fumes and adrenaline.
My feet ached so badly I’d stopped noticing the pain.
My back throbbed. My hands burned from gripping bottles and pulling taps.
But I made it. I survived the whole shift without falling apart, without running, without letting fear win.
Ace appeared at my elbow as I was counting the empty bottles for inventory. “Leave that. I’ll finish it.”
“I don’t mind --”
“Leave it.” His tone wasn’t harsh, just firm. He pulled a stack of bills from his pocket and counted them out on the bar. “Your tips. Customers were generous tonight.”
I stared at the cash. The amount had to be close to eighty dollars, maybe more, far beyond what I expected for a trial shift. I reached for the bills in a slow, cautious motion, a small part of me convinced the money would dissolve the moment I moved too fast.
“You did good.” Ace leaned against the bar, his eyes locked on me in the same assessing stare from earlier. “Real good. Handled the rush, kept your cool, didn’t let the rowdy ones push you around.”
“Thank you.” The words came out softer than I’d intended.
“I saw you freeze. When that glass broke.”
My chest tightened. Any second now, he would say I didn’t belong, my past turning me into a liability no one wanted near their bar.
Instead, he shook his head. “Everyone carries something. A pressure point, a weakness, a history. As long as you can push through and keep working, I don’t care what yours looks like.”
Words jammed in my throat. I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth without cracking.
“The job’s yours. If you want the position. Full time, regular shifts, same pay my last employee earned, plus tips. You can start tomorrow if you’re interested.”
Relief hit me so hard I had to grip the edge of the bar to stay steady. “I’m interested.”
“Good.” He pushed off the bar, already moving back to whatever closing duties still needed handling. “Be here by five. We’ll go over the schedule and get you set up properly.”
“Ace?”
He turned back, one eyebrow raised.
“Thank you.” The words covered far more than the job. Gratitude rose for the protection he offered without expecting anything in return, for the questions he never asked, and for the chance he gave me even though he had every reason to walk away.
A subtle change touched his expression, a faint softening around the eyes. “Get some rest. You earned that.”
I gathered my things -- my keys and the jacket I hadn’t needed in the Oklahoma heat -- and headed for the door.
The Savage Raptors were still in their booth, and I felt their eyes on me as I passed.
But Ace had already crossed to their table, saying something that drew a laugh from one of them, and I realized he was giving me a chance to slip out without interacting.
Outside, the night air felt cool after the heat inside the bar. My Honda waited where I left it earlier, patient and reliable in the mostly empty parking lot. I climbed in, locked the doors, and sat for a moment, hands resting on the wheel.
The fear was still there. Would probably always be there, humming just under the surface of everything I did. But tonight, for the first time in two years, something else was there too.
Hope.
I had found work. I had survived my first shift. And for the first time since leaving my old life behind, I had met someone who recognized I was running without demanding answers.
I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, watching The Broken Spoke shrink in the rearview mirror. The neon sign flickered in the darkness, a beacon marking a place I might, possibly, learn to call mine.
At least for a little while.