Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The gravel seems to vibrate beneath my Vans from the music exploding through the poor insulation of Billy’s Tavern. “Remind me why I’m here again?” I groan, double clicking the lock button to Wayne.
“Because you love me,” Cici coos. She leans into her reflection on the passenger window, teasing her blonde crimped strands. A quick pop of her glossed lips tells me she’s ready to go.
I stuff my hands in my Ford hoodie, peering down at my ripped jeans.
“I told you to change,” she sings, smoothing down her white eyelet top, which dips low enough to be dangerous while remaining soft and innocent.
Her jeans sit high on her hips, flaring out at the bottom just enough to reveal the boutique brown boots.
A rich leather purse hangs from her shoulder.
Cici always dresses to arrive, no matter where we are, including Billy’s Tavern.
I roll my eyes, but flash her a smile. “I came. What you see is what you get.” I toss my blowing tangled waves behind me into the bitter night wind.
The Tavern is a hole in the wall; only locals and visiting T.A.L.O.N units enter here.
The structure is darkened by years and stories, the kind of building that doesn’t try to impress because it already knows what it is.
The porch sags just enough to feel honest. Thick beams, scarred and solid, holding up a roof that’s seen more nights than it could ever count.
I smell the inside before I reach the steps.
The door is open just enough to spill a sliver of darkness and neon glow, loud voices and cheers bleeding out into the night.
Hank Williams Jr. blasts on the jute box as always.
Cici falls into rhythm, adjusting her posture, slightly lifting her chin.
Heads turn giving her that confident aura she carries as she scans for the only eyes she cares to catch.
I’m the shadow behind her, half a step back.
Their eyes flick to me, and just as fast, they drop.
Drinks suddenly need attention. Conversations resume a beat too loud. A ghostly smirk spreads across my face.
The stench of smoke and beer is baked into the walls.
The room is dim, buzzing with the chattering men and every stool sits claimed even when empty.
An old pool table sits off into a corner under a low hanging half-lit lamp.
Its green felt is thread-bare thin, with pool balls blandly colored, not a number visible on any of them.
Booths line the walls, vinyl cracked and patched, holding on to secrets and bad alibis.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” Bear calls, leaned over the table racking the balls. Matt turns, his expression breaking open. He lazily chalks his cue, drinking in the sight of her. Cici reaches for my hand and tugs me impatiently to our team.
Nyx and Jasper stand shoulder to shoulder at the pool table, opposites pretending they’re not.
Even their clothes, although similar, are somehow day and night.
Jasper in light wash jeans, a faded green tee, and square-toed boots, while Nyx is wearing a black Lane Frost shirt, dark ripped jeans and even darker boots.
Jasper leans in easy, cue resting against his hip.
He smiles brightly, offering a gentle wave.
But Nyx doesn’t move; he stands still as a held breath, one hand on the edge of the table like it’s something he owns.
His eyes find mine, then he nods his head in hello.
My spine tenses. Wonderful. I hate the way I notice both of them.
Jasper is pure sunlight—warm, effortless, impossible not to stand in.
Nyx is something else entirely different.
A thunderstorm on the horizon. Dangerous, and annoying.
Like a migraine dressed in black silk. The worst part?
Neither feeling makes any sense. And it’s not what I need.
The balls knock together as Bear starts the game, the sound cracking through the whirlwind of odd tension. I take a seat in the corner, leaning my back against the graffitied wall. Cici disappears, wrapping her arms around Matt, giving him a quick squeeze.
They are undeniably into each other. Okay, maybe it was worth coming. If he makes her that happy, then I can get through this.
Jasper walks over as I get comfortable, leaning down into my ear. “I take it you’re here against your will.”
I laugh, nodding towards the happy couple. “Aren’t I always?”
He runs a hand through his thick hair, a blush creeping across his sharp cheek bones. “I’m glad you came though.” His voice drops, just a touch. “I was hoping you would.”
The admission catches me off guard. The dangerous thing about Jasper isn’t his smile, it’s how easy he is.
No walls or games, just a man who knows what he wants.
And unfortunately, that’s me. It would be easy to fall in love with those bright green eyes.
Maybe it could be easy to live a simple life with him and lean into that certainty of his.
I’m just not simple. That’s the problem. Maybe I could have been, once, before life got its hands on me.
I arch a brow, smiling like I haven’t already clocked the hope in his eyes. “We’ll see how the night treats me.”
A loud crack cuts through the bar, the sound snapping our attention as three balls disappear into separate pockets, one after another.
Nyx stands on the other side of the table, cue still extended, eyes locked on us like he meant to interrupt and enjoyed it.
He straightens measuredly, the kind of movement that draws eyes and energy without asking.
His gaze lingers as he calls to Jasper. “Your turn.”
Jasper exhales through his nose, irritation flickering on his face.
He steps away from me and walks toward the table with his eyes locked on Nyx.
Bear clears his throat and chalks his cue as he looks nervously between his two friends.
Jasper plants his hand on the felt and leans over the table to line up his shot, shoulders rolling forward.
And as if he can’t help himself, he glances back.
His mouth curves into a slow, unapologetic smirk.
Heat and promise wrapped into one look only meant for me.
The cue cracks against the balls a heartbeat later, his gaze still wildly zeroed in on mine.
I need a drink. I look away, hopping off the bar stool and weave my way to the counter.
I spot Billy right where he always is, like the bar would collapse without him holding it down.
He’s leaned back in his chair, boots crossed at the ankle, wearing his signature long-sleeve Harley Davidson shirt, rugged with age and loyalty.
As he looks up and sees me, his face changes.
The years fall back and his smile widens, slow and genuine. “Well, if it isn’t Florence Belcher.”
There’s history in the way he says my name. Pride. Relief.
Billy’s known me longer than most around here, my first real friend since moving to Wyoming.
After losing my brother, and then my mother years later, home started feeling more like a graveyard than a place to live.
By the time Ellie and Todd left for college, there wasn’t much left keeping me there.
I almost didn’t go. Not because I was afraid of the job, but because of my dad.
My stepmother, Rosemary, promised she’d take care of him.
Trusting someone else with my father wasn’t easy, but trusting her was.
She insisted it was time I spread my wings.
Billy just feels like another piece of home. He’s the kind of man who never asks questions he doesn’t want the answer to and never forgets the people who matter.
I round the bar island, embracing the old man. “In the flesh,” I chuckle.
He pulls back, taking a good long look. “Mighty fine ma’am, as always.”
I swat his shoulder. “Oh hush, you old bat.”
I return back to the stools; a golden plate screwed into the first one catching my eye.
“The usual?” Billy asks.
“Yeah, Scott been by lately?” I ask. “Delacroix” is engraved boldly within the plate, a newly sewn navy cushion resting within the seat. Of course. He probably has a bottle of hand sanitizer hidden around here somewhere too.
“Boss man? Yeah, he was here earlier actually.” Billy slides a mason jar of ice water over.
“Did you get him talking any?” I take a small sip.
“Whatcha needin’ to know darlin’?” he asks lowly, popping a few beers open for the waiting regulars.
I pause, waiting for them to walk away before asking, “Anything about the Red Earth Directive Unit?” Billy looks around, reaching in his ear to fiddle with his hearing aid.
He leans over, scratching at the scruff of his white beard. “Tween’ you and me now, word’s going around it’s an inside job. Somebody’s pluckin’ em’ up, but where and why he don’t know.” He pauses, peering around my shoulder. “Says they’re working real hard to find out though.”
I follow his gaze to a group of boys entering the tavern, shoving each other like a pack of hyenas. They’re definitely not from around here.
Billy grunts. “Bunch of college folk been coming in for winter break. Don’t leave no tips or clean their mess up.”
All four tumble into a booth, hollering over the music. I look to our group who have paused their game, all glowering at the newcomers.
Billy clears his throat, tapping on my hand. “Good news is boss man say’s you’re still his favorite.”
I huff, scrunching my nose. “You can’t be pulling my leg like that now Billy you know how my ego is.”
He holds his hands up in defense, his crooked grin making me laugh. “Now when have I ever told you a story.”
My mouth drops. “That’s all you do!”
I laugh, pushing off the bar, and return to the intense game. My skin prickles from the unwanted stares. I glance over to the booth, shooting its occupants a quick warning glare.
Matt stands behind Cici, his arms wrapped lazily around her neck. Bear rubs his head, calculating the eight ball.
“Did you see Scott’s new chair?” I ask, my head tilting at the impossible play.