Chapter 2
The Hollow is coming apart at the seams.
It’s a rare night when it isn’t at capacity, but tonight feels different.
Two very different crowds have filled the bar, creating a powder keg just begging for a spark.
The hockey-game crowd is happy, drunk, dancing, flirting, finding dark corners to enjoy the night, while the first-responder crowd has just come off shift, looking to forget the horrors of a massive downtown fire.
Something has to give; I just wish it wouldn’t be inside the walls of my bar.
I throw a towel over my shoulder, dip two glasses into the ice bin, and set them on the countertop behind the bar. My hands work on the drinks while my eyes scan the crowd for trouble, and my head throbs from lack of sleep.
“I asked for a double vodka, Bright!” One of the mouthy firefighters, Derek, tosses his half-empty glass onto the bar, and it spills over the girls minding their business next to him.
He shoves his boxy shoulders between stools, practically knocking over the guy next to him, and slams his hand on the bar.
“And I gave you water, Derek,” I say without skipping a beat, my jaw tight with annoyance. The lights flicker across the heavy red drapes and upholstery of the Hollow, illuminating everything in a hazy, warm glow while still keeping it dark inside, other than the soft white glow from the bar.
“I come to your bar to drink, not to pay fifteen dollars for water!” Derek raises his voice, and beside me, my twin brother, Boone, chuckles under his breath.
“You haven’t paid for the last three drinks, Derek,” I remind him and give the waiting girls their rum and Cokes one at a time with my right hand. They take off as quickly as they can, and Derek slides into the opening, following me as I move on to the next waiting body around the rectangular bar.
“So what, you’re cutting me off?” he yells over the swell of pop music.
“Unless you're keen on your station peeling you off the road with a Halligan, then yeah, Derek–I’m cutting you off,” I say, turning to the guy beside him. “What can I get you?”
“This is bullshit, Bright!” he continues to argue as the guy orders two beers. I pull them from the fridge behind me, popping the lids off against the counter and sliding them across the bar. “Is this because of the Sunday thing? I told you, man, she’s not my type.”
“It has nothing to do with you calling my little sister ugly. This is because I don’t want your blood staining the concrete outside.
It’s bad for business. But Derek,” I say, angling over the bar to remind him how much bigger I am than him and to steady my left hand on the countertop.
I anchor myself and get in his face, lowering my voice.
“If you don’t fuck off, it’s going to be a good enough reason for me to cave your face in,” I warn him with a smug smile. “You get water, or you get out.”
Boone pushes up behind me as Derek takes a second to decide his fate before stumbling back away from the bar with a few choice swear words.
“He turns into such a mean drunk.” Boone clears his throat, and I unclench my entire body.
“He’s an asshole sober.” I shake my head and turn toward an explosion of cheers and hollering.
“The pussycats are back.” He slaps my shoulder. “At least that’s some happy news. They beat the Devils.” Boone hovers beside me, his hair as dark and unkempt as the scruff on his jawline, in his black Hollow t-shirt, cropped just enough to show off his torso of tattoos and body hair.
“Just barely,” I grumble. “Go clean some glasses or something.” I wave him off.
“You can’t boss me around, I own this place too,” Boone scoffs, flipping me off.
“I’m three minutes older and three inches taller. I can do whatever I want,” I offer him a tight smile.
“Real mature,” he laughs, but hauls one of the full trays over his shoulder, chatting as he makes his way through the crowd to the kitchen.
I leave the bar to Judd, who has handled a tougher crowd, and make my way over to the booth as the girls slide into it.
I look to the table over, and Derek is glaring at me with his friends, his expression vicious enough to burn a hole through me.
It’s only a matter of time before he starts shit, and we have to throw him out.
“Good game tonight, girls,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the violent tremor currently coursing through my left hand.
I run my eyes over Sunday, checking for any major injuries, but find nothing on her and am met with an annoyed look that makes me chuckle.
Sunday is four years younger than Boone and me, with dirty blonde hair that she dyed as an act of rebellion to stand out from the pitch black color of ours.
But she has the same big green eyes as Boone and that same goofy smile.
They’re both big golden retrievers, wearing their hearts on their sleeves and walking around in need of constant protection.
I wish they made it a little easier.
“Did you actually have it on?” Kaia snaps with a smile. “Or did the Huskies game take precedence?”
“You were up behind the bar,” I confess, and she rolls her eyes. “First round is on me,” I offer as an apology. Unfortunately for the Hillcats, the hockey game brings in more bodies, and the Hollow, for all its worth, still runs on money.
“Hey, Bright,” Sunday speaks up as I turn to go get their drinks, and I know she’s about to ask for something because my name comes off her lips sweet as honey. She’s been using that tone to get what she wants her entire life.
“Yes, Sunday,” I wait for it.
“Do you think you could set up the karaoke machine?” She leans on the table and flashes that signature smile up at me.
“Tonight? No.” I scoff, and her smile turns agitated. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Bri,” she whines, and I shake my head.
“Absolutely not.” I stand my ground. “You guys already get it on Thursdays. I’m not opening it up just because you flash puppy eyes at me. Wrong brother.”
“Oh come on, Thing One!” Kaia starts to whine with her.
“Sorry for a second there, I forgot you had a stick up your ass!” Sunday groans, and her friends laugh, but I just sigh. “Where is Bobo?”
Bri and Bobo, horrible nicknames given to us by Sunday, when all she could do was hobble around the house in a diaper, screaming for attention.
I hate it, but at least I’m not Bobo.
“You aren’t running to Boone because I said no,” I warn her.
“Yes, I am, and you can’t stop me without it causing a show, so…” She uses the table and stands in the booth, hopping over the back and landing in the lap of a drunk fire guy with a tiny giggle before she darts off through the crowd in search of our brother.
“Thanks for the help, guys.” I look at the rest of the girls.
“Bros before hoes,” Kaia snorts.
“She’s trying to cheer Rhea up,” Cosy says, leaning back and stretching her arms up as she rolls her neck side to side.
I look from her to Rhea, sitting in the other corner, picking at the curled plastic on the old drinks menu.
She looks sad, maybe more distracted than usual.
Her raven hair is messy around her hardened jaw, multiple dainty piercings glimmering under the bar lights, and noticeably absent is the broad, pearly smile she usually wears.
I groan at the sight of her, pathetically busying her mind.
Always a sucker for a sad girl.
“Drinks,” I say, tapping the table with a finger before backing away. “And karaoke…” I add, and Kaia gives me a small nod. Anything for Sunday, I tell myself, which subsequently means anything for any of them. “Just let Day think it was her doing.” I wave the towel and keep walking back to the bar.
“Hey Judd,” I call to him as he finishes up with the customers he’s talking to and turns.
The Hollow uniform fits him tighter across the chest, and the back is printed with large red font that says I'M A CHEAP DRUNK. A few years ago, Boone took it upon himself to create a uniform despite my saying multiple times that we’re a dive bar and didn’t need them.
Now the staff members walk around in black shirts with the Hollow logo on the front and a collection of idiotic sayings on the back.
And with the intent of pissing off Boone, I only ever wore the one that said ‘THING ONE.’
“What’s good?” I’m still getting used to the British twang in Judd’s voice, and every once in a while, it catches me off guard, remembering he’s not an East Coast boy.
“Can you get drinks to table six for me?” I ask him, and he looks over my shoulder to the Hillcat table with a scowl.
“Hey, make two for Cosy that way when she pours the first one on you, she’ll still have something to drink.
” I pat the bar and slip through the crowd to the stairs that lead up to my apartment.
Boone stops me on his way out of the kitchen, “You alright?” He asks, and I nod.
“Forgot my phone upstairs,” I say, and Boone sees through the lie but lets me go anyway.
I take the steep black stairs to the apartment, unlocking both locks before slipping inside and closing the door behind me to breathe.
I uncurl my hand from my jeans pocket and watch it shake.
The tremor is getting worse. I breathe in for four, hold it, and breathe out for four.
Holding my hand out and begging it to stop so I can return to work.