Chapter 23 Brighton
“It’s next week, right?” Sunday asks as Rhea types on her phone.
She’s been like this since the date, quiet, sullen, and uninterested in almost everything, putting on a show when people are looking too closely and forcing a smile to her face for her friends.
It’s starting to drive me insane. She’s been pretending like all the crap Miles said to her didn’t bother her, but a week later, she’s still chewing on the insults like they’re leather stuck between her teeth.
“Yeah. Museum downtown. Starts at seven,” Cosy says, picking at her lunch.
“Who are you bringing as a date?” Sunday asks her, and Judd drops a container of limes hard on the counter, earning dirty looks from all of us in the practically empty Hollow.
Saturday afternoons are usually dead; people come in for lunch, but it’s mostly regulars or randoms that come in off the street for food.
The Hillcats sit at the end of the bar, picking at lunch and chatting about God knows what—until the HSAs come up. The Harbor Sports Awards are for athletes within the city, spanning from professional to semi-professional, as well as college teams, and more community outreach.
It’s usually a stuffy event that Boone caters, but it’s too many bodies and too much chaos for me to handle, so I stay and take care of the bar. We’ve had a system for the last few years, and it works perfectly.
“Probably Dad,” Cosy says with a smile. “He loves those dinners.”
“Oh my god, please bring him. After last year, we need that comedic relief,” Sunday gasps, “when he and Kaia got so drunk they ended up in the fountain and nearly got arrested—but he flirted his way out of it because the museum security guard was going through menopause and a divorce!”
“I heard about Josephine for weeks,” Cosy gags.
“Think of the breakup drama if she still works there.” Sunday giggles, shoving some fries in her mouth. “You have to.”
“Alright, alright,” Cosy concedes. “Who are you bringing, Reaper?” she asks Rhea, who finally looks up from her phone—like she’s just noticed the food in front of her.
“No one,” she says and lifts the bun of her burger out of habit and finding it without tomatoes. “It’s always a hassle, and guys always want something out of it…” Her eyes lift to me, and her thoughts are so loud I can practically hear her thinking as she smiles. “Hey, Brighton?”
“No.” I set down a beer and look away before she can see the amusement in my eyes.
“You didn’t even wait for me to ask the question,” Rhea pouts.
Don’t.
“If it involves dancing, suits, noise, music, or people,” I list, “no.”
“Be my date,” Rhea says.
“No.”
“Just as friends!” she argues. “You’re the only man in Harbor tall enough!”
“No.” I fight back and continue to serve some of the people sitting around the bar with a polite smile.
“Boooo,” Sunday cups her mouth and yells.
I give her a dirty look, and she leans back on her stool to cross her arms.
“You’d really leave a girl dateless? I thought we were friends now.” Rhea pokes the bear because she likes the sound it makes when it growls, but I shake my head no again.
“Boone goes every year,” Cosy quickly adds, and I grumble under my breath as I make my way down the bar to where they sit.
“He works the event. That’s different from attending,” I remind her and lean on the bar with both hands to stare the three of them down.
“I know you own a suit,” Sunday narrows her eyes at me.
“Doesn’t mean I want to wear it, Day,” I clip, curling my fingers against the counter. I give her a serious look, and her shoulders roll forward in defeat as Rhea huffs.
“It’s okay. It was a long shot. Forget I asked,” Rhea says. “I have physio in twenty, I’ll see you guys at practice later?” She looks at the girls once, then disappears through the bar.
“She goes alone, you know,” Sunday says later that night, leaning over the bar. She’s sandwiched between two people trying to talk while waiting for me to make her a tray of fruity drinks for a bachelorette party.
“What?” I look up at her as I palm two shakers.
“The HSAs, every year her family tells her that they’re going to be there and they don’t show up,” Sunday says.
“So then she’s used to it,” I brush off Sunday, trying to ignore the fact that maybe I feel a little bad for Rhea.
“Yeah, maybe. But she shouldn’t have to be,” she argues, and the girl next to her is starting to get impatient with the interruption.
“She’ll be fine, Day. Maybe she should just tell her family they suck. She’s a big girl,” I strain out the martinis. The Reaper has sold more this week than any special we’ve run in five months. I can’t tell if I hate it or love it. But making them will be the death of me.
“You are so dense! She doesn’t want to hurt them. She takes care of everyone else's feelings, who takes care of hers?” Sunday snaps as I arrange the drinks.
I take care of her. The thought is intrusive—violent. It sits at the back of my throat, threatening to expose me. I swallow roughly and sigh.
“Why are you pushing this so hard?” I ask. “Aren’t you supposed to be all stay away from my brother?”
“When have I ever been like that? Kaia’s been in love with Bobo since…” Sunday can’t even fathom the math. “Besides, you and Rhea are roommates. You’re friends. Aren’t you?”
She doesn’t say it like an accusation; it’s more of a statement designed to push me into doing something stupid. Sunday disappears with the drinks, and I have fifteen minutes of silence from her nagging before she slips behind the bar and starts again.
“I’m going to fire you if you don’t leave me alone.” I groan and slide two beers to the bar top for the guy in front of me as Sunday leans against it to catch my eye line.
“Going as her date for the HSAs is something a friend would do; it’s not like you have to stick your lightning rod anywhere,” Sunday complains.
“Are you delusional?” I hiss under my breath and start to wipe down the counter aggressively to get the image out of my brain of Rhea…
Naked. Rhea naked.
“All I’m saying is that she could use the support,” Sunday whines, brushing her hair behind her ear and turning to help the girls at the end of the bar, calling for help. She circles back around, and those green eyes burn a hole into my back.
“Don’t all the Hillcats go? That’s her support system. She doesn’t need arm candy, Day.” I hesitate. “She’s just… lonely.” It slips from my mouth, and it’s meaner than I expect it to sound.
“One, you are not arm candy.” She looks disgusted, “and two it’s different, everyone brings someone. Family, a partner, a friend…” she says.
“So set her up with a date.” I groan and turn away from her, but Sunday isn’t done with me yet.
“You picked her up from the last blind date. Men are horrible, Bri. They don’t care about what the night means to her. They just want her horizontal so they can forget that she’s taller than them,” Sunday snaps.
You’re making it really hard to keep my distance from her, and you have no idea.
“She’s winning an award this year, they get told in advance so they can prepare something just in case. She knows she’s winning it and still expects no one to show up for her. It’s not about the fanfare, Brighton,” she snaps, and I know I’m in trouble when she uses my full name. “Be her friend.”
“I didn’t ask for any new friends,” I say, my response short and cold.
Sunday stares up at me for a moment longer before she’s called to help at the table, but the lingering effects of that pleading stare stick to my skin and bother me long after she’s gone.