Chapter 16
ALEX
The bar is packed tonight.
Clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, drunken singing, and the blur of conversation fill the space.
All the noises mix with the scratchy echo of Black Sabbath spilling out from the old jukebox in the corner.
The scent of whiskey and hops hangs thick in the air, cut only slightly by the greasy warmth of food drifting from the kitchen.
Nights like this would usually make the hours disappear without notice.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I feel like I’ve got nails under my skin. Restless doesn't even begin to cover it.
It’s been a whole goddamn week since I last saw Emma. A week since that damn festival. A week since I should’ve kissed her, but didn’t because I’m nothing more than a coward.
Frankie and Cam have mentioned that she’s been around, keeping busy.
Said she’s “fine.” and has “a lot going on.” But the vagueness tells me more than their words do.
She’s not fine. I don’t know if it’s a result of what I did or not.
But I hate that I know something’s wrong in my gut without even seeing her.
As I think about it more, I realize that Emma moving back to Windhaven out of the blue is weird as hell, considering she’d sworn up and down she was never setting foot here again.
Her brothers said it was temporary, but now that she’s here something feels off.
They were tight-lipped about her for months leading up to her return.
I heard whispers and vague mentions of heart stuff, but nobody said much else.
It’s not like I’m exactly on the list of people they would tell about something serious like that considering the only history between us that they are aware of involves us always fighting and avoiding each other.
Whatever it is, I don’t like not knowing.
The rag in my hand squeaks against the wood of the bartop as I wipe it.
I tell myself I’ve gotta let it go and should focus on something else.
Whatever I’m carrying for her needs to be buried so deep it never sees daylight again.
Maybe that’s wishful thinking though since I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her for the last decade, what makes this time any different?
Just like that, the girl that consumes every one of my thoughts walks in that door and all of that inner monologue goes to hell.
As my eyes lock on the sight of her, my entire body goes still.
Emma steps through the doorframe like sin, in silk and a confidence she doesn’t believe in but wears beautifully nonetheless.
Everything else fades. The clatter of the bar, the music, even the two drunk assholes arguing about fantasy football in the corner.
It’s all gone. My grip tightens on the rag, jaw clenching as my eyes drag over her like I haven’t already memorized every curve of her body.
She’s wearing this black little dress, the hem daring to land mid-thigh.
Her legs look miles long in those red cowboy boots.
I don’t know what sick part of me wants to kiss the ground she walked in on because of them, but I do.
She’s always had a way of turning casual rebellion into something that knocks the breath out of me.
Emiliana looks gorgeous.
Dangerous.
Her hair is curled with loose waves framing her face, lips are painted that deep, defiant shade of red I remember so clearly. Victory Red. She told me once it was the color women wore during World War II to feel strong, powerful and unbreakable.
She is war and wonder all at once. She could step on my throat and I would be the one to apologize for being in her way.
But there’s something off in the way she smiles.
It doesn’t seem genuine in the same way I know it to be.
Maybe her friends forced her to come along and she is putting on an act to not disappoint them.
That has to be the most logical option because I don’t think she would willingly come to my bar, especially after the night of the festival.
Liv and Sophia are behind her, chatting and laughing, totally oblivious to their surroundings. I, on the other hand, feel like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
They head straight for the far end of the bar and slide onto the tall stools like they’ve done it a hundred times before. Emma lingers for a second, as if debating whether or not to turn around and bolt, before finally climbing on the last seat in defeat.
She positions herself on the outer edge, one leg crossed over the other, fidgeting with a ring on her finger. It’s a simple gold band with four stones in the middle. It belonged to her mom, I think.
I know I should leave. I said I was going to leave at 8 o’clock, it’s now 8:06.
But despite what my brain knows is the right thing to do, my feet have a different plan as they start moving before I can stop them. There are two other bartenders that could serve them instead, but that’s not enough reason to keep me from walking in her direction.
Emma’s gaze lifts slowly, watching me approach with a guarded expression.
“Of course you are working tonight.” She snaps, the words come out cool and careful.
I lean an arm on the bar and arch a brow. “You sound surprised. Do you not have my work schedule memorized?”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of something else under the surface. Something fragile. “Cute.”
“Some would say charming.” I reply.
Liv rolls her eyes. “Some would be wrong.”
I ignore her and look at Sophia. “What can I get you ladies?”
“I’ll take a mojito,” Sophia says with a quick smile.
“Whiskey sour,” Liv chimes in, elbowing Emma lightly.
She hesitates. Her fingers toy with the ring again, twisting and turning like somehow it’ll help keep her together. Finally, she lifts her chin, brushing off whatever she was thinking and feigning nonchalance instead. “Vodka cranberry.”
I give a single nod and turn away.
Back at the shelf of liquor, I set to work on the drinks, not letting myself look at her. My ears betray me as I clearly hear their voices above all the other noises. Sophia’s giggle. Liv’s snarky comments. Emma’s quiet replies and forced laughs that seem subdued and rehearsed.
There is something going on in that beautiful brain of hers. I don’t know what it is, but something inside me wants to be the one to fix it.
Frankie pops up beside me suddenly, grabbing a bottle of bourbon off the shelf. “She looks like hell,” he mutters under his breath.
I stiffen. “What do you mean? She looks fine.”
“She’s clearly faking it. You know that, right?”
“Maybe.”
“She shouldn’t be here.” The words come out of his mouth like a secret, like something I wasn’t supposed to hear.
I glance over at Emma before I can stop myself. Her knee bounces beneath the bar, over and over again. She is still fidgeting and restless. I turn back as Frankie walks off, shaking his head.
I finish pouring the drinks and bring them over, setting each one down with more care than I care to admit to.
“Thanks, Alex,” Sophia says with a big smile.
Liv gives a simple nod as a thank you.
Emma says nothing.
I linger, because I’m weak, apparently. “So… girls’ night?”
Sophia nods brightly. “Liv thought it’d be fun to drag us out of the house instead of staying in with rom-coms and tubs of ice cream, which was my initial idea.”
“That sounds way better than this,” Emma murmurs, eyes glued to the rim of her glass.
“Don’t let her lie to you,” Liv says. “She took forever getting ready. If she didn’t want to be here, she wouldn’t have spent twenty minutes picking what shade of lipstick to wear tonight.”
Emma blushes slightly and it hits me in the chest like a sucker punch.
I miss her so damn much.
I open my mouth to say something, but she looks up at me, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t.”
Closing my mouth once again, I take that as my sign to leave. “Enjoy your night,” I say, walking away and trying not to look back.
After occupying myself with drink orders for several other people, I make the mistake of looking over at Emma and that’s when I see three guys—loud, cocky, clearly already a few drinks in—heading toward the girls like they’re about to score the winning touchdown.
Leading them is Jake Pearson. Emma’s high school ex-boyfriend.
My blood turns to ice.
I haven’t seen him since, figuring he left town after graduation like most people did. I never thought I would see him again, certainly not here, in my bar, with Emma in the same room.
He hasn’t changed much, still wearing the same cocky swagger and conceited smile that makes my fists itch as he walks right up to Emma and leans on the bar beside her.
They dated in high school for a couple years. I hated him. The second I met him, I knew he wasn’t what she thought he was. But Emma’s got this way of seeing the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it. Everyone, except me, of course.
I caught him at the movies with his tongue down some other girl’s throat.
I could’ve ripped him apart right then, but what good would that have done?
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I backed him into a corner and demanded him to break up with Emma and make it look like it was my fault.
I told him to blame me, say I threatened him or any other excuse he needed to use, whatever it took.
And he did. He broke her heart. And she turned all that hurt and anger right onto me.
After that, I made it my personal mission to keep every guy in town away from her.
She hated me for a while, right up until the year her mom died.
And I let her. She would’ve been more mad if she knew the truth.
So I took the fall and played the villain in her story for years because it was better than watching her get hurt in a worse way—thinking he cheated on her because she wasn’t good enough or worthy.
To this day, I don’t think she knows the truth about what really happened.
Jake's voice echoes across the bar. “Emiliana Diaz? Damn, you look good.”