51 COREY
1 YEAR LATER
T he bar’s alive tonight, the hum of conversation blending with the clink of glasses and the low thrum of music.
Tobias is behind the bar, mixing drinks with the kind of precision that makes you wonder if he’s part chemist, part showman.
Julian’s perched on a stool, nursing a whiskey, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk.
I’m leaning against the bar, idly flipping a coaster between my fingers, keeping an eye on the usual suspects.
The door swings open, and there she is. Rhea.
Her wild hair’s pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
She’s in her work gear—bright scrubs that look out of place here but somehow still suit her.
She’s carrying a tote bag that’s seen better days, slung over one shoulder like she’s just stumbled out of a yoga class.
“Hey, PT Barbie,” I call out, grinning as she approaches the bar.
Tobias slides a glass of water her way without a word, his version of hospitality.
She drops the bag on the floor with a dramatic groan.
“Don’t call me that. Today was a day. Like, capital D-A-Y.
One of my kiddos threw a tantrum so epic, I thought I was gonna need a time-out.
And then there’s this one mom who insists her kid’s ‘extra special’ because he can stack blocks. Like, lady, that’s not a superpower.
That’s just motor skills.” Julian chuckles, swirling his whiskey.
“Sounds like you need a drink stronger than water.”
She waves him off, collapsing onto the stool next to him.
“No, no, I’m good. If I start drinking now, I’ll just complain more. And trust me, no one wants that.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Complaining’s your love language, Spry.
We’re used to it.” She flips me off, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Anyway, so this kid—let’s call him Block Boy—decides to throw a block at me. Like, full-on, ‘I’m the next Lebron’ energy. I duck, obviously, but then I trip over a therapy ball and almost face- plant into the foam pit. The mom just stood there like, ‘Oh, he’s just expressing himself.
’” Tobias snorts, sliding a whiskey her way.
“Here. For your bravery.” She takes it, raising the glass in mock salute.
“To almost breaking my nose in the name of child development.”
Julian clinks his glass against hers. “You’re a hero, Rhea. Truly.”
I steal the coaster back from Tobias, tapping it on the bar.
“So, what’s next? You gonna teach Block Boy how to throw a punch?
Julian could give you some pointers.” She shoots me a look. “Ha ha. Very funny. No, I’m thinking I might just start wearing a helmet to work. Like, full-on goalie gear.
You guys would back me up, right?”
“Absolutely,” Julian says, dead serious. “We’ll even get you a signed jersey. Make it official.” She laughs, the sound lighting up the room. “Deal. But if I catch you guys selling tickets to my next near-death experience, I’m quitting.”
“Noted,” I say, leaning in closer. “But just so you know, we’d make a killing.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s a warmth in them that makes my chest tighten. “You’re all the worst.”
“But you love us,” Tobias says, his tone matter-of-fact.
She shakes her head, sipping her whiskey. “Unfortunately, I do.” The bar buzzes around us, but for a moment, it’s just the four of us—Rhea, her stories, and the easy rhythm of our banter. It’s moments like these that remind me why I’d never let her go. Not without a fight.
Rhea leans against the bar, her green eyes flicking between the three of us with that mischievous glint I’ve come to both love and dread.
She swirls the last bit of whiskey in her glass, then downs it with a satisfied sigh.
“So,” she says, setting the glass down with a decisive clink, “when are you boys closing up tonight?”
I exchange a quick glance with Julian and Tobias.
Julian’s already smirking, like he knows what’s coming, while Tobias raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable but curious.
“Why?” I ask, leaning in slightly, my voice low and teasing.
“Got big plans, Spry?” She grins, all teeth and trouble.
“Oh, you could say that. I was thinking about practicing making a baby tonight. Since I’m so great with kids you know. So whatever you guys are doing here, wrap it up. Don’t stay out too late.”
The words hit like a grenade. I freeze, my brain stalling for a second as it processes what she just said.
Julian chokes on his whiskey, coughing into his fist, while Tobias drops a glass he’s holding.
It shatters on the floor, the sound loud enough to cut through the chatter in the bar.
Rhea just stands there, looking far too pleased with herself.
“You—what?” Julian manages to get out, his face red from either the coughing or the shock.
She shrugs, feigning innocence, but the corner of her mouth is twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.
“You heard me. Baby- making practice. I’m not exactly getting any younger, you know.”
Tobias is already moving, crouching to pick up the shards of glass with a muttered curse.
“You’re gonna kill us,” he says, shaking his head.
“You know that, right?” I’m still stuck on the mental image her words conjured, my mind racing in ways that are wildly unprofessional.
“Practice, huh?” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
“You sure you don’t need a coach for that?”
She laughs, the sound light and carefree, and it does things to me.
“Oh, I’m sure. But if you’re offering, I’ll keep you in mind.”
She grabs her tote bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
“Anyway, don’t take too long. I’d hate to start without you.”
With that, she’s gone, leaving the three of us standing there like idiots.
Julian’s the first to recover, slamming his glass down on the bar.
“Alright, that’s it. We’re closing. Tobias, clean that up. Corey, start clearing tables.”
“I’m already cleaning, asshole,” Tobias mutters, scooping up the last of the broken glass.
I’m still grinning like an idiot, but I grab a tray and start clearing the nearest table anyway.
Julian’s already behind the bar, dumping ice and wiping down surfaces with the kind of efficiency that screams panic.
Normally, closing takes us at least an hour, but tonight, we’re moving like the place is on fire.
“She’s messing with us, right?” Julian says after a minute, his voice strained.
“This is just her messing with us. Right?”
I shrug, stacking glasses onto the tray.
“I don’t know, man. You heard her. She’s not getting any younger.”
Tobias straightens up, tossing the shards into the trash. “She’s gonna be the death of us.”
“Or the life of us,” I counter, unable to keep the grin off my face.
“Come on, let’s move. I’m not about to be late for baby-making practice.” Julian groans, tossing a towel at me. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re slowing us down.” The bar’s never been cleared so fast in its history.