CHAPTER 28 | Dallas
I went to work early for my evening shift today. Aubrey didn’t question it. She put me to work and let someone else go home. They practically ran out of the here. And I practically ran here. After practice, I had to get out of the house. I needed some space. I told Logan I was going to work early, and he decided he wanted to come with me for whatever reason. I was still too pissed off to ask why, but there was still a part of me that didn’t want to leave Abby in the apartment alone all day. She’d stayed back during practice, but it was only for a couple of hours. I knew I’d be gone for the rest of the night.
So instead of forcing Logan to stay home, I called my sister. She could tell I was mad and only asked why once, but when I wouldn’t explain, she just sighed and said she would be over in fifteen. I texted Abby before I left, but she never replied. I’m a bit relieved I didn’t have to talk to her outright. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. I’m afraid of saying something I’d regret.
So, now I stand here, serving all the drunken idiots the day before our big game. Logan has taken up residence at the far end of my section, hogging the only stool that doesn’t wobble or squeak when it spins.
“Last call!” Aubrey yells over the speakers forcing a large rush to the bar again.
If I can keep my head down for the rest of the night, I can get a decent night's sleep before tomorrow and have a chance at playing properly. I know myself enough to expect I won't play well when my brain is off its rocker.
While I wipe the bar down at the end of the night, Logan sits at the end, scrolling through his phone. “Dal, there’s this new bar that just opened up. They’re open till four in the morning all weekend. We should go. Take a load off. There’s no way work is enough to clear your head.”
He’s right. It’s not. “Dude, I’m tired. I just want to go to sleep.”
“Oh, come on.” He presses his hands together like he’s praying and bats his eyes. “Pretty please? I’ll buy.”
“Yeah, because pop is so expensive.”
He sticks his lower lip out now.
I check the time. One-thirty. “Fine. But maybe let's not stay out till four. We have places to be tomorrow.”
He smiles. “Deal.”
The bar sits on the outskirts of town down a short gravel road. A single light shines on the banner hanging over the front door. It reads, in bold block letters, “Steel Tavern.” Fitting for an old small warehouse. Motorcycles line the parking lot. A few trucks and cars are parked at the back of the lot. A group stands along the right side of the building smoking, drinks in hand. A patio full of people sticks out on the other side of the building, illuminated by large bulbed string lights.
We park at the back with the other vehicles just as a girl steps out of a car at the front.
“What is she doing here?” I ask Logan who has a mischievous smile on his face.
“Aubrey? I invited her.” He ignores my glare. “What? The three of us haven’t hung out in a while. She seemed excited. A little hesitant at first, but it didn’t take much convincing.” He makes his way toward her, greeting her with a fist bump.
I shake my head, dragging my feet toward them.
“Hey, Dal,” she says with a light smile.
“Hi,” I say coldly before walking past them and pushing through the front door.
The interior is what I expected. Large steel columns and beams, a concrete floor, industrial lighting, and a brand-new wooden bar with metal accents. The place is lively. I’m a little surprised to see a variety of people here. With how many bikes are out front, I fully expected the place to be overrun by leather.
Logan pushes his way through the crowd, Aubrey following close behind. She holds out a hand for me, but I don’t take it. Still, she keeps it there, just in case, I guess.
“The usual?” Logan asks, looking back at us. We both nod and head to an empty corner with our drinks.
“You guys ready for the game?” Aubrey asks, taking a sip of her beer. The clear mug is almost as big as her head. Her once bright green nails are now deep purple. I don’t know how she manages a bar with such long nails.
“As ready as we’ll ever be.” Logan holds up his glass before taking a long swig of the dark brown beer.
“Well, I’m rooting for you.” She offers me a flirty smile, but I barely look at her.
Logan and Aubrey talk for a while until Logan needs a refill and heads to the bar to get new drinks for everyone.
“So how have you been? Like more than surface-level shit.” She leans both elbows on the table and tips her head my way.
I shrug. “The usual. Work and baseball.”
“That’s surface level.”
“Not much else,” I say flatly.
She inches closer, her arm now pressed against mine. She rests a hand on my wrist. “Okay, well, I would love to hang out some more. I miss you. Don’t you miss me?”
I sigh. “I’ve been busy. Still am.” I take a step away, pulling my arm from her grasp.
She inches closer again. “Well, I could keep you busy instead.” She keeps her voice low and sultry. Before Abby came along, I probably would have caved. Now, it makes me cringe.
Logan comes back with drinks in hand. It’s about time. I ignore Aubrey's comment and change my focus to pretend like I’m people-watching. Logan and Aubrey strike up a conversation, something about which vodka goes better in a Bloody Mary. I’ve since stopped listening. I try hard to ignore the hand she places on my arm when she thinks something is funny, and the little lilt she adds when she says my name. It’s all too much. I keep wishing it was Abby touching my arm, her flirty giggle cutting through the clinking of glasses and monotonous talking.
On their third trip to the bar, I decide I need some air. The early morning fog feels so much better than the tense air I can’t seem to avoid today.
A guy and a girl come wandering out of the bar, drinks in hand, displaying every bit of PDA. He hugs her waist tight while the girl lights up a cigarette. They move past me to the other smokers, but something about the guy catches my eye. Blonde hair, long and greasy. Tall, but not quite as tall as me. Lanky, like a bean pole. He fluffs his hair as he turns to reveal the face I swore I would end if I ever got the chance. And what are the odds? Here we are.
“Hey, asshat,” I yell, taking a step closer to them. The whole group turns. Everyone goes silent.
“Asshat?” Sam says, taking a sip of his beer. And then he laughs. “Wow. Look who it is.” He whispers something into the girl's ear, causing her to blush and hands her his bottle. If only she knew. He takes a few steps closer, a little more than an arm's length away. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking more relaxed than I feel. “What a pleasant surprise. Did Abby send you? Is she too much of a pussy to take care of her own problems now?” He smirks, turning around, the girl giggling behind him.
Just as he starts turning back, I wind up and hurl a fist into the side of his cheek. He stumbles backward, far enough that he braces himself up with one hand, the other holding his cheek. He recovers quickly, swinging hard, barely missing my nose, and leaving his other cheek wide open. I swing my other fist, connecting with the other side of his face, forcing him to fall onto his back. He scrambles backward, attempting to recover, but he loses his footing as he tries to stand. He lands on his arm, holding a hand up, asking me to stop. He spits blood onto the gravel. “What the fuck, man!” He yells, wiping his nose.
When I respond, it comes out calmer than I expect. “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what you did.”
“That bitch shouldn’t have disobeyed me. I gave her everything. And she decides it’s not enough anymore?” He chuckles while he gets to his feet again. “She’s gone crazy. Thinking you can do better than me. I see the shithole you live in. You’re a bartender for Christ's sake.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” My blood boils hotter somehow, pulsing rapidly.
“Really. Then tell me. Because Abby? I’ll warn you. She’s a lot.” He rubs his jaw, that stupid smile still on his face. It takes everything in me not to smack it off him.
“A lot? Yes. She is a lot. A lot of woman. A lot of hard-working, dedicated beauty. She’s gorgeous, inside and out. She’s more patient and trusting than she should be after a jackass like you.” I take a small step closer, the gravel crunching beneath my feet. “She’s talented and clever. She’s hilarious and so quick-witted I can’t keep up with her half the time. So, yes. She is a lot. But she’s a lot better than you’ll ever be.”
Sam raises his brows, placing his hands on his cheeks. “Aww, pretty boys in love.”
Is that what this is? Maybe I am. Is that even possible after such a short time? Focus. Now is not the time to battle my subconscious.
Sam is laughing. The girl he’s with is still giggling behind him, a flirty look on her face. Smoke whirls in the air as she takes a long pull of her cigarette. She’s got to be drunk if she’s still here with him after this.
“You can wipe that worthless smile off your face. Otherwise, I’ll do it for you.” I keep my face flat and cold so he can’t see how much he’s aggravating me. He doesn’t need more ammo. I look down at my red knuckles, rubbing them with my other hand.
By the time I hear the gravel shift under his feet, it’s too late. Almost as soon as my head drops, Sam’s fist drives into my left temple. I falter a few steps back but quickly recover, ignoring the pain searing through my head. Forming a tight fist, I swing at Sam’s head but miss. I grab his arm, deflecting his next shot. My knee comes up, connecting with his rib cage, but he wraps his arms around my neck, pulling both of us to the ground.
“Dallas!” A familiar girl's voice yells somewhere behind me. I ignore it, sights fully set on preparing this man for his grave.
Someone pulls me off Sam, another man pulling Sam back. I turn around ready to swing, pissed that I couldn’t get my final blow in.
Logan backs away, holding both hands up. “Woah, dude. Chill.”
I rub my hands. The small gravel pieces now embedded in my palm, sting. I’ve never been the best at fighting. Never had a reason to. I’ve taken my share of swings over stupid shit. It never went on for more than a punch or two. Now I’m really regretting not having more practice.
“We’re leaving,” Logan says, walking toward my car. Aubrey looks at me with a grief-stricken face, then looks to Sam, who wipes his bloody nose on his arm. She follows Logan, hanging her head. When I don’t follow, Logan turns quickly, a harshness to his voice. “Dallas. Let’s go. Now. Before the cops get called, or let's be honest, show up at this point.”
I shake my head, but I know he’s right. The last thing I need right now is a record. So, I drag my feet toward my car, forcing myself to calm down as much as possible before I have to drive.
“Yep, fuck off. Just like she did. Maybe you two were made for each other.” I hear Sam scramble to his feet. “I should have finished you off at that party. You’re dead, you hear me? Both of you!”
I pause a few feet from my car. Fists clenched, jaw tight, ready to turn and fight again. He can threaten me. But threatening Abby is where I draw the line.
“Ignore him,” Logan says, more annoyed than anything. I close my eyes, focusing on taking a deep breath. “Don’t make me drag you into this car.”
“I’ll uh ... I’ll find a different ride home.” Aubrey backs away a few feet, hesitantly heading for the door of the bar.
Distant sirens force my feet to move. No way am I finding out if those are for me.
***
I didn’t stick around the next day to see Abby. Logan and I slept until the very last second after our ‘excitement’ last night and ran out the door with barely enough time to make it to the game on time. An hour of practice beforehand is our only saving grace.
“Where the hell have you two been?” Coach Charlie yells from the dugout as we both take our respective places on the field. The other team is already warming up.
“Sorry. We overslept!” Logan yells from his usual spot at third base.
“Overslept? It’s two in the afternoon!” He shakes his head but seems to move on, yelling new commands at our teammates.
I shoot Logan an appreciative look for taking the brunt of the scolding before refocusing my mind on the game at hand. We have to win this. It’s been over ten years since this first regional tournament game was lost. I’m not about to make this the year. Especially when the scouts in the bleachers are watching my every move.