Chapter 66
Sixty-Six
THEN | SISK
Ishould definitely turn back. Yep. This is a bad decision. No, this is a stupid terrible decision.
The door to the bar is half open and I push the rest of the way before I can talk myself out of it.
“Hey,” I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near a mouse squeak.
Inside, something crashes. Jax jerks upright from behind the bar, knocking a wrench off the counter. It clatters loudly against the floor. He whips around, his eyes wide and wild. “Pitfire—”
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, his voice rough, still laced with shock.
I lift the paper bag like a peace offering. “I brought you something.”
He squints at it. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”
My heart beats faster as his eyes meet mine, a stupid, desperate hope flaring in my chest. I think I see something there, a flicker of the old Jax. But it’s gone as fast as it came, replaced by a cool, detached calm that makes my stomach sink.
He seems completely unaffected, leaning against the bar like I’m just another person dropping by. “What’s with the ominous paper bag?”
“Technically,” I say, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind me, “it’s a congratulations gift.”
“For what?”
“It’s for your bar opening. You’ve been working on this place forever.”
He eyes the bag. “You got me a gift?”
“Well, now you’re making it weird,” I snap, my cheeks heating.
“Aren’t you supposed to wrap a gift?” he asks.
“Aren’t you supposed to not be an ass when given a gift?” I shoot back.
He rubs a hand over his face, clearly exhausted. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Headache.”
“Business-owner headache?” I ask.
He snorts. “Something like that.”
I set the bag on the bar. “Open it.”
He lets out a long, weary sigh and pulls the bag closer. He reaches inside and pulls out the small silver music box. He turns it over in his hands, his brow furrowed in utter confusion.
“Just open it, you big baby.”
He flips the lid. A tiny ballerina in a tarnished tutu pops up and begins to spin, a soft, tinny melody filling the space. It’s a little warped, a little sad, and completely out of place. For a second, everything is still. The only sound is the delicate, off-key tune echoing off the brick walls.
“You got me a music box?”
“For luck,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “I got it after I won my first solo.”
His eyes flick back to the spinning figure, his thumb tracing the edge of the box.
“And every bar needs a dancer,” I add, trying to lighten the mood.
A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, transforming his whole face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He carries it over to a dusty shelf behind the bar and sets it down like it’s made of glass. “Then I guess she works here now.”
I can’t help but smile back.
“Thanks,” he says with a nod.
“You’re welcome.”
I take the moment to really look around. The place is completely different. It actually looks like a real place. A place that could be something.
“You finished it,” I say, a little awed.
“Mostly.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
I walk along the bar, my fingers trailing over the newly polished wood.
“How long are you in town?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
I hesitate, then shrug, trying to make it sound like a throwaway line. “Well… I guess Tar City is home after all.”
He freezes, the bottle he’s wiping halfway to a shelf. “What do you mean?”
“I moved back today.”
“Moved back?”
“Yep.”
I start opening cabinets behind the bar for no reason, needing to do something with my hands.
“Dropped my bags. Saw the disappointment in my entire family’s faces.
Considered taking a lit match to every pair of pointe shoes I own.
” I check the glasses like I know what I’m doing, holding one up to the light.
“Then I figured a drink would be less dramatic.”
Jax looks at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m serious. “What about your career?”
“One day at a time.” I lean forward on the counter. “Please tell me this bar has alcohol.”
He snorts. “Yeah. I think we can manage that.”
I barely open one of the cabinets.
“Hey—”
“What?”
“You can’t just—”
Something clatters. A bottle tips. Jax lunges forward to grab it, but he’s too late. Liquid splashes across the counter and straight onto my shirt. The cold alcohol soaks through the white fabric instantly.
His gaze flickers down before he catches himself.
I glance down, sigh, and grab a rag from the counter. “Well,” I say, dabbing at the stain, “that went about how my day’s been going.”
Jax rubs his temples. “You’ve been here thirty seconds.”
“And I brought a gift.”
“You’re a disaster.” He gestures toward a stool. “Sit down before you break something else.”
I hop onto the stool with exaggerated obedience. “Yes, daddy.”
Jax reaches for a shaker, already moving with practiced ease behind the bar. A minute later he slides a martini toward me.
I take a sip. Strong. Very strong. “So,” I say, setting the glass down. “How have you been? Excited for the opening tomorrow?”
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Sure.”
“Why are you so cranky?” I ask. “I think you’re nervous.” I lift the pick from my martini and slowly slide one of the olives off with my teeth. “The place looks great, okay? And the drink?” I raise the glass. “Tasty.”
He looks away and I notice the scars. Thin lines along his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. I point. “What happened there?”
He barely glances up. “This city.”
I study him for another second before pushing the shot glass toward him. “Have a drink with me,” I say.
“I’m good.” He shakes his head, his eyes not leaving mine.
“Come on,” I press, leaning forward on my elbows. “Have I mentioned I moved back and my life is falling apart? A little solidarity here wouldn’t kill you.”
He grabs a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses.
Instead of setting them down, he holds one glass in his left hand.
With his right, he executes a quick, fluid spin of the bottle, pouring a stream of gold into the glass without spilling a drop.
Before the stream even stops, he tosses that glass into the air, catches it smoothly in his pouring hand, and pours a perfect shot into the second glass he’d palmed.
It’s a flawless, practiced move. It happens in a second.
My breath catches. “Damn. When did you have time to learn magic tricks?”
He sets the two filled glasses on the bar in front of me without a word.
We clink the glasses. Our eyes meet. “To The Pitfall,” I say.
Jax knocks his back, then points toward the door.
“What?” I ask.
He grabs my hand and pulls me outside. The night air hits my face as I realize I came in through the back alley. The front of the building faces the street, and the sign above is dark. Jax reaches up and flips a switch beside the frame. Light flickers, then the sign glows to life. THE DRIP
I stare at it. “You didn’t,” I say.
“Grew on me.”
I laugh under my breath. We just stand there, looking up at it. The glow from the sign paints his face in red and I lean a little closer without thinking.
Jax shifts back half a step. Subtle, but enough, a rejection that stings more than it should.
I quickly swallow the rest of my drink when we step back inside.
“Another one,” I say, already moving behind the bar again.
“Please?” he teases.
“Please, daddy. I’m thirsty.”
“You’re going to bankrupt me before opening night.”
I start messing with the music controls on the counter, my fingers fumbling. “When’s Matt coming back?” I ask. “Did you guys hire anyone else yet?”
“He left right before you got here,” Jax says. “Couple other guys helping tomorrow.”
I nod, fiddling with the speakers. Without really thinking about it, I ask: “Is Matt still single?”
Jax’s head tilts slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”
I shrug. “No reason.”
He watches me longer than necessary, his gaze heavy. “Yeah,” he says finally. “He is.”
I glance over my shoulder, my heart hammering. “Are you?”
The question slips out before I can stop it.
Jax doesn’t answer right away. He just leans back against the bar and studies me like he’s deciding something.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, my voice a little too high. “We’re friends, right? I’m just curious.”
Jax exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says finally, the word a low rumble. “Friends.”
He pours another drink. And another after that. Somewhere between the third and the fourth, the music gets louder. I don’t even remember when I turned it on.
I’m leaning against the bar, glass in hand, when a beat I like comes through the speakers. My foot starts tapping, then my hips.
Jax watches from behind the bar, arms folded, like he’s trying not to smile.
“What?” I say, spinning once. “You opened a bar. There should be dancing.”
“This isn’t even open yet.”
“Practice night,” I purr, taking another sip and sliding out into the middle of the floor, letting the music take over. It’s sloppy at first—too much alcohol—but muscle memory kicks in and soon I’m turning, stepping, stretching my arms overhead.
The room spins a little with me. When I stop, Jax is still staring.
I squint at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
I wander closer, peering at his face in the dim light. “Wait.” I move toward him, grabbing his chin before he can move. “Jax,” I whisper. “Your eyes.”
They’re glowing again, that faint, otherworldly red.
“Full moon’s close,” he mutters. “It happens.”
I lean even closer, fascinated. “That is so cool.”
“It’s not cool.”
“You’re literally glowing.”
“Rabbit—”
The room tilts suddenly. My balance goes with it.
“Whoa—”
Jax catches me, his hands firm on my waist to steady me, and suddenly we’re too close, my hands flat on his chest, his grip tight around me as he looks down, then away.
“I’m about one second away from doing something I shouldn’t,” he says quietly.
My heart jumps. “Kissing me?”
Jax laughs under his breath, a dark, humorless sound. “That wasn’t the first thing on my list.”
I blink at him. “What was?”