CHAPTER 2
Quinn
Our Uber drops us off on a familiar street in front of a very familiar bar.
I stand frozen on the sidewalk, my mind racing and breath snagging as memories—good, bad, and ugly—come flooding in. I would have had another bottle of wine at dinner if I'd known my best friend would be taking us back to the one place I swore I'd never step foot in again.
“What are we doing here?” My voice cracks as I try to figure out why we’re standing outside the bar where I first met Joshua Wilson.
Without warning, I’m launched back to that very night: cheap warm vodka shots burning down my throat, his stupid hair falling into his face, the way his brown eyes pulled me in like they knew me.
I’d gone home with him, woke up tangled in his one navy-blue bedsheet, makeup smeared into his yellowing, soggy pillow, and never really left.
Sophie slips her hand into mine. “I thought it would be good to rewrite some memories,” she says gently, nodding toward the Mexican bar’s new coastal-inspired renovation. “It doesn’t even look the same. Please, Q. Just give tonight a chance.”
I shake my head. No chance. Absolutely not. I can’t breathe and we’re not even inside yet.
My stomach flips, bile clawing its way up my throat. My eyes dart everywhere but the glowing sign above the bar. Studying cracks in the concrete, the black patent leather of Sophie’s heels, the smoking crowd leaning against the cream-rendered facade.
Anything to stop the flashbacks from swallowing me whole.
But Sophie leans closer, slipping her arm through mine and grounding me in the moment. “Stop letting him control your life,” she whispers.
God. She’s right. But knowing that doesn’t stop my knees from trembling or my pulse from thrumming. “One drink,” I mutter, voice thin. “Then I’m out. I mean it.”
“Deal.” She promises as she leads us to stand in the short queue.
Once we’re in line, I eventually gather up the courage to properly take in the building’s transformation.
The name, Avellana, glows in backlit gold lettering above the door, and it looks nothing like the sports bar we used to frequent in college.
I lead us closer and peer through the threshold, noting the once-dingy interior is now bright and airy, and the scent of polished timber replaces the old cigarette smoke and stale beer.
“Yay! Girls’ night,” Sophie squeals. “If you want to leave, we’re out. No questions.”
“No guys?” I press, arching a brow.
“Promise.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, a guy behind us in line, all broad shoulders and sun-bronzed skin, leans in with a slick “Hey, ladies.”
An LV bum bag cuts across his chest, gleaming under the lights, the gold logo already peeling at the edges.
“Bali special,” Sophie murmurs, one brow arched as she rakes her gaze over him. He ignores her jab or maybe doesn’t hear it over the chatter of his mates egging him on.
“You girls planning on a big night?” he asks, grin a little too wide.
Sophie gives him a sweet, empty smile. “Not with you,” she says, turning back toward the rope. I bite back a laugh and follow her lead.
“God, they always think that line works.” She shakes her head, opening her baby pink YSL clutch to take out her ID.
I huff out a laugh I didn’t know I had in me, my lungs stuttering on the release. The sound feels foreign but welcome.
“I wish we still knew the bouncers, though.” I sigh as the line creeps forward, catching myself scanning faces.
Not for fun—for ghosts. Every average-height guy with dark hair makes my stomach clench until I confirm it isn’t him.
It’s ridiculous; Josh is long gone, but my body hasn’t caught up to my brain.
“I know, same. I don’t even know the new owners,” Sophie replies, dragging my attention back to her.
I’m surprised by that, considering she lives for the VIP perks, even though she could buy a round for the entire bar if she wanted. But maybe tonight will really just be us, no promoters or sleazy club managers to charm.
“Honestly? I’m kinda glad,” I admit quietly. “But I don’t miss having to wait in line.”
My feet are starting to ache from wearing these nude wedges that haven’t seen daylight since pre-Josh days.
I’d stopped going out to nice places with the girls because he’d always find something to question when I got home, that suspicious glint in his eye before the inevitable: Who are you trying to impress?
“I know, it was easier with Sopo at the door.” Soph laughs as I think back to when we knew the bouncers.
We were lucky that they always let us off with a “stern talking-to” instead of kicking us out, probably because they were half in love with Sophie.
I swear her big blue eyes could make any grown man grovel.
After what feels like a lifetime, we finally reach the front. My chest feels tight, nerves ramping up as I realise I’m only moments away from being packed in with strangers.
The bouncer barely glances at my ID, his eyes glued to Sophie’s ass as she walks inside.
Classic.
I quickly tuck my ID back into my small clutch and follow Sophie into Avellana. Sophie slips her hand in mine and pulls me through the crowd to the bar. “Tequila first.” She half shouts it over the music, glancing back at me. “The more we drink, the hotter you’ll feel.”
“If you say so,” I mumble. But no amount of liquor will make me as effortlessly hot as Sophie. She’s a vision in cream silk and red-bottom stilettos that probably cost more than a week's pay. Next to her, my dress feels plain, the neckline too safe, too dated.
I try to keep close, stay focused on the bar. But I can’t stop my eyes from drifting around the room. Every crooked grin and flash of long hair makes my stomach dip. He’s not here. He’s not here. I chant it like a shield, trying to believe he won’t walk through the door.
It’s unlikely anyway. Josh hated places with a dress code. Collared shirt and closed-in shoes? He’d complain it was too fancy. I’d given up early on convincing him to go anywhere like this with me. It’s a small comfort tonight at least.
Sophie leads me toward a sleek tan bar with a pastel-pink mosaic backdrop, and it’s worlds away from what it used to be. Back then, it was half the size and smelled like vomit and bad decisions.
“I’ll get us our usual.” She grins, already waving at the bartender.
“No shots.”
“Oh my God, how did you know I was going to order them?” she teases, nudging me with her shoulder.
“Because I know that look.” I raise a brow, lips twitching despite myself.
“Come on. It’s tradition.” She gives me her best puppy-dog eyes, clasping her hands dramatically like she’s making a wish.
“That tradition is basically a decade old, and our hangovers last a week these days.” I rub at the back of my neck, already picturing the headache brewing.
We finally reach the bar, elbow to elbow with strangers yelling drink orders. Just as I’m about to bail, a group of guys notice Sophie, instantly clearing a path and ushering us forward with zero hesitation.
“What can I get you ladies?” the bartender asks, his name tag “Jax” glimmers under the soft lighting.
“Two Patron Silver shots and two vodka lime sodas,” she shouts over the music, then squints at his name tag glimmering under the soft lighting. “Thanks, Jax.”
“First time here?” he asks with a grin, his eyes never leaving Sophie.
“Yep.” Sophie giggles, leaning on the bar and tossing her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. “The place looks amazing. Busy for a soft launch, huh?”
“Word travels fast when the drinks are good. You’ll see.” Jay chuckles, pouring tequila into two shot glasses
“And when the bartenders are cute,” Sophie fires back, flashing him a grin.
He smirks. “Top shelf, just for you.” He slides the shots over to us, a splash of the golden liquid sloshing over the edge.
Sophie hands me mine with a dare in her eyes. “To rewriting memories,” she says, clinking our glasses.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath as I brace myself.
As the strong smell of tequila invades my senses, another shard of memory cuts through: Josh leaning over me in this same kind of crowd, his breath warm on my ear, whispering something that made me feel chosen. Back then, it felt like magic. Now, I recognise it was poison.
Sophie glances back, catching my expression, and squeezes my wrist like she’s silently saying, Stay here. With me.
We clink our glasses together, and before I can talk myself out of it, I down the shot. The tequila burns all the way down, threatening to come straight back up. The sharp bite of lemon twists through the fire, amplifying the flavour, but it’s the first thing tonight that feels like relief.
Sophie leans in. “See? That was fun.”
I cough, shaking my head, and she quickly presses my vodka soda into my hand. I force it down, grimacing, but before I can even finish, she’s tugging me toward the dance floor.
“Come on, Q. Just one song. Like we used to!”
“Can’t we just sit first? Have a drink?” My voice wobbles as my feet drag, heels still pinching.
The pulsing lights sweep across her face, catching her grin as one of our favourite songs starts to play. “You’ve already had one, so let’s go.”
Thank God the alcohol is kicking in, loosening the knot between my shoulders and buzzing in my fingertips. For one night, I want to forget the house and the stress of launching my interior design business.
“Fine. But one condition.” I tell her as I drain the last of my drink, setting the glass down before Sophie takes my hand and leads me onto the dance floor, the bass thudding through my chest.
“Anything.”
“Don’t ditch me.” I squeeze her hand, and she stops mid-step.
“When have I ever?” She says it with faux innocence, but when I give her a look, she laughs. “Okay, okay, fair.”
I love my best friend, but I know her too well. Soph gets sidetracked so easily with guys, and then I’m left to nurse my drink while she shamelessly flirts with them. Or, even worse, have to make uncomfortable small talk with their friends.
“Just one song,” I say, giving in with a small laugh, reminding myself of my promise to actually try to have fun tonight.
Even as I relent, the thought of strangers pressing close makes my skin prickle. Still, the alternative is sitting alone and having an existential crisis, and I already pencilled that in for Tuesday night.
“Yay!” she squeals. “Then we’ll sit. Promise.”
The music swallows any lingering hesitation. Maybe tonight won’t fix everything, but it might remind me I can still feel good. What more do I have to lose?