Chapter 1 #2
A year into working at Pour Decisions, I started to open up more, letting people into the walls I kept firmly cemented in place. Slowly, the bar became my second home, and the staff transformed into the family I never knew I needed.
Retta was the first friend I made at the bar. After finding out my mom and I aren’t as close as we once were, she's taken on a caregiver role, and I couldn’t be more thankful. She will never truly understand how much she has saved me over the years.
Aside from Retta, the only other person who was ever able to break down my walls was Olive.
She’s been my best friend since we were in high school, the one constant in my life through all the bullshit.
She knew about my father before anyone else did.
Olive has always been more like a sister than a friend, and even though we live on opposite sides of the city now, we still talk almost every day.
She’s sunshine, sarcasm, and the loudest bitch you’ll ever meet—but she’s mine, and I’d be lost without her.
“Retta, I promise you I'm good. He just won't stop texting me, but I'll be fine. He has to give up eventually, right?” I let out an awkward laugh but I can tell she isn't buying it.
“Whatever you say, mijita. Don’t let that pinche pendejo get inside that pretty little head of yours,” she says casually, catching the eyes of some of our regulars as she pours them their shots.
I laugh at the name she calls Richard. She absolutely loathes him, never missing a chance to remind me that I deserve so much better than him. She’s right, I just don’t think I was ready to believe it before.
Retta slides a drink down to a waiting patron’s hand, and I grin and shake my head at how easily she floats behind the bar. She’s been bartending her entire adult life, the bar is all she knows.
I open my mouth to respond, but the sudden roar of applause drowns out my words. The crowd erupts in cheers for the last performer on stage. A smile tugs at my lips from the sound, because I know what’s coming next.
It’s Friday, open mic night; my favorite night of the week.
“Our next performance is someone you all know and love. Please give it up for our girl, Wren!”
The crowd begins to cheer once more as I hand Loretta the tray of drinks I had for my table. She takes it, gives me a wink, and I give her the biggest smile before taking off my apron and running off to the front of the bar.
Music has always been a sort of comfort blanket for me.
When I was little, my mom would sing to me, her angelic voice drowning out the fear my father instilled in both of us.
It was her way of shielding me from the abuse she endured.
She’d have me sing lullabies with her as she rocked me to sleep, and it’s something that has stuck with me all these years later.
As I take in a deep breath and step up to the mic, the familiar buzz of excitement from being on stage in front of a room full of people surrounds me. It’s the kind of high I’ll ride all night.
A chill prickles down my spine as I nervously scan the crowd.
For the past few weeks, the feeling of being watched has consumed me.
I know there’s a crowd of people with their eyes on the stage, but this has always felt different.
I don’t feel scared or uncomfortable. It’s not unsettling, it’s intriguing.
I know it’s not Richard because ever since that night, whenever his eyes are on me, it feels like insects crawling beneath my skin.
And if he was here, Joe would take care of him the way he did last time.
This feeling is something else entirely.
It’s not malicious or filled with disgust. This feels like my whole body is lit up from within.
Like whoever is out there watching me wants to keep me safe.
I try to shake the feeling away and swallow down the nerves.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I look over the small crowd and study their smiling faces.
Some have drinks in their hands, the others chatting with other patrons.
There’s no one out there I don’t recognize, but it’s hard to see with all the lights. Focus Wren.
“Good evening everyone. I hope you’re all having a good time tonight,” I say, offering the crowd a shy smile, their cheers growing louder in response.
It doesn’t matter how many times I get up on this stage, I always get that shy feeling before the music finally takes over me.
“I’m going to be singing something a little different than usual, but this song means a lot to me so I hope you love it as much as I do,” I say, my voice smooth as silk despite the unease curling in my gut.
The first note to Rain by Sleep Token leaves my lips, enveloping the room with its haunting melody.
I always do my own rendition of songs, letting the music flow through me.
The crowd is on their feet trying to hum along to lyrics I know they’ve never heard of before.
I try to smile, keeping my focus on the band, but I can still feel it.
That stare locked onto me, completely unwavering.
It should scare me, you know, the way most people feel in horror movies when they know they’re being watched.
That heavy gaze burning into my skin and leaving its mark.
But it doesn’t. It sends a thrill through me like nothing I’ve ever felt.
It doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels…intimate.
Possessive even. As if whoever it is isn’t just watching me, but seeing me.
And for a moment, I let that sensation take over me, fueling the notes that are leaving my lips. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.
The moment I finish the song, the crowd is in a frenzy, cheering and screaming for an encore.
Normally, I would laugh and thank them, but right now all I can think about is finding the source of whoever is making me feel this way.
I practically stumble as I step off, my legs slightly shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me.
The sound of the crowd is washed out by the loud pulse hammering in my ears and the tight feeling in my chest. I shouldn’t want this feeling, but I can’t help myself from craving it.
I catch sight of Retta getting overwhelmed by a rush of new tables being sat, so I quickly grab my apron and tie it around my waist, hurrying over to help her with a table she has already seated.
Pulling my notepad out of the pocket of my apron, my clammy hands accidentally drop the pen I’m holding and I watch it roll across the floor until it finally stops at the toes of a pair of heavy, black boots.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath, as I lunge forward to retrieve it. A large, heavily tattooed hand beats me to it, and my breath catches in my throat as my fingers brush against the pair of calloused knuckles. I didn’t even know knuckles could be calloused.
My eyes are practically glued to the art that’s inked into his skin. The lines are intricate and bold, and the shading is perfectly detailed. There’s so many tattoos, I’m curious how much all of them must have cost him.
My gaze drifts upward, over the slight curve of his shoulder and across his chest. I can’t help the way my eyes linger there, noting the way his shirt stretches over the solid expanse of his chest, each breath he takes pulling the fabric tighter against his body.
I wonder what it would feel like to run my hand across it, to see if his chest is as strong as it looks. You know, for science.
Nervously, I lift my eyes to meet his and all logical thoughts leave my mind.
It’s him. He’s the source of all these feelings that have been plaguing me for the past few weeks.
A shiver runs down my spine, my pulse spiking as my eyes stay locked on his.
I shouldn’t feel this way, I don’t even know him.
And yet, every nerve in my body is on fire.
It’s like I’m being pulled towards him and I don’t have any other choice.
Framed by impossibly long lashes, his eyes are the fiercest blue I’ve ever seen. A long scar slices through his right eyebrow, and somehow that makes him that much more intoxicating. That slight flaw adds to how hot he is, making him seem less like a man and more like a god carved from stone.
He wears a solid black nose ring that only sharpens the rough edges of his face, turning his imperfect nose into something dangerously beautiful.
My gaze travels lower to his lips. Fuck, those lips, looking so full with the promise of a good time.
They make me want to bite down until I taste the sweet metallic on my tongue.
He flashes me a devilish, knowing grin that pierces through me and travels straight down to my core.
That grin alone has me crossing my legs thinking about how delicious he’d look if he was staring down at me demanding what he wants while I’m on my knees.
I can picture it now; a red room, leather, chains…
What the fuck is wrong with me?