Chapter Six
Present—Eleven Years Later
“Ya know, you could have taken tonight off. I’m capable of running this place myself,” Blake rants while wiping down barstools.
I saunter over, turning on the open sign hanging to the left of the entrance.
I peek out the window, noticing vehicles pulling in just like they always do at opening time.
I turn back to Blake. “When did I say you couldn’t? And what else would I be doing?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Fuck, I don’t know. It’s your birthday, man. You could take your bike on a scenic joyride or something.”
I shake my head in annoyance, walking behind the bar.
“I take a scenic route every time I come into town. I’m a grown-ass man, I don’t need advice on where or how I spend my time.
You, of all people, know today is not a fucking celebration for me.
” I flare my nostrils, feeling my face heat up.
Blake opens his mouth, just as the front door creaks open and customers flood in.
He looks toward the door before meeting me behind the bar. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs.
“I’m sorry, Ez, I didn’t mean—I just wish you’d for once think about yourself, after all this time.
” His concerned stare lingers on me for a moment before he shakes it off and turns his attention to the approaching customers.
I push open the double doors leading to the back, quickly flexing my hands at my sides.
I know he means well; he always does. But I wish they’d stop worrying about me.
I’ve been this way for so long. They need to understand this is who I am, and always will be. Broken.
I walk through the storage area where the alcoholic beverages are stored before entering the small office.
I flip on the switch, sit at the desk, and take a deep breath.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the skull Zippo lighter, push the lid back, and flick it with my thumb.
My eyes flicker over the flame before I repeat the motion, again and again.
My gaze falls on the sticky note attached to the side of the computer monitor.
I grab it with my free hand and read the small print.
Inventory looks good for next week. I updated everything in the database yesterday.
- Beck
I turned on the computer monitor, pulling up the inventory software and skimming through it.
Since I offered Beck the job of managing inventory, she has consistently stayed on top of everything, ensuring I never have to remind her of what needs to be done.
I knew she would excel at it, even when she fought me on it for months.
She begged and pleaded for me to let her bartend and for Blake to handle the inventory side of things, but I couldn’t allow it.
With the pervs who come in here, I would end up snapping someone’s fucking neck if they even looked at her wrong.
This was the safer option, one where I could have her involved while keeping her safe.
That, and I wouldn’t be facing multiple assault charges because of buzzed customers unable to keep their limp dicks in their pants while drinking.
It’s been a little over five years since I bought this place with the money I inherited from my uncle Jesse.
Back then as a twenty-two-year-old I didn’t know what I was doing, but I managed with help from the twins and their dad, Eric.
I was heading back home when I saw the for-sale sign; I passed by this place often on my way into town.
It was the only bar around Mavesdale, and for those living near the mountains and in our small town, it was a popular spot.
The owner had reached his sixties and was ready to retire from the bar business.
I had never considered it as a career or even stepped foot in this bar before.
Honestly, I never really thought about what I was doing with my useless life.
The owner led me through the bar, his pace brisk as he pointed out various features and explained the ins and outs of the business.
I could sense his reluctance; it was likely clear to him that I was a novice in this world.
Yet, as he spoke, I began to absorb everything—the flickering lights overhead, the polished wooden bar top that gleamed under the dim lights, and the eclectic mix of décor that added a unique character to the space.
By the end of his tour, something sparked within me—a feeling I hadn’t expected.
It was as though my heart, despite its weaknesses, was instinctively guiding my vision for this place.
The process of becoming an owner, I discovered, was surprisingly straightforward in Mavesdale.
The local laws and requirements were clear, giving a direct path to ownership without unnecessary complications.
And just like that, sixty-five days later, I stood proudly as the primary owner of a bar I had named Monarch Haven.
After discussing various business models with the twins and deciding on their pay, I made them co-owners of the bar, each holding a 5% stake.
What they didn’t know was that if anything were to happen to me, they would split full ownership.
It was a safety net I needed to establish.
Regardless of what life throws at me, I wanted to leave them something meaningful.
It was the least I could do. After all, I’ve been a burden in their lives.
Over the next month, we dedicated ourselves to a small amount of remodeling and repainting the bar, turning it into a space that felt like our own.
I particularly appreciated Beck’s keen eye for detail and her ability to create a warm, inviting space.
Her feminine touch was clear in every corner, from the carefully chosen color palette to the cozy seating arrangements that encouraged conversation.
Honestly, as young adults, we turned this place into something I take great pride in.
Though I’m not someone who drinks alcohol, having the ability to oversee others’ consumption under my watch gave me a sense of purpose.
This endeavor allowed me to maintain a certain level of control—something I’ve always craved in various aspects of my life.
Deep down, I know this drive comes from my obsession with order and stability, and through the bar, I found a way to channel some of that compulsion.
In my younger years, I felt powerless over many aspects of my life: my father’s uncontrollable drinking and rage; the fire that shattered everything; and the tragic loss it brought.
The scars on my body are a nagging reminder to the world, echoing the storm in my mind that gnaws at me like an unforgiving disease.
The weight of those memories still drags me down, leaving me feeling weighed down and trapped.
While the fire is no longer externally visible, it smolders within me, setting aflame every nerve.
Over the years, I’ve found ways to manage that pain, gaining a small degree of control in certain areas.
But it will never be enough. I’ll never be enough for anyone, which is why I choose to be alone.
No one deserves to endure the hell I carry inside.
It’s a pain that only I should bear. I have the twins and this bar, and for now, that’s enough to keep me company amidst my misery.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, jerking me from my thoughts. I quickly pull it out to check it.
Blake: Can you take over while I run to the bathroom? The Cajun chicken sandwich I ate for dinner is fighting back with a vengeance.
I let out a heavy sigh, sliding my phone back in my pocket while massaging the bridge of my nose.
I love Blake, but there are times I’d like to wring his fucking neck.
I quickly turn the computer off and head back out to the bar area.
The crowd is just as expected on a Friday afternoon.
I quickly scan the room while washing my hands.
Every barstool is full and surrounded by chattering, including the dark green sofa nestled in the corner.
It was Beck’s idea to have the couch in here, and it’s usually the first to go, especially when women stop by to socialize and have a drink.
Two out of three booths are occupied, while others stand around the jukebox picking through songs.
A man and a woman sway back and forth to the music, snickering in each other’s ears.
Most faces are familiar or regulars who come almost every weekend.
Some tourists occasionally pass through when visiting the mountains.
Since owning this place for all these years, I’ve caught onto different patterns and habits of humans.
A lot of them spend their free time here, almost like they count down the hours until they clock out from work—just to come here to spend their hard-earned money on alcohol, poisoning their livers on repeat.
It’s depressing, if you really think about it.
Who am I to judge, though? I don’t even drink, and my life is an unraveling hellfire of depression.
The front door to the bar creaks open faintly, muffled by the music and loud talking.
In walks a guy I’ve never seen before. He stands tall, appears to be reasonably fit, but is more slender.
He steps inside the door and moves to the side, revealing someone walking behind him.
She stops right inside the door, scanning the room with a slight smile on her face.
She’s a tiny little thing, maybe around 5’5, which is short considering I’m 6’5.
Her wavy, blonde locks rest wildly around her face, bangs reaching right below her brow.
I pull my eyes away from her, looking back at the jackass who didn’t even have the decency to open the door for her.
He smirks down at her, flicking his fingers toward the one empty booth.
She returns a soft smile and follows behind him as they sit down.