11. Halle
HALLE
For a Friday night, it’s really fucking dragging.
A handful of regulars nurse their beers at the far end, and the jukebox hums low in the corner, some old country track that’s been on repeat since I started my shift, courtesy of Hank who keeps requesting it.
I wipe the same stretch of bar top for the fourth time, the rag moving in lazy circles while my mind refuses to settle.
We’re on day twenty-five since I served the papers, and I don’t know what’s taking him so long to just sign the fucking document.
I didn’t ask for anything. The house will be transferred into his name, and there’s no spousal support needed, even though he makes three times what I ever made as a teacher.
It’s the simplest divorce any person could hope for.
But he won’t sign the fucking papers.
I slide a fresh beer to Larry at the end without comment and turn away before he can launch into another one of his flirty routines. I don’t have it in me to play games with him.
My phone vibrates again. I’ve had about enough of this bullshit. I duck into the short hallway near the bathrooms where the noise from the main room dulls to a manageable hum and pull it out.
Zach.
Again.
I know I shouldn’t answer.
But some bitter, exhausted part of me hits accept anyway.
“What do you want?” I keep my voice low, flat.
“Halle.” He sounds like he’s been drinking. “Why haven’t you … answered my calls, baby?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy for our marriage?” He hiccups.
Yeah, he’s definitely drunk.
I sigh. “Our marriage is over.”
There’s a pause, then a scoff. “Yeah, I know. When did you become such a bitch?”
“I’m not doing this … I’m hanging up—”
His voice raises. “Do you really think ignoring me is going to fix this? You ran away—that’s what this is. You packed your shit and ran back to Cedarbrook the second things got hard for us.”
I lean my forehead against the cool wall. “We lost a baby. I was in the hospital alone for hours while you fu—”
“Don’t start with that,” he cuts in. “We both lost the baby.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I know he’s right. My therapist let me know that regardless, it was his baby too. But there’s a huge difference between what he lost and what I lost, he just can’t say it out loud. “Zachary … please—”
He interrupts me, “But you turned it into this massive thing—blew up eight years of marriage because you couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t just get over it and move forward like a normal person.”
“You betrayed me, Zach.”
“I gave you everything you ever wanted—big wedding, beautiful house. Anything you wanted was yours, baby. I made a mistake—one I will never make again. Just come home, Halle.”
“I can’t. That’s not home.”
“And you think that shit hole of a town is? Your dad tells me you’re just playing bartender with your aunt. Is it because she understands that you’re … you know?”
“Don’t fucking go there,” I say, my tone angry.
“Then come home. Let’s fix this. We can be a family. Pepper misses you.”
Oh … now he’s using the fucking dog on me. I peek out from the back room and notice Cash behind the bar—serving drinks. Fuck. He’ll give everyone free shots if I don’t get back. What the fuck is he thinking?
“I have to go. I have customers.”
He laughs, short and ugly. “You’re going to regret this—throwing everything away over something we could’ve worked through.
Your dad agrees with me, you know? But you’ve dyed your hair pink and ride a motorcycle the same color, like some stupid teenager in rebellion.
It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic. You ran from our problems instead of facing them. ”
“You need to leave my family alone and stay out of my decisions. I’m a grown woman.”
“You need to come to your fucking senses, or I’m going to knock them into you. So hurry up and come home soon … Or I’m coming to bring you home, sweetheart.” He sneers the last word.
I hang up before he can say anything else, blocking the number immediately.
My hands are shaking as I shove the phone back into my pocket.
Taking a few breaths, I count to ten as a lone tear streaks down my cheek.
Squaring my shoulders, I wipe it away and walk back out. The bar looks exactly the same.
No one noticed, except Cash. He’s behind the bar when I come out of the hallway, which is its own problem because he has absolutely no business being back here. He’s got a bottle of Tito’s in his hand, trying to do a trick shot for Hank and Larry, and he’s about to drop the bottle.
“What are you doing?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“You were gone a while.” He sets the bottle down. “Figured someone should cover.”
“I don’t need you to cover.”
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“Halle—”
“Cash.” I take the Tito’s out of his hand and put it back on the shelf. “Get out from behind my bar, go back to your pool table, and stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure out what’s wrong.”
He doesn’t move right away—that’s the infuriating part. He just stands there in my space with that steady look and I’m holding it together by about one thread, and the last thing I need is someone being kind to me right now because kind is the thing that will unravel it.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say, quieter this time. “Please.”
Something moves across his face. He reads the please for exactly what it is, and nods once before stepping out from behind the bar without another word.
I watch him go back to the pool table.
That’s worse somehow—him just … doing what I asked. I don’t know what to do with a man who listens when I ask him to leave.
I turn around and start restocking things that don’t need restocking. The rest of the shift is like being on autopilot on steroids. I pour drinks and trade barbs with the old guys, but my smiles feel plastic.
Inside, Zach’s words churn like bad whiskey: You ran. You blew it up. Get over it.
I keep moving because stopping means feeling it fully, and I’m not doing that here.
I restock the beer cooler, hauling cases from the back with more force than necessary, the bottles clinking together like they’re judging me too.
Boyd calls out for another round and I force a smirk, sliding the beers over while he launches into some story about his latest doctor visit.
I nod at the right moments, and throw in a sarcastic comment about him still being able to chase tail at his age.
Tyler and a couple of his washed-up buddies roll in around nine, loud and obnoxious as always. I shut down their comments with sharper one-liners than usual, but it takes effort. My usual fire feels banked—smothered under the weight of that phone call.
Cash is posted up at the pool tables with Dawson and Makai. He’s not playing much tonight, though. Instead, his eyes keep finding me across the room. Not the usual flirty watching—he’s watching me like a hawk watching prey.
There’s nothing prey about me.
Turning my back to refill the garnish trays, I even wipe glasses that don’t need wiping.
When I feel his gaze again, I’m pouring a draft, shifting to the other end of the bar to help a regular.
He doesn’t come over, doesn’t make some cocky comment or try to draw me into conversation, he just watches.
Every time our eyes catch, I look away first, busying myself with pointless tasks—polishing the liquor bottles behind the bar until they shine, rearranging the straws and napkins like the placement of a damn lime wedge is suddenly critical.
Zach’s sneer echoes louder in the quiet moments between orders.
Pathetic. You ran.
And the worst part is, the tiny voice in my head wonders if he’s right. If everyone sees me as the one who bailed instead of the one who finally stood up.
Aria pokes her head out from the back at one point, still looking pale from whatever bug she caught. “Halle, girl, I need to go home. Matt’s already gone and the last of them are clearing out. You okay to close?”
Sitting means thinking about the empty crib we never got to use—the way Zach had shrugged off the doctor’s follow-up appointments because “these things happen.”
I look at the room. There’s three people left—Tyler and his buddies, paying their tab, and Boyd is already heading for the door.
“Go,” I say. “I’ve got it.”
“Lock up tight. Back door too.”
“Always do.”
She squeezes my arm once and then, she’s gone.
Tyler and his group shuffle out not long after, loud all the way to the parking lot. The door swings shut behind them and the bar goes quiet.
I flip the sign to CLOSED.
Lock the front door.
Exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for four hours.
Then, I turn around.
Cash is still at the pool table, arms crossed and standing there with a cue, his eyes on me in a way that’s anything but charming. It’s not the usual look—the lazy half-smile and the flirty patience he’s been running on me for months.
This is something else.
He’s fuming.
“Bar’s closed,” I say, though my voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“I know.”
He doesn’t move toward the door.
I pick up a rag and start wiping down the bar because my hands need something to do and because if I look at him directly right now, I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’ve had enough things happen tonight.
“Cash.”
“Don’t.” His voice is low. “Don’t tell me you’re fine. Don’t tell me it’s nothing. I’ve been watching you hold yourself together with both hands for four hours and I want to know what happened in that hallway.”
I keep wiping.
“Halle.”
I set the rag down as he pushes off the pool table and starts walking toward me like a predator.
The closer he gets, the harder my heart pounds.
When he reaches the bar, he plants both hands on the wood and leans in, eyes burning into mine.
“You’re standing there, looking like someone ripped your heart out.
So tell me what the hell is going on, or I’m going to lose my fucking mind. ”