Page 4

Chapter Four

M orning rolls around and I stir lightly, returning to reality. It’s time to talk to my landlord today because eviction is on the verge. With the two hundred dollars I have on me, I only owe another nine to catch up last month and cover this month, which is now overdue. The more I think about it, the more I don’t want to face it…so I do what I always do; I run from it and don’t make the call.

I spend the day packing and loading my car with bags of clothes that I have every intention of leaving right there in my trunk, and I pack boxes that I’ll bring to Mindy’s for storage before work this evening. Something’s got to give.

After spending an hour loading the car down, I call Mindy.

“Hello?”

“Hey, love. I have a few boxes to bring by your house. I just wanted to let you know I’m coming over. Do you need anything while I’m out today?” I ask, picking at a dry piece of skin on my lip.

"No ma'am, I don't. But when you get in to work tonight, you're not going to believe what is going on. I just met with the new owner and the contractor that is remodeling the interior of the bar. You're going to love it and hate it at the same time."

"Seriously? Why? What's he doing with the place, making it a strip joint?" I laugh at the thought.

"Not exactly. You'll see when you get here. They've already started working on it."

"Great. I'll see you tonight. Have a good day!"

"You too!"

I have too much on my mind to let the thought of what the new owner plans for the bar to take up any real estate in my brain as I unload my things into Mindy’s attic. Yet with each box I carry up the stairs, my mind runs wild with possibilities of what can be different. By the time I set the last box down, I nearly run to my car, anxious to get home and get ready for work. Curiosity is eating at me, and I have to know what it is that’s happening that Mindy was being so vague about. What’s being changed and who’s the new owner?

The short drive to work somehow feels like an hour-long session of watching paint dry, but I know it’s only because I’m anxious. I hope he’s there so I can talk to him and discuss some of the changes he intends on making. I have a few good ideas of my own that I’d like to share with him, if he will give a bottom-of-the-barrel bartender the opportunity to give him a pitch. Kevin’s description of the man alone makes me nervous and I’m not sure how I feel about him. I take a breath and try to steady my nerves. He’s just a human. Breathe.

Pulling into the driveway of Creek’s, I notice the old sign is gone and there’s only a little bit of work left before the driveway and parking lot are good as new, completely redone. It’s a foreign feeling; to drive down a smooth blacktop driveway and I smile at the thought of this place getting the business I know it’s capable of and being a regular bar room for once.

I try to get out of my car slowly, at a normal, pace but I can hardly contain my excitement. As soon as my feet touch the porch, it takes everything in me not to sprint to the door. I pummel through the doors, garnering me a raised brow stare from Mindy.

"Are you in a hurry? Good lord, woman. Slow your roll."

As I’m about to respond, I look around at the bar. The back bar that holds the liquor is set up in a display case in the shape of a Harley. There are brand new mirrors behind the bar, along with brand new coolers that all have Harley Davidson symbols on them. The ceiling has been painted black and there’s a Harley Davidson symbol painted there as well. Sitting in the center of the bar that wasn’t quite finished yet is a draft beer setup. It has different motorcycle engine parts on it for each beer. Purple and gold colors are everywhere, and I wonder first why the new owner is trying to merge football and biker into one space.

The floor in the bar is no longer plywood, but laminate wood flooring that isn’t complete yet. The bathrooms have been painted, and the stalls have been redone. The women’s bathroom went from a dull green to a lavender purple with Marilyn Monroe pictures hung decoratively. The men’s bathroom went from the same dull green to bright orange and white. This guy is making sure everything in the bar is brand new. He’s redoing everything. Hopefully everything but the staff.

" Now I know why you said I would love it and hate it at the same time. I love it, you're right, but I absolutely hate it. It's a heavy reminder of that mystery biker of mine," I draw in a breath and sigh, exhaling slowly.

He already consumes my thoughts majority of the time I’m awake and all of the time that I’m asleep. Now, everything in this place will be a reminder of him. I’m most confused by my own feelings. I never wanted to be with him in Houston. Not be with him, be with him. At least that’s what I tell myself. But the more I think about it, the more unsure I am of how true that really is.

How did I end up here, like this, wanting a man I said I didn’t and missing him so terribly after only spending two days with him?

"Girl, if you think you were crazy over that guy in Houston, wait until you meet the boss. He didn't have the shiny shoes that Kevin talked about, but he did look like he had just come from his house in jeans and a T-shirt. But oh my god, he was sexy, and his voice was mesmerizing." Mindy’s nearly drooling.

"Really?" I ask, intrigued.

"Yes! And he had this demeanor about him that was just as sexy as his looks. He talked with such a finality, and he demanded respect without ever speaking a word. He wasn't an asshole, so don't take it like that, but he just had such a powerful way of getting his point across. He was intense and intimidating but welcoming and stunning at the same time. It was insane.”

"Well, what's his name?" I ask.

"Caine Sonnier."

"Hmm. I've never heard of him. How is he some big shot who's loaded and owns all this property and different companies with a name that locals don't even really recognize?"

"Local? How are you local? Ain't you from Livingston?" Mindy laughs.

"Hey now, I'm just sayin'. Have you ever heard of him? I think Kevin lied about his credentials.”

"No. No, he didn't. The man is definitely a businessman and he is definitely the boss in anything he does. Trust me."

"Whatever you say love. Whatever you say," I say, dismissing the conversation.

"Hey, did you drop your stuff off at the house today?" Mindy asks, shuffling around behind the bar.

"Yes ma'am. I sure did. Thank you again.”

"All right, your turn. I'm done with this place for the day," Mindy throws her hands up dramatically as she grabs her tip bucket from the counter.

"Fine, I'll take," I concede, grabbing the book to do paperwork before the start of my shift.

"Caine said he might be back tonight, but he is not sure yet,” Mindy tells me while she exchanges her tips and counts down her register.

"I thought he was supposed to be out of town for two weeks at least?"

"He was. His business venture ended sooner than expected and he was able to make it back late last night.”

"Oh. Well, okay then. How was business today?"

"It was good. Just as good as yesterday and you want to know the best part? Darren no longer works out there, so you won't have to see him," Mindy beams.

"Really? That just made my day!"

"I figured it would have. I didn't like him much either, especially after spending a few hours with him last night,"

"Yeah. You owe me, big time,” I say, elbowing her.

"I know, I know. Trust me I won't forget," Mindy hangs her head.

"How are things going with that, by the way?"

"With Kyle? They're great. He's a sweetheart and has a great personality. Not to mention he's got a killer body, even if he is slightly shorter than me,” Mindy giggles.

"Ew. Stop," I cringe, making a gagging sound.

"Okay. I'll stop. But only because I'm getting out of here. You will have to listen to me go on and on about Kyle soon, though, Lilly Amber. Very soon," she says, in the best witchy voice she can imitate. It’s my turn to laugh as Mindy walks backward out the door, waving her hands in a motion that looks like she’s casting some sort of spell. That’s why she’s my best friend.

As the night goes on, I think about my house and my finances. I decide to bite the bullet and call the landlord.

“Hey, Mark. It's Lilly. I know I'm beh-"

Mark’s voice abruptly stops me in my tracks.

"Hey Lilly. Look, I was just about to call you. I had an offer made on the house today that I couldn't refuse. I signed the paperwork this evening. I wanted to let you know that it's possible they won't let you stay there. The lady that’s running things seemed very direct and a little aggressive when I spoke with her earlier. She said she would be changing the locks soon and that she would discuss with the tenant on whether she would allow anyone to stay," Mark says, nervous and out of breath as if he were the one late on rent and working up the nerve to call his landlord. Oh wait, that was me.

All the air is sucked from my lungs. This is exactly what I didn’t need right now. Just fucking phenomenal.

“Oh. All right. Not a problem,” I say, with everything I can muster as tears sting the back of my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Lilly. I really could not refuse their offer."

"It’s okay, Mark. I understand. Thank you.”

I glance around the empty bar. I know it’ll still be a few more minutes before the contractors start piling in at the end of their day. I walk into the storage room behind the bar and bury my face in my hands, allowing myself for an inkling of a moment to feel the things that I have so desperately pushed to the back of my mind, safely secured in a trunk and locked away to be dealt with never. My mother always told me that crying didn’t fix anything, but sometimes it isn’t about fixing anything. Sometimes, if I don’t cry and get it out of my system, it’ll come out of my fists.

I walk to the bathroom and stare at the grim reflection looking back at me. My make-up bag is on the counter, so I reapply my eyeliner in an effort to hide the fact that I cried off the first layer I had applied before I came in. I wipe my face one more time and flash a fake smile in the mirror, one that is so good I nearly even believe it myself. I walk back out front as my determination radiates through me. At least, I hope that’s what people see when they look at me. I’m good at hiding my feelings, but it’s taking extra work to appear confident. Appearance is everything, after all.

Just as I’m rummaging around behind the bar to occupy my mind, the front door swings in and the entire construction crew piles in fifteen to twenty people deep. They’re covered in asphalt, smell of sweat and tar, and all have smiles on their faces.

"Boss man isn't going to have a choice but to give us a bonus. We finished this job in two days flat and it looks damn good.” One of the guys says as he sits down. I stride over to take their order and hear a few cat calls from somewhere in the back of the crowd standing before me.

"Aren't you the one that Darren went to dinner with last night?" one of the guys asks.

"Yes. I am. But I don't see how it is of any concern to you," I say, dismissing him. "Now what can I get y’all to drink?" I ask, with that signature fake smile plastered across my face.

The men order what they want and the one who asked about Darren approaches the bar a little while later.

"I didn't mean any harm in my question. I was just curious about the woman who finally gave him a good blow to his ego. He needed that," the guy says, offering what appears to be a sincere and apologetic smile. I smile back, accepting his strange apology.

"Thanks."

I reach my hand out to him. "I'm Lilly.”

"Scott. It's nice to meet you," he says.

“So how long have you been working here, Lilly?"

"I've been here for about two months. Not long. What about you? How long have you been in construction?"

"Well, I've worked for the same guy for the past six years."

"Really? You must have a good relationship with your boss then,” I note.

"You could say that. He's a real good friend of mine.”

"I think that's awesome. I don't even know my boss yet."

“Really? Wasn’t he in earlier today?” Scott inquires.

“Yes, but I wasn’t here,” I shrug.

I spend the next two hours talking to Scott. He seems like the kind of person who would make a good friend, one that you could confide in and tell all your secrets to. Not that I’m going to, but that’s just the kind of person he presents himself as. At eleven-thirty, everyone has left except Scott.

I finish closing up the bar while he sits at one of the barstools.

“All right darlin’, I’m almost all done here. You can go ahead and get out of here. I won’t be far behind you,” I say over my shoulder as I finish counting down my register.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks, though. I’ve done this plenty of times by myself,” I say, giving him a smile.

“Anytime.” And with that, he heads out the door.

It doesn’t take me long to finish cleaning and put my paperwork in the office and the money bags in the safe. Once my work is done, I sit at the bar and scan the liquor shelf. My eyes land on the bottle of Crown Royal on the bottom shelf, next to the tire part of the display case. Feeling sorry for myself, I huff a why the hell not as I get up and grab the bottle. I pour a shot into one of the new purple shot glasses and stare at it for a moment. Knowing it’s a bad decision, I pick up the shot glass and toss it back. The whiskey burns and my mouth waters. I love Crown, but sometimes it is not my friend.

I turn the jukebox on and play different pop songs to try and lift my mood. I play a plethora of songs that make me happy, especially the ones that I can sing at the top of my lungs. I take shot after shot, each one burning less than the one before. After a few more shots, I fix myself a mixed drink. The bar is empty, the doors are locked, and it’s just me here to enjoy my own company. I look at the pool table and start to think about the last time I shot pool—with Cass. A smirk etches its way onto my face.

In the store room, I locate the case that houses my pool stick. I open it and put it together. With music blasting through the bar as loud as it can be, I dance around as I rack while singing Zac Brown Band’s “Different Kind of Fine”, and using the pool table to help balance as I sing into my pool cue.

I lean down to take a shot and miss. I giggle at myself. This is a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I have got to do this more often, and by this, I mean get drunk in a completely empty bar room and make an absolute fool of myself, for myself.

I stumble to the bar and grab my drink, take a hefty gulp, then pour another shot. The Crown doesn’t burn anymore, but at this point, nothing does. I’m getting hammered and nothing hurts. I won’t let myself get lost in a hole thinking about things that will only bring me into a downward spiral. Right now, I’m going to enjoy the ignorant bliss. The jukebox plays Uptown Funk and I can no longer sit still in this chair. I jump up and sing into the empty shot glass, dancing around the entire bar, putting on an elaborate show for a crowd of the ghosts that live here.

With that in mind, I let go. I let go of the insecurities I cling to so heavily that keep me in a shell. I let my personality shine for the pity party of one, and have the absolute best time being a fool in this bar.

I step forward, but my foot catches on the back of my other heel, tangling my feet beneath me before I tumble to the ground.

“Ouch! Son of a bitch!” I cry, sitting up quicker than I should have.

The room begins spinning and I push myself from the floor, sprinting not-so-gracefully to the bathroom behind the bar. I pinball off of multiple walls and surfaces before I somehow make it to the toilet without puking everywhere.

I spend the next hour throwing up everything but my memories. I pass out on the floor of the bathroom at some point, flat on my back. I don’t know how long I was asleep for, but I don’t think it was very long. I’m still drunk when I begin to wake up and I still feel terrible. I nod in and out of consciousness when I feel someone lift me up and place me onto what I assume is the couch in the lounge. Whoever it is puts a blanket over me and turns the light out. I can’t even open my eyes good enough to see who it was, but Mindy is always saving me, so she’s the likely culprit. It must be morning already and she’s in for her shift. I make a half-coherent mental note to thank her when I wake up and that’s the last thought I have before a deep sleep finally consumes me.

I wake to the sound of someone snoring next to me. I shift beneath the blanket and open my eyes slowly. Thoughts of the night begin filtering through my mind and the events of the evening fly through my brain like a jet airliner. I drank at the bar, alone, and got sick. Alone.

Then someone moved me from the bathroom floor. As my eyes come into focus, I look to my right, where the atrocious sound of snoring is coming from.

A man is asleep in a chair next to me, his head leaned back and mouth wide open, snoring to his heart’s content.

“Who the fu—” I start to yell but all train of thought comes to a screeching halt as I take in the now familiar face before me.

Cass’s eyes fly open at the sound of my voice. “What? What’s wrong? What happened?” He asks, jumping out of his chair, still half asleep. His eyes scan the room and once he realizes that there isn’t an imminent threat, he sits back down.

“Why were you hollering?” He asks, rubbing his temples.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m so confused and there is a rage burning inside my chest. “I was in the process of going off on the stranger that was sleeping next to me. Now why the fuck are you here? How did you get in? How did you find me? Why didn’t you wake me up? Oh, and did I mention, why the fuck are you here?” I fire the questions back-to-back, leaving Cass no time to answer them individually if he wanted to.

He chuckles and the sound nearly sends me swinging, quite literally. “Slow down, Miss Summers. One angry question at a time,” he says, hands up in surrender.

“I’m here because I came to check on the progress of the interior remodeling job.”

“So, you’re a contractor?” I ask.

“No, not quite,” he grins. “Lilly, I own the place.”

“What? You’re my new boss?” I swear I’m still drunk and the room is spinning a little. The air feels like it was sucked out of my lungs, like I tried to do a somersault and landed flat on my back abruptly.

“You work here?”

“Well yeah! What, did you think I just broke into the place to steal some liquor, get shitty, and pass out in the bathroom?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air while shaking my head in disbelief. He’s joking right now. He has to be.

Cass laughs so hard he has a tear rolling down his face.

“Of course you didn’t. I don’t know what reason I had for you being here but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that.” He tries to catch his breath. When he does, all that remains is his smile. “Now, to answer your other questions, I got in with my key,” he pauses to hold up his keys and dangle them in front of me. “I found you because I followed the sound of the loud snoring.”

“Oh, you hush. You should’ve heard yourself just now. I’m pretty sure you were pretending to be a motorcycle.”

“Hey that’s a good one,” Cass says, an even bigger smile plastered across his face. My god that smile. I’m dreaming, aren’t I? I have to be.

“Wait, I thought the new owner’s name was Caine? Mindy told me today that his name is Caine ,” I point out with renewed suspicion.

“My name is Caine. My real name. I go by Cass, though, obviously,” he says.

“Oh.”

My head is swarming with questions I don’t have the energy to ask. He’s my new boss. He left me in Houston. He found me drunk and passed out in the bar and then stayed to keep guard over me while I slept instead of leaving me and going home, unnoticed. What in the hell makes a man do any of those things? He disappeared and just as quickly as he disappeared, he reappeared. My head throbs again, reminding me I’m probably still drunk.

“What time is it?”

“Five-thirty,” Cass says, matter-of-factly.

I groan. “Why am I awake?”

“Because I pretended to be a motorcycle while I was asleep?”

“Yes. That’s exactly why. Maybe I can do the same,” I say, rolling over to face the wall.

I’m exhausted, and still a little drunk, there is a gorgeous man next to me that I’ve been dreaming about for a solid two weeks now, and I haven’t touched him. He left me though, he just walked out. Why should I go out of my way to try and talk to him?

“Hey.” Cass rubs my shoulder.

“Hmm?” I mumble, half asleep.

“Do you want some company on that couch?” he asks.

“Umm. Yeah, I guess,” I say, hesitantly.

The words aren’t even fully out of my mouth before I feel the cushion sink in when Cass snuggles in behind me. He shifts a couple times, changing positions.

“No, this isn’t working for me,” he says as he puts one arm underneath me and the other around me to lift me up and position himself beneath me.

“Just put me where you want me, then,” I fuss. Snuggling into his chest as I had when we were in Houston, I embrace the moment, fighting the urge to sleep. However, alcohol and exhaustion mixed together outweigh my fight and before I know it, I’m fast asleep in Cass’s arms, once again.