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10

MADDOX

I ’m only ten minutes late to my shift when I clock in, but it doesn’t matter. Nobody here gives a fuck, just as long as the bar is prepped before the rush starts. The Void is the only bar in town with a pool table and arcade machines, which means anyone drinking ends up here at some point in the night.

By nine, I’ve already got all my garnishes cut and separated, my glasses cleaned and cooling in the fridge. I’m zoned out, listening to one of my usuals tell a story about his wife’s casserole, when the bar starts filling up. That’s when I see them.

It’s never unusual to see my skate family here. In fact, it usually makes my nights better, because it means I can get away with fucking off and drinking with them. What I don’t expect is to see K-Otic pulling Havoc by the hand while they look for a table in my bar.

She’s all smiles until her eyes drift to where I stand. She stumbles back, freezing in place before K gets her attention and pulls her toward a table. Havoc’s head turns, her gaze staying locked on mine until they both take a seat. She shakes her head like she’s trying to clear me from her thoughts, and it’s only slightly amusing.

Because same.

Somewhere, in another life, one where we hadn’t lost Asha, maybe she might have bridged the gap. Maybe Asha was right. Maybe Vera and I would have been best fucking friends if she was still here, maybe even more.

But all I feel now is that sweltering ball of hatred deep in my chest, and it only grows the more she’s around.

It seems like lately, she’s always around.

“I need three Old-Fashioneds,” my boss, Freddy, calls from his end of the bar.

It’s going to be a long night.

I pour the whiskey, the majority of my attention still on the girl with the dyed red hair. They’ve barely sat when she gets up for the bathroom, and K comes my way.

“Maddox.” They keep their voice low, hard to hear, even though it’s a crowded room.

I’m bothered in every sense of the word—annoyed, frustrated, angry, downright itchy in my own skin, and her showing up to my place of work doesn’t make it any better. But none of this has to do with K. I’m not about to take it out on them.

“K.” I tilt my chin up. “What are you having?”

“The Lost Thirty on draught.” They turn their gaze to the bathrooms where Havoc disappeared. “And a whiskey sour.”

I pour the beer and then measure out the whiskey into the shaker, the simple syrup, the lemon juice, the egg white. K-Otic is still staring at the bathroom door, and I’m shaking the contents of the cocktail, both of us clearly desperate to avoid small talk.

They’re paying for the drinks by the time Vera comes out, not bothering to stop at the bar and going directly to her table.

The hour moves at a glacial pace.

It’s Wednesday, so there’s maybe four other people at the bar, which makes it impossible for me to delve into my usual pastime of people watching when I’m actively trying to avoid one of said persons.

But she’s loud, hard to ignore, and Freddy doesn’t have the music turned up nearly high enough for me to even pretend to be enjoying it. She gushes over how fast K is and emphasizes that they’d likely outskate her even if she wasn’t taking hits. I don’t agree with the sentiment.

Here I’ve been, expecting some cocky little has-been, someone who thinks the world should get on their knees for her and grovel at her magnitude. Instead…she’s insecure.

That’s not the girl Asha painted a picture of.

The basketball game comes on, and a few more people enter the bar, right on schedule. I keep busy, making drinks, avoiding eye contact and the burning need to stare at the table to my left where the two sit, casually talking. I’m serving cosmos to a few nurses from the ER who just wrapped up a shift when I catch Vera standing at my peripheral.

I fight the urge to turn my head, knowing she’s likely headed to the bathroom again.

K stands and orders two more of the same drinks, this time bringing their phone with them and scrolling to avoid conversation. But it’s almost halftime, and an older guy bids for their attention, not taking the clue and asking about the game.

“I don’t know anything about basketball.” K shrugs the man off their arm, grabbing both the drinks before heading back to the table.

It takes Havoc a few more minutes to return from the bathroom, her glazed eyes catching mine for just a brief moment before she sits down, this time next to K instead of across from them. The rest of the game passes, though neither of them looks up at the television the entire night.

They order cheese fries and mini sliders while I pretend to not give a fuck.

I don’t even know why I give a fuck, but I give so many fucks.

The sooner she leaves, the faster I’ll feel better. I won’t have to see her until Friday, and maybe by then, I’ll be able to figure out how to rein in all this anger.

She’s on her fourth bathroom break in an hour while K still contently sips on a wheat beer, not a drop of suspicion on their face.

“Cover me?” I nudge Freddy, who nods but doesn’t put down his phone.

It’s a one person bathroom, but we’ve got three of them. The other two have their doors wide open, so I’m not even guessing when I rap my knuckles against the door.

“Hold on,” she says nervously, but I knock again.

I hear the toilet flush and a soft damnit from inside before the handle jiggles. Vera swings the door open, eyes going wide with alarm at the sight of me standing in front of her. She stutters something incoherent before trying to walk around me, but I’m doing my best to take up all the space at the threshold, moving to my left when she goes right and blocking her from leaving.

“W-what are you doing?” she stammers, nervously stepping back as I walk her into the bathroom again.

“What are you doing?” I ask with a crooked smirk, shutting the door behind me.

“I’m using the bathroom.” She frowns, doing her best to make the lie believable.

“For the fourth time tonight?” I cluck my tongue as I check my watch, like it even means anything. “Try again.”

“I am!” She’s visibly flustered now, trying to push me out of the way.

I grab her wrist, forcing her to face me, and when her body slams against mine, I’m able to see the little bag in her pocket.

Not what I’m expecting.

“What, like you’ve got a nervous stomach?” I laugh, swiping my finger under her nose.

Her eyes go somehow wider, but she doesn’t get a chance to answer. I still have her wrist in hand, her chest pressed to mine and a lethal smirk on my face, when K-Otic enters the bathroom with us.

“Everything good here?” they check, bouncing their eyes between us.

“Is everything good, Mayhem?” My lip can’t help curling at the realization that I have something on her.

“It is.” She shakes her arm, and I let go of her wrist.

“I need another beer,” K says without looking at me, their gaze locked on Vera.

I turn, returning to the bar, the little bag of pills safely tucked into my own pocket.