From Dust

by Freya Barker

  “Yeah, you can go, but I want you home before dark, okay? I’ll let Mrs. Danzel know to expect you later.”

  She smiles big before throwing her arms around my neck for a hug. “Thanks, Daddy!”

  I kiss her hair, set her back on her feet and watch her skip off down the hall.

  “Emmy?” I call after her.

  “Yeah?”

  “Lose the attitude, okay?”

  I don’t get to The Skipper until after the noon hour. I had to drop off the kids at school and meet with my lawyer to update him on what’s going on. Walking into the kitchen, I find Viv at the counter and Syd standing by the stove, both giggling about something. The sound of Syd’s laugh has my cock twitching in my jeans. Fuck no. In an attempt to disregard my physical reaction to her, I snap at her.

  “Syd. My office when you can.” I turn on my heels and walk out, followed by Viv’s instant reply.

  “Hello to you too, asshole!” Don’t know what the hell I called her into my office for, or why I had to behave like an asshole—Viv called that—but I know I needed to stop the sound of Syd laughing. It scares the crap out of me, the way my body reacts around that girl. It spells trouble, something I can’t have right now, not when I depend on her to look after my kids. It’s a fucking minefield.

  I pop into the pub to find the regular lunch crowd and a few new faces well taken care of by Matt and Denise and wander into my office. A few seconds later, there’s a knock at the door.

  “It’s open!” In walks Syd with her beautiful mass of hair hanging to cover her face, which is aimed at the floor. I can’t help but notice the improvement in her appearance. She was stunning right from the get-go, but so painfully emaciated it was difficult to guess at her age. Syd looks like the mature woman she is, now that she’s filling out and getting some curves. I’m guessing mid-thirties? She no longer has those clear eyes sunken deep into her face, and her cheeks are fuller and flushed most of the time she’s in a room with me.

  “You wanted to see me?” She asks, not even looking up at me. Fuck. I’ve been a dick. Not only have I avoided her like the plague these last few weeks, not ready to deal with my confusing fascination with her, but I just ordered her around like a dog.

  “Please,” I try not to growl at her, “have a seat.” She takes the chair in front of my desk, perching herself on the very edge. The tension coming off her is palpable. “How are you doing?”

  I see a quick glimpse of her eyes before she turns them back down. “I’m fine.” That’s been her standard answer to anyone asking her and it’s starting to tick me off, so I get up and walk around the desk to stand in front of her.

  “Hey, can you look at me?” When she still doesn’t lift her eyes, I reach out and stroke the long strands of hair behind her ear before tilting her face up with a finger under her chin. The impact of her skin under my fingers and her big, shiny eyes on mine is immediate, and I can’t resist running the back of my hand over her downy cheek. The fire in her eyes has me drop my hand instantly. “I need to know how things are working out for you, Syd. I’ve no complaints about your work, and the others all seem to like you fine. Even the kids are well-looked after because of you, but how are you coming along?”

  I can see her swallowing hard before she opens her mouth to answer. “I’m doing okay. I enjoy working here, especially in the kitchen with Viv and Dino.” A small smile hits her lips. “Emmy and Dex are great kids. They really are. A and I love spending time with them.”

  “And upstairs? Got everything you need?” She stubbornly refused to accept my offer two weeks ago to get her set up with some new stuff. She said she managed on her own long enough and actually seemed pissed off about it. The look she gives me now tells me I’d better not broach that subject again. She’s a feisty little bird when she wants to be.

  “I have more than I’d learned to be satisfied with for a long time. I have a bed, a warm shower every day, and it’s more than enough. In fact, it’s more than I deserve...” Her last words are so faint I almost miss them. The meaning behind them seems clear. She feels a great amount of guilt over something. I haven’t missed the occasional flashes of blatant pain in her eyes, nor have I missed the wistful glances she sends in the kids direction. That, coupled with her initial reaction when she met Dex first, has me thinking she’s left something very precious behind.

  For a moment she seems so forlorn, I react instinctively and pull her up from her seat and into my arms where she stiffens at the contact. “Hush. It’s just a hug,” I whisper into her hair. Damn, she smells good, and with the angles softening on her body, she feels fucking fantastic in my arms. I feel her relax a little and tentatively her arms slip around my waist and her cheek presses against my chest. “When you need to unburden some of what you’ve been carrying around, I’m right here.” Without thinking, I press a kiss on her head.

  When she leans back and looks up at me, those expressive eyes shimmering with tears, it’s all I can do not to claim her mouth. Especially when the tip of her little pink tongue appears between her lips and licks them slowly before speaking. “Thank you for that,” she whispers. The door opens and Syd instantly jumps back when Denise steps in.

  “How many times, Denise? Fucking knock before you barge in on me!” It’s not the first fucking time she’s pulled this, and ironically, it’s only when I’m alone or have a woman in here with me, be it Viv or the rep from one of our liquor suppliers, who happens to be female. I’m not an idiot, I know she’s interested—she’s made it apparent on more than one occasion—but I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole. I see Syd shrinking under the intense scrutiny of Denise and want to pull her back into my arms, but something tells me that would only make matters worse.

  “Sorry,” Denise says in an unimpressive show of remorse. “Just wanted you to know that the keg is almost empty.”

  “Need a new one now?” I pin her with a glare when I catch her throwing a dirty look in Syd’s direction.

  “Well no, but it’d probably be good before the dinner crowd.” She opens her eyes wide when she looks back at me.

  “Fine.” I lift my hand in a dismissive wave, hoping she’ll catch the hint. She does, but not after sending one last dirty look at Syd. Bloody hell.

  Syd

  Denise has never been my favorite, but after that uncomfortable scene in Gunnar’s office, it’s clear she hates my guts. God knows what I ever did to her, but I better stay out of her way. Part of me is glad she interrupted because I was slowly forgetting myself, wrapped up in those strong arms of Gunnar’s, almost ready to climb that man like a monkey. Her barging in like that saved me from making a complete ass of myself.

  First chance I have, I beeline it out of that office and back into the kitchen where Viv is still stirring my soup.

  When I came down this morning, she asked if I’d be interested in putting a special together for that nights all-you-can-eat menu. Having missed being in the kitchen, cooking, I was all over that. With her approval and a pantry and freezer full of the necessary ingredients, I had the stock simmering on the stove before I even started cleaning. We’d just finished chopping the veggies and pulling the meat off the chicken when Gunnar showed up. Now all that is left to do is let it all simmer while I turn my attention to the pesto bread I’ve planned to go with it.

  “So, what did Gunnar want?” Viv asks with her hands wrist deep, kneading the first batch of dough I just handed to her.

  “Not sure. Just checking in to see how I’m doing, I guess.” I shrug, trying to avoid eye contact with her. I don’t feel like explaining what happened. I’m not quite ready to fully explore that myself, but her sharp eyes pick up on something.

  Looking at me with a gleam in her eyes, she nudges my arm. “You like him.” Ignoring her, I focus on adding ingredients to the next batch of dough, but I can feel a blush heating my cheeks as Viv chuckles.

  It’s not until after the kids have been picked up by their babysitter and I’m ready to head upstairs that Viv
pushes a little. “You know, he’s a good man underneath that angry facade he puts up, right?”

  Standing at the bottom of the stairs where she catches me, I drop my head, overwhelmed by a wave of sadness. “Not gonna happen, Viv. It can’t happen for that exact reason. I don’t deserve someone like that.”

  Before she has a chance to say anything else, I run up the stairs, shutting the door of the apartment firmly behind me. I slide down to the floor with my back against the door and shove my hands in my hair. This. This is exactly is why I’ve avoided people for so long. The danger of getting too close is just too big. I wanted to start living again and embraced the opportunity, but at what cost? Already there’s a risk people could get hurt—the kids could get hurt. If anyone finds out what I’ve done, they’ll turn on me, just like everyone else has.

  “God dammit! Look at you—you’re pathetic!”

  Jacob is hovering over me. I’m curled into a ball on the floor of the bathroom where I had taken my bottle of Vodka first thing this morning, right after he left for work. Work. I haven’t been back, nor have I wanted to. I haven’t cared, just like I don’t care now. I don’t care about Jacob, or lying on a bathroom floor that hasn’t seen a mop in ... how long has it been? It hurts to even think about anything that happened ‘before’, even something as mundane as mopping the bathroom floor. It’s better to just take another swig so I can stop thinking altogether.

  The bottle hits against my teeth as Jacob knocks it out from between my lips, only to crash against the wall of the tub and break, spilling its contents.

  “Were you drunk? Huh? Even then, were you drinking? Is that what happened?” Jacob yells, his voice bouncing off the tiled walls of the bathroom. Desperate to escape his voice and stop it from echoing inside my head, I crawl on hands and knees to where my bottle—my solace—is slowly emptying on the floor. I don’t feel the shards cutting into my hands and knees. All I see is that beautiful liquid seeping into the bathmat.

  Next thing I remember is waking up in a stark white room with no color on the walls, or on the bed I’m shackled to. My arms are bound to railings at the side of the bed, gauze under the leather shackles on my wrists.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting on the floor just inside the door before a knock startles me into action. Jumping up off the floor, I run my hands over my face, wiping at the tears on my cheeks.

  “Syd! You in there?” Matt’s voice comes through the door.

  “One minute!”

  “Denise just went home sick and we’re pretty swamped. Could use a hand for an hour or so.”

  “Be right there!”

  A cold splash of water on my face and a quick glance in the bathroom mirror, I figure I’m good to go, barring any close scrutiny.

  Downstairs, the sounds of a busy pub filter through the hallway and I make my way into the kitchen, only to be stopped in the doorway by Dino.

  “Up front, honey,” he says, shoving a tray full of bowls filled with Mexican bean soup and bread in my hands. I’m a bit confused. I’ve never worked in the actual pub before and I’m not sure I want to. It’s too much exposure.

  “But—“

  “Go. Gunnar wants you out there and the food is getting cold.”

  Hands shaking, I make my way down the hall, careful not to spill anything. The noise just gets louder the closer I get. I walk through the door on the side of the bar to find Viv manning the tap and a big grin on her face.

  “Crazy in here tonight, Syd! Welcome to the nuthouse!” She has to yell to make herself heard above the din of the place. “Those are for The Anchors’ boys.”

  At my blank look, she points at a large round table by the window where Gunnar is standing, chatting with a rather large group of men. “The Anchors. Gunnar’s baseball team.”

  Right, but I thought they gathered on Wednesday nights. I remember Gunnar telling me about that. I walk over to the table, avoiding eye contact with anyone. When Gunnar spots me, he steps to the side, clearing a space on the table for me to put the tray down.

  “Here,” he says, sliding the bowls of soup and bread in front of some of his friends while I stand mute beside him, feeling curious eyes all over me.

  “Guys, quit fucking staring and eat your soup before it gets cold. This is Syd, and she works here, so don’t bug her.” He growls at his team.

  “Wasn’t looking to bug her, Guns, just familiarizing myself with the hot mama I’ll be thinking of when I whack off tonight.” A younger guy, maybe late twenties, with a backwards cap on his head and a big smile on his face pipes up to the hilarity of the men, but with one glaring exception—Gunnar.

  I’m ready to turn tail and bail, but Gunnar puts his hand on my shoulder, firmly holding me in place and with the other, swipes the ball cap of the guys head with a smack.

  “Hey!”

  “Didn’t I just fucking say not to bug her? A bit of respect, you fucking lowlife!”

  I shrink away, expecting fists to start flying at any moment, but instead, the whole table starts laughing and ribbing the young guy. He seems to be taking it all in stride with a cocky smirk on his face.

  “This your new woman, Guns?” A tall, lanky looking man with teasing eyes asks. I can hear Gunnar growling beside me. Ignoring the question, he grabs me by the arm and pulls me through the bar and out into the hallway where he swings me around to face him. Letting me go, he drops his head and runs his hands through his salt and pepper hair, which now stands out in every direction.

  “Sorry, Syd. This night is fucked up. Denise left sick just as the boys arrived and we were already close to full capacity. Normally they’re here on Wednesdays, but some of them went to a league meeting last night so they showed up tonight instead. I haven’t been able to go since the kids are with me full time, but they’re all good guys, really. They just get a bit rambunctious at times.” He lifts his eyes to check for my reaction and I give him a smile to show I can deal, lifting a bit of the worry that dulls his eyes. “I need you to run the orders from the kitchen. Matt and I will run the tables and take the orders. We’ll make sure Dino gets them, so all you need to do is deliver the food to the tables. You won’t have to be in there all the time.”

  My heart warms a little at the opportunity to help, and also to the consideration he shows me. “I’ll be fine.” At the look of mild irritation on his face, probably at the use of my standard line, I smile and assure him again. “I will. I’m good, Gunnar. Go back inside. I’ll take care of the food.”

  A barely there smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “I owe you.”

  “Hardly,” is my response and I quickly turn toward the kitchen, feeling his eyes on my back with every step.

  Hanging in the kitchen with Dino isn’t a hardship. For all his scary looks and imposing size, the man is a pussycat and makes me feel completely at ease. He tells me about his family and chats with me about cooking in between runs, or when I’m not rinsing the glassware behind the bar.

  “That soup of yours is a big hit tonight,” he says as he scrapes the last of it out of the massive pot and into a bowl. “Tried some earlier and I can see why. If you have more recipes like that—good, hearty, one-pot meals, I’m thinking we should do a ’Syd-special’ every Thursday night.” He looks at me with an eyebrow raised.

  Feeling oddly pleased, I nod eagerly, excited about the prospect of cooking more. Dino chuckles and shakes his head. “Still not much for words,” he mumbles. I just shrug my shoulders as he hands me the tray to take inside, “This is for the boss-man.”

  The dinner crowd has slowed down tremendously and other than a few stragglers—including the table of ball players—the place is almost quiet in comparison. I can actually hear the oldies’ rock playing in the background now. I head over to the team’s table and hand over the basket of fries to Tim, the tall, slim guy who was teasing Gunnar before and introduced himself to me my second time at the table. I place the soup in front of Gunnar who had pulled up a seat and slide the two heaping baskets of
wings in the center, along with a stack of plates and napkins for those interested. I’m about to head back to the kitchen when Gunnar grabs my wrist in passing. “Good soup, little bird.”

  A pleased smile steals over my face. “Thanks.”

  “Why don’t you call it a night? Long day for you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  His face is as relaxed as I’ve seen it in the last couple of weeks and I can’t seem to resist putting my free hand over his, still holding my wrist. The moment I voluntarily touch him, his eyes turn dark and a little muscle twitches in his jaw. I feel his thumb stroking along the veins on my wrist where my heartbeat pounds. I can’t move. I know I’m staring and I’m getting lost in the tender touch my body has lived without for so long, but I’m unable to pull away. I’m grateful for the interruption when one of the guys calls his name, drawing his attention away from me. I pull back my hand and make myself scarce. Viv looks at me with a sparkle in her eyes as I approach the bar, but before she can say anything, I wish her a quick goodnight and head upstairs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Gunnar

  “Viv! Can you come in here?”

  Exasperated, I lean back in my chair, hands behind my head. All morning I’ve been trying to get the feel of her heartbeat under my thumb out of my mind. I affect her. That much was obvious from the rapid pulse and the dilation of her pupils when I looked into her eyes. Fuck, mine were probably doing the same. Can’t deny that little bird has a huge effect on me too. On top of that, I was just in the stockroom and the bottle count is off. We’ve got a pretty simple system where every time a bottle of liquor leaves the stockroom, or a new keg is tapped, we mark it down in a register. In addition, Viv keeps check of the empties that go out as well. It’s something we started doing a few years ago when we discovered one of the summer temps using my stockroom to supply his drunken nighttime beach parties. Two things I don’t have any understanding for are thieves and drunks. Ironic, since I own a bar and deal with drunks quite often, but dealing with an ex who would as a matter of course start drinking at the stroke of noon has given me a foul taste in my mouth. Escaping into a bottle is a sign of weakness if you ask me.