by K. L. Jessop
Regardless of its reason for being there, I’ve been debating calling her anyway—debating whether or not it’s what I need to do for myself. But then wondering if the best thing I can do all together is to just push the post-it aside and pretend the fucking piece of paper is not haunting me at all.
The door to my office opens and Ryan walks in, shocked to see me. He’s one of my top bartenders, and I can rely on him over everyone else.
“Jesus, Gray. Sorry. I thought you’d gone home hours ago.”
“Why do I have to call Nora?” I ask, hearing the hint of frustration in my own voice.
“Shit. I forgot to mention it. She applied for the job.”
My back straightens as he clarifies what I’ve been questioning all along. “When?”
“Earlier today.”
I wasn’t here. Is that why she came by?
“And you’ve given her the job?” I question.
He studies me for a moment, trying to work out my mood. “Well, yeah, kinda. I mean, given the fact it’s Nora, I didn’t think you’d mind. Do you mind?”
That’s a million-dollar question, and an even bigger challenge my desires will have to face.
“No. Not at all. But what do you mean, kinda?”
Heading over to the safe, Ryan enters the code before placing some money inside. “I sort of gave her the job but said I’d get you to make contact and confirm her start date.”
Well, he’s really thrown me under the bus with this one.
I pick up the post-it note and stare at her name, knowing now that I’m going to have to make contact with her.
“Right.”
“Gray, are you all right? You don’t seem yourself.”
Other than Asher and Mark, Ryan is the other person who knows my history with Mom. Watching her slowly deteriorate somehow educated me on the long-term outcome, so although her death was devastating, it somehow wasn’t unexpected. But these last two years have been a lot fucking harder than I anticipated.
“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me,” I sigh, tossing down the post-it and scrubbing my hand over my face. “I’ve been staring at these damn papers for hours. My head’s all over the place.”
He takes a step toward the desk and looks at me sympathetically, which irritates me. I’ve seen that look too many times before, yet it’s my transparency that I’m pissed with more.
“Go home, Grayson. Get some down time.”
I don’t want to go home. There’s nothing but memories there.
“I haven’t got time for that. Things need to be done around here. It’s not easy running a bar, you know.”
I’d never wanted to run this place as a partnership. Being a man of determination and power, I’d decided to run it solo.
When I first took it on, the place had been a shithole. The walls were in need of a facelift, the flooring was old and outdated, and the bar area wasn’t all that great either. The décor that had been here previous wasn’t anything like I’d imagined and was certainly nothing that showed off my own personality either. So, I’d stripped it all back and worked every hour possible to get it looking how I’d visualized it.
Those had been the days when Mom seemed to be enjoying life; she’d come down here to keep me company or bring me food if I were working longer than I said I would. While I’d be painting the walls, she would be behind me, clearing up as I went, telling me I should remain tidy like she’d brought me up to be. I don’t know how many times I’d told her that you can’t possibly keep the place clean when you’re in the midst of a transformation.
“There’ll be no bar to run at all if our top guy is in pieces with exhaustion. You look like crap.”
“Thanks,” I say flatly.
“Go get some rest. I can close up here.”
“You did that last night.”
He folds his arms, making his biceps pop as he stands looking at me with determination in his eyes. “And it’s not going to matter that you don’t do it again tonight. Gray, you work your ass off every damn day of the year, and even more so since your mom died. Go home. That’s an order.”
“I don’t take orders from anyone.”
“And I don’t take no for an answer. Now go.”
Having time away from a job I love only lets the past creep its way into my thoughts, and I find myself in a shittier state than the one I’m in now, but I know he won’t give up.
“Fine. I’ll be back in early tomorrow,” I sigh. I grab my keys from the desk and stand. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
“You’ll be back in for tomorrow night’s shift and no sooner. The staff are covered for the afternoon,” he orders. We head out of my office and walk toward the heat coming from the bar, the music now vibrating in my chest.
“Jesus, Ryan, anyone would think you’re my dad the way you boss my ass about at times.”
“You can call me daddy any time,” he grins.
I laugh.
Giving the bar a once over, I turn to look at him. “Take care of my baby.”
He nods, clasping my shoulder. “I promise”
Stepping out into the cool, late-night air, I say goodnight to a few people who are still very much in the party mood as I head to my truck, a heavy weight on my shoulders at the thought of going home to a house full of memories.
As I sit inside my truck, I pull out my cell and scroll through the contacts until I get to Nora’s number. Hitting the call button, I release an exhale and pinch the bridge of my nose.
I should be pissed with her.
I should be mad with Ryan.
The truth, though, is that I’m irritated with myself for allowing it to get to this stage. I’m thirty-seven, for fuck’s sake, yet the woman has got my emotions in turmoil like she’s spun around me and trapped me in her web.
I lean back in my seat and look up at the moon, searching for that solidarity it once gave me. There used to be something about the moon that made everything seem grounded, even when it felt like a war.
“If you’re not being chased by some crazy person with a knife, this better be good or I will hunt you down and kill you myself,” she mumbles, and it causes my eyes to look down at the clock on my dashboard.
2.a.m.
“Shit. Nora, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the time.”
“Gray? I didn’t know it was you. What’s wrong? Is everything all right?” The change in her voice now signifies that she’s wide awake and my call has panicked her. I haven’t seen her since breakfast the other day. Neither have I been over to the house. With Asher back at his place, there’s been no reason for me to, but I can’t sit here and say that I haven’t been itching to know what she’s been doing even if I have no right with the way I’ve behaved.
“I’m fine. I just…” Wanted to hear your voice.
I clear my throat and put my best boss voice on. “Ryan told me you applied for the job. You can start Monday.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s great. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind?” I ask, knowing damn well it’s because I’ve been a prick and have rocked the boat when it comes to our friendship, leaving her in the dark.
“No reason. It doesn’t matter.”
“I take it Asher doesn’t know you applied?”
“Not yet. Please don’t tell him yet.”
I exhale heavily, not liking what she’s asking. “I don’t like lying to your brother, Nora.”
“I’m not asking you to lie, Grayson. I’m asking you not to tell him anything he doesn’t need to know just yet. There’s a difference.” Her irritation is noticeable.
“Fine.”
“Thank you.”
Silence falls between us, and the only thing I can hear is the beating of my heart and the slow, shallow breathing of a woman I want nothing more than to hold. The split second I was in her arms the other day, everything had felt right; the world had stopped spinning. My mind had no longer been a clusterfuck, and I’d felt like I could breathe�
��even though I was holding my breath. Nora Nelson makes everything seem right, yet the barrier between us has never been higher.
And that’s all because of me and my twisted, grieving fucking mind.
Still wanting to hear her voice but not wanting this tension between us, I lean forward and rest my arm over the steering wheel, looking back up at the moon. “Do you always threaten to kill people with knives?”
Relief washes over me when a soft chuckle leaves her like a sweet song, and I find myself smiling.
“Only the ones who deserve it. We all know I can be a little batshit crazy if I’m woken up before my time.”
“Yeah, I’ve witnessed that too many times over the years.”
“Well, nothing has changed.”
“I can tell,” I chuckle.
“You better sleep with one eye open from now on, big guy.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome. I’m here if you ever need any more.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. And on that note, I’d better let you go and get some more rest. Sorry to wake you. I’ll see—”
“Grayson?” Her soft whisper cuts me off.
“Yeah?”
She hesitates for a moment, and it only makes my skin prickle in anticipation of what’s to come. Despite our time apart, I’ve always been able to read this woman like a book. “I’ve missed us.”
Closing my eyes, I swallow hard. I’ve missed us, too, and these past few minutes have been a reminder of what life was once like. But instead of apologizing and giving her my reasons, I reply to her as if her words mean nothing.
“Good night, Shortcake.”
Ending the call, and hating the tightness in my chest, I throw my phone down on the passenger seat and rest my head back, releasing a long exhale.
“Get it the fuck together, Grayson!” I tell myself, turning on the radio to drown out the silence before I head home to an empty house with an even emptier heart.
Chapter Seven
Grayson
The morning sun is already blinding my eyes, and I haven’t even opened them yet. Truth is, I don’t want to. I want to soak in the remnants of the dream I had—the one where hot-toffee hair drapes over my pillow and a slim, naked body presses against mine, all our troubles forgotten. It’s a dream that has me intoxicated by a life I want as reality, where I gaze into her hypnotic blue eyes, her bright white smile taking my breath away.
Many nights my dreams turn into nightmares of my past, but with them come the nights where I can’t get enough of the good dreams. And those good ones leave me with the same, hard desire that is running through my body right now.
Squinting my eyes open, I groan at the daylight. It’s past noon when I look at my bedside clock, and I groan once more when I realize I’ve woken an hour before my alarm. The downside to running a bar is that your sleep pattern is all over the place. On nights where I close up and prepare for the next day, it’s heading to almost three a.m. by the time I get into bed. And even though I was home earlier than usual last night, I hadn’t been able to sleep until I’d popped a sleeping tablet.
My mind was a whirlwind of regret and disgust. Too many times I brought her number up to contact her to apologize, yet I couldn’t find the right words in order to do it. I’m sorry may be two simple words to some, but for me they’re more than that as I’ve a lot to be fucking sorry for.
Getting out of bed, I head to the bathroom to freshen up for the day, and when I look in the mirror, I groan for the third time. I look like shit.
The dark circles under my eyes tell a story of their own, and my once clean-shaven jaw has its fourth day of regrowth casting a shadow over my skin. Stepping into the shower, I lather up my body and let the warm spray cover my head, waking my sluggish body and relaxing my tense muscles. And like she always does, Nora’s face once again invades my thoughts, stirring a reaction in my lower pelvis. Running my hand down the rippled muscles of my stomach, I imagine her here with me: beads of water covering her skin, her hard nipples pressing against my body as I take her mouth in mine.
As I wrap my hand around my hard cock, I draw the desires in my body to the brink in response to her invasion of my mind. Her kiss. Her touch. All a figment of my own imagination and one that has my ass cheeks tight and my hand pumping. When my orgasm hits, I whisper her name through gritted teeth as my heart pounds with need.
Fuck. I want her so bad.
But as my body comes down from its high, the doubt and uncertainty takes over, and that voice from my childhood that’s always in the back of my head—the one I’ve fought so hard to forget—comes back thick and fast, telling me I’ll never be good enough for her.
She deserves better.
Someone her own age.
She certainly deserves more than me.
After I’ve showered and pulled myself together, I make my way downstairs where I’m greeted by my two cats crying at me as though I’ve abandoned them for days.
“Hey, ladies,” I murmur, picking them both up to cuddle them. “You hungry?”
When Mom came home from work one day not long after Dad had left, she was holding a box in both hands with a grin on her face. She had the most beautiful smile and the little chuckle that caught her at the back of her throat had told me she’d been up to something. When she’d told me that she’d bought a cat, I hadn’t been overly pleased. I’m a grown man, and the last thing I’d wanted was a little cat around my feet—although a dog would have been a different matter. What had been worse was that what she removed from the box was not one but two sphynx cats: two little hairless looking rats, padding around our dining room with big eyes and pointy ears. Mom’s face had been so excitable while mine was wondering what had fucking possessed her. They were ugly and… bald. Weird looking things that belonged on planet Mars. However, over the years, these two creepy things have become so loyal and loving that I don’t think I could live without them now. Spyro and Soda are the only family I have left. They, too, have felt the void in their lives. They were once my mother’s best friends and she’d treated them more like children than animals. They’d get presents on their birthdays, tacky cat jumpers to wear in the winter, and if she could have got away with painting their claws, she would have. Only as time moved on, alcohol had become her love, and everyone around her had soon become second best.
I can’t remember when her addiction started. For a large part of it, I was the one feeding her habits. She’d come down to the bar and stay a while. I’d been unaware then that she was an addict as she’d hidden it well, but as time went on, I started to see the deterioration in her personality and behaviors, and before long, she was hiding bottles of Vodka behind the couch or under the kitchen sink in the hope I wouldn’t find them.
Heading into the kitchen, I place the cats down and prepare their food, talking to them and asking how their night has been as if I’m some cat whisperer and we are all going to have a conversation. Anyone looking in would think I am crazy.
“There you go, girls. You enjoy your breakfast. Don’t eat it fast now, it’s not a pretty look.”
I make myself a strong coffee and grab some fruit to eat before heading outside to my back yard. I’m proud of my little seating and patio area that I’ve been working on in my spare time. Over on the right side is a large tree that is too tall to cut down and takes up a lot of space, so my creative mind got to work, and I’ve built a decking area around the tree and have the trunk as a feature piece in the middle. The seating area is finished with dark gray cushions, and I’ve added extra lighting around to make it cozy.
I don’t know where I get my creativity from. It certainly isn’t from my mom, and the only creative thing Dad liked to do was draw blood. I guess it all started when Pete asked me to help build Nora’s tree house. That thing had taken us weeks. It’s built with such strength that it still remains in place to this very day.
My usual hobby is welding. Give me a scrap of metal and I’ll transform it into somet
hing else. The things I’ve made over the years range from tables, wall shelves and old metal gates. I sell them on to make a bit of cash during the summer.
When Nora had been in middle school, I’d sit in the garage making keyrings or fancy chains for her while she sat watching me. Each summer, she’d sit on the edge of an old storage crate bouncing her little legs up and down while she’d sucked on a popsicle, talking to me about her day.
The first time I gave her a key ring in the form of a turtle, her eyes had lit up as an excitable grin had grown across her face, her arms flying around my neck. Now, that idea seems strange. Time has moved on so quickly, and the once little girl with pigtails and denim overalls has grown into a woman with determination, class, and slogan tank tops.
Just as I’m about to head inside, I hear voices from the other side of the fence, and my attention drifts to the one that makes my heart rate increase.
“Okay you ready? It’ll be huge,” Nora shouts.
I can hear her dad laugh but I’ve no idea at what as I can’t see. For a moment, I consider heading up the steps to get a better look, but I take the opportunity to just listen to her.
Her giggle is fresh as fuck and has me smiling. She’s always had such an infectious laugh.
“Oh my, God. Look at that,” she squeals. “You like that one, Pop?”
With that, a massive bubble calmly passes over the fence as it glides in the air, and I know now what has Nora so excited.
Bubbles.
One of her favorite things to do when she used to have her Daddy/daughter time. Another passes over, and this time, it’s almost like it’s somersaulting through the air, twisting turning, creating a rainbow in the light of the sun.
“Ahh, the simplest of things in life make the most fun,” she says, and I find myself smiling again at her words. But that quickly changes when I hear a male voice.
“Do you always get this excited over stuff like this?”
“Hell yes. It’s bubbles. Are you not excited about them?”
“Erm, no,” he says.