The Bars Between Us

by A. S. Teague

  “What about Bronn?” he asks, the name causing me to flinch.

  I sigh, my shoulders dropping, and look up at the ceiling. I don’t want to talk about him, don’t want to say his name, and don’t want to think about him.

  Clearing my throat, I turn and lean against the dresser. “What about him?”

  He frowns. “You didn’t tell me how it went today.” He waves hand in my direction. “Clearly not well, but you didn’t tell me what he said.”

  I wrap my arms around my belly, hoping that it will ease the churning of my stomach. “He said he didn’t believe me,” I tell him simply.

  There’s no point in going into detail about our conversation and, honestly, I can’t bring myself to say everything aloud. It’s hard enough that I keep playing it over and over in my head, trying to figure out if I could have said something different, something more. Should I have taken the letters with me? Should I have insisted that he believe me? Refused to leave until we had come to an agreement? I don’t think anything would have changed his mind, no matter how hard and long I begged or pleaded with him to accept my father’s story.

  “I’m sorry, Grace.” His voice is full of compassion, his eyes filled with honesty.

  I lift a shoulder. “It is what it is.” My voice is wobbly, tears threatening to fill my eyes again. When one spills over, I swipe at it angrily. I press my lips together and shuffle over to where he sits on the bed, sitting beside him.

  I’m sick of crying, tired of the constant lump in my throat, the inability to speak without worrying that I’ll burst into tears at any moment.

  Resting my head on his shoulder, I tell him, “You’ve been such a good friend to me.” I laugh. “It would have been so much easier if I’d stayed here, fallen for you.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, I’d have to say I agree with that.”

  I lift my head from his shoulder and offer an apologetic smile.

  “But you know, I’ve never seen you smile as much as you did when you were with him,” he tells me, taking me by surprise. I raise my brows and he nods. “Really, I mean it. You were happy. Even I could see that.”

  “I was happy. For the first time in my life, the weight that I’d carried with me wasn’t as heavy. When I was with him, I was able to be myself.” I look over and smile sadly. “No offense, but even when we were out with friends, I had to put on a front. Be perfect, dress perfect, smile, and pretend that I loved spending my evenings at the country club. But with Bronn…” I drop my head, trying to conceal the tears, “I was just me. And dammit, it felt good to just be me.”

  Riley wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in for a hug, the contact brief before he releases me and stands.

  “You deserve to be you. Because you are pretty fucking special.” He tips his chin. “Give it time, he’ll come around.”

  I shake my head and laugh. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  Riley nods, insisting. “Trust me. He’s not going to let you get away.”

  “Even if we wanted to be together, how could we? My father killed his. He thinks that my dad is a cold-blooded killer. How would we ever get past that?”

  My heart squeezes.

  Saying it out loud, it sounds that much worse. There’s no hope for us, no chance that it will ever work out. And there’s no point staying here and crying about it.

  I’ve got to get on with my life, and sleeping in my friend’s guest bedroom and pining over a man that I’ll never have again is not the way to do it.

  With a heavy sigh, I stand and go back to the dresser to finish packing.

  Once I finish assaulting the refrigerator, I call Dani. She’s at home, thankfully, so I grab my truck keys to head over there.

  When I walk through her door, not bothering to knock, she meets me in the front hallway.

  Her mouth falls open when her gaze lands on my bloodied hand. “What happened to your hand?”

  I’d forgotten about it, but now that she mentions it, it begins to ache. Holding it up, I ask, “Got any ice?”

  Dani scrambles into the kitchen and I follow. She pulls a bag of frozen peas from her freezer and wraps a dishtowel around it before handing it to me.

  Placing the cold bag on my hand causes me to flinch, but the sting is nothing compared to the throbbing of my chest.

  “You didn’t answer me,” she says, her voice much steadier. “What happened to your hand?”

  I pull one of the chairs at her table out and sit, resting my swelling hand on the worn wood.

  I clear my throat, swallowing the lump that’s forming. “Grace.”

  Dani’s eyes widen and she freezes like a deer in headlights. “Please, tell me that you didn’t hit her.”

  Anger surges through my veins. “Fuck no, I didn’t hit her! What the hell, Dani?”

  Her shoulders sag and she lets out an audible sigh of relief. “Well, shit, what did you expect me to think? Your hand’s a bloody mess and you tell me that Grace is what happened to it!”

  She shuffles over to the table and sits beside me, first aid kit in hand.

  As she begins to doctor my wounds, I explain. “I saw her today.”

  Her head snaps up, her eyes meeting mine, her brow wrinkled.

  “She messaged me last night, asking if we could talk today. I said yes, so she came to the boat.” I begin to tell her, not sure if I want to rehash the details of our conversation.

  My stomach is in knots every time I think about the look on Grace’s face when I told her that I didn’t believe her, the despair in her eyes as she told me that she would believe me. Those four simple words had hit me hard, and I knew without a doubt that she had meant them.

  I disgust myself, the fact that I know Grace would trust me without question or hesitation, and I can’t do the same for her. But her father is alive and mine is not the one guilty of murder.

  Dani finishes cleaning my knuckles and then bandages them, putting the frozen peas back in place. “So what happened to your hand?” she asks once more.

  I groan, obviously not going to avoid telling her about my outburst. “When she left I was angry. I took it out on the fridge.”

  She purses her lips together, staring at me as though I’m a petulant child and shakes her head. “So what happened in the middle of those two things to make you angry?”

  “Dani, was Dad a loan shark?” I ask.

  The crease between her eyes deepens. “What?”

  I nod. “That’s what Mickey is alleging. That Dad was a loan shark and that he owed him money.”

  She shakes her head. “Dad owned a service station. As far as I know, that’s it.”

  I nod and mutter, “That’s what I thought.”

  She pushes out of her chair and makes her way to the fridge. “Want a beer?”

  I nod, my mind wandering. “You said not that long ago that Dad wasn’t the man I thought he was. What did you mean by that?”

  She resumes her seat beside me and sets two beers on the table. Twisting the tops off both, she slides one to me. “You’ve always had Dad on a pedestal. You drive his old truck,” she lifts her chin toward my arm, “you got that tattoo in his memory. You’ve spent your entire adult life hating Mickey Chumley for taking your dad away from you—“

  I bang my fist on the table. “He killed our dad! Am I supposed to just let that go?”

  She shakes her head. “Of course not. But, Bronn, he was a cheater. You think your mom was the first and only woman he stepped out on my mom with?”

  I lean back in my chair. “That doesn’t mean he deserved to die.”

  “You’re right. He didn’t deserve to be shot and killed in his own business. Do you think that’s how I feel? That he got what was coming to him?” Her eyes begin to fill with tears, and for the second time today, my gut twists with guilt.

  It seems like all I do is hurt the women in my life, without even trying.

  “I’m sorry, Dani. I just don’t fucking know anything anymore.” I run a hand through my hair and rub th
e back of my neck.

  My entire body aches. I don’t know how I went from being on top of the world, having everything I never even knew I wanted, to sitting in the bottom of a fucking hole so deep and dark that it feels like I’ll never claw my way out of it.

  Her voice is soft, and she places her hand on my forearm. “Tell me what Grace said. Everything.”

  Not even sure where to begin, I take a long pull of my beer.

  Sensing my hesitation, she squeezes her fingers on my arm. The gesture is meant to comfort, but all it does is serve as a reminder that I won’t feel Grace’s touch again.

  I pull my arm from her hand and take a deep breath. My stomach sinks as I begin to recount the story Grace told me about what happened the day our lives changed forever.

  Like a robot, I go through the motions, trying my best not to think about Grace, not to think about the burning in my stomach, the loss of her so deep it feels as though I’m trying to run a race under water, my arms and legs pumping but my body never going anywhere.

  “Yo, Bronn, you’re gonna rub a hole in that spot,” Joe, one of the regulars at the bar, jokes.

  I stop wiping the bar and look up, shaking my head to clear it. “Stain,” I mumble.

  “You doin’ alright?” he asks.

  Nope.

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  I wasn’t fine. Not even close.

  After telling Dani the details, we’d sat in silence, just staring at each other for a while, each of us lost in our thoughts.

  Dani didn’t know if any of what Grace had said was true, but she had encouraged me to give her the benefit of the doubt. Reminding me that if it were my father telling me this story I’d want to believe him, too.

  Eventually I’d decided that sitting around, nursing my wounded heart wasn’t doing me any good. I needed a distraction, something to get my mind off the fact that the future I’d thought was in my cards was not even an option anymore. I’d left Dani’s house, promising I would think about things and try to find a way to make things work between Grace and me. It was an empty promise though—there was no way to make things work.

  I’d spent so much time wrapped up in my own feelings about this terrible twist of fate; I hadn’t stopped to consider how Dani felt about it all. I knew that she and Grace had grown close over the last few months, but that she was loyal to me. I knew that she was hurting, too, missing her friend. But she was my sister and would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship.

  Even if that meant letting go of someone she cared about.

  I spent the first hour after arriving at work in my office, trying to catch up on purchase orders. Sitting behind my desk though, all I could think about was the time I’d brought Grace back here and had my way with her on the scuffed wooden desk. I’d remembered the way her ass had felt in my hands as I’d sat her on the desk shoving papers aside. The way she had moaned my name as I’d taken a nipple into my mouth. I couldn’t stop the memories that came flooding in, each sensation as if they were happening in real time.

  It was too much to take.

  I’d abandoned the paperwork and headed out front to tend bar. It wasn’t the distraction that I’d hoped it would be either. Every time I looked at the far corner of the bar, I imagined Grace sitting there, ridiculous romance novel in her hands, a sly smile on her face whenever I caught her watching me.

  It had been nearly three weeks since the last time she’d hung out with me while I worked, and the regulars had noticed.

  “Bronn, man, where’s your girl at?” one of them asked, causing my gut to twist.

  I try to play it off. “Busy.”

  He lifts a chin. “She finally come to her senses?” he jokes.

  It’s not too far from the truth, and it hits me hard. “Nah, man. Just tied up.”

  Joe chimes in. “Been sittin’ on this bar stool a long time. You always been a real asshole, Bronn. ‘Til that pretty girl came in.” He tips his head toward Grace’s end of the bar and my eyes follow, landing on the stool that’s as empty as I feel inside. “Suddenly you’re not an asshole anymore. A jerk, maybe, but not the same jackass you used to be.”

  “Yeah, what’s your point?” I sneer.

  He’s spot on, but the fact that he’s noticed it means the other guys have, too.

  “Point is, you’re back to being an asshole again and she’s nowhere to be found. So what’s the deal?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “None of your damn business.”

  Joe holds his hands up. “Sorry, man. Just liked seeing you living up to your potential is all. Don’t wanna see you fall back into your old ways.” He picks up his glass and tips it to his lips. “Not to mention, when she’s around you’re much more generous with the drinks.”

  I roll my eyes at him and walk toward the opposite end. “Mind your own business and pay your tab, Joe,” I snap over my shoulder.

  “I’m not the only one who’s noticed, man. All the guys been asking about her,” he shouts at me, and I give him the finger.

  I’m not in the mood to talk about Grace. I can barely think about her without it making it hard for me to breathe.

  I don’t know what to believe anymore, what’s truth and fiction.

  All I know is that there is no way that I’ll ever be able to have a relationship with her while she is having a relationship with the man that killed my father.

  A thought occurs to me, and I turn back. “Joe, you lived here a while, right?”

  He nods and I continue, “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  He smiles. “Coming to old Joey for relationship advice?”

  “Fuck no. You haven’t had a woman in years.” It’s his turn to flip me off. “You remember my dad?”

  The smile that was plastered on his ruddy face vanishes. “Yeah, what about him?”

  His eyes dart around the room, and I tilt my head to the side. “You ever have dealings with him?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  Something about his reaction causes me to pause. “You bein’ honest with me, Joe?”

  He holds up his glass. “Can I get another beer?”

  I take the glass out of his hand and refill it. Sliding it back across the bar, I lean in toward where he’s sitting. “Look, man, you can tell me. You know anything about what my dad was involved in?”

  Joe takes a long pull of his beer and then nods. “I don’t wanna speak ill of the dead. Your dad especially.”

  I shake my head. “Nah, don’t worry about that. Just answer this: was he in the finance business? Maybe for people that couldn’t get the normal kind of loans?”

  I eye him, studying his face for any sort of reaction, holding my breath, and hoping that he’ll deny it. As much as I want Grace, I don’t know if I can handle the thought that the man I’d worshipped was crooked.

  But instead, he nods his head yes. “Yeah, most everybody knew that they could get a loan from Jimmy Williams. But it came with a price.” He takes another swallow of his beer. “But I didn’t ever have dealings with him.”

  I push away from the bar. “You know anyone that worked with him? Maybe for him?”

  He nods. “Yeah, Tony DiMates was his right-hand man.”

  Suddenly something from the day that my dad died flashes in my mind. It’s a memory that had seemed unimportant at the time, but now feels like it may be the missing piece of this twisted puzzle.

  “Uncle Tony?” I ask. The man had been my dad’s best friend. We’d gone fishing with him all the time; he’d been at cookouts in the summer and Christmas gatherings in the winter. Even after Dad had died, he’d come around some until my mother had told him to get lost and not to come back.

  “Yeah, they were tight, Tony was always taking care of things for your dad. But listen, you didn’t hear that from me. Don’t want your sister coming in here raising hell for talking bad about your dad.”

  I pull the towel from my shoulder and toss it in the sink. “Don’t worry about it, Joe. Thanks
. Drinks on the house.”

  I stalk away and head toward my office, yelling at one of the guys in the kitchen to cover the bar until I get back.

  I’ve got questions and it sounds like there’s one man that may have the answers.

  It’s been five days.

  Five long, lonely, miserable days.

  I’d spent day one in bed, crying.

  Day two was consumed with running errands, trying to get back to a sense of normalcy after being gone for more than two weeks.

  On day three, I went back to work. It felt good to occupy myself with my work, to take care of patients again. It reminded me that there were worse things in life than having a broken heart, even though it didn’t feel that way.

  I was exhausted after work, so most of day four was spent sleeping, and then getting up and doing it all over again.

  As day five begins to wind down, I manage to convince myself to go for a run. Even though running reminds me of Bronn, I still get up and put on my shoes. But I compromise with myself, promising that I won’t run to The Sands again. The thought of being there now, without him, makes the ache in my chest intensify.

  I debate running downtown, but there are too many places that remind me of us there as well.

  Maybe coming back wasn’t a good idea after all.

  Wiping a tear from my face, I decide on one of the other beaches in the area. I’ll still be able to smell the salt air, hear the waves crashing. It’s not my beloved Sands, but it’s still the ocean, it’s still the one place that speaks to my soul. And right now my soul needs a good pep talk.

  Once I arrive at the state park, I find one of the trails that runs parallel to the beach and take off. It isn’t long before my mind is wandering, its destination the man that had left me a devastated shell of the person I used to be.

  The longer I think about it though, the less heartbroken I feel. The overwhelming sadness begins to fade, a burning anger taking its place.

  How dare he not believe me!

  I would have never questioned him. I would have found a way to accept the truth, no matter how much it hurt. His father was not the man that he thought, and while I felt terrible that he was learning that now, after having spent his entire life thinking otherwise, it didn’t give him an excuse to flat out refuse to believe me. And what about me? I’d spent my entire life thinking my father was dead, when he wasn’t. When he was rotting away in prison because of Bronn’s dad. But I didn’t blame Bronn! I didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to leave.