Grace for Drowning

by Maya Cross

  "Probably just wondering who you are. He's been here a while — longer than me, anyway. He and Charlie go way back. He used to be in the army or something. For all his scary cavemanness though, he seems like a nice guy."

  "Seems?"

  She shrugged. "He's pretty quiet. Doesn't give much away. We've worked together for over a year, but I wouldn't really say that I know him."

  For the next hour, I kept a discreet eye on my new friend. Most of the time he simply surveyed the crowd, but occasionally I caught him watching me. I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't the look of someone just sizing up a new colleague. It had a weight to it, like a tangible presence against my skin.

  The bar was busy for a Thursday night, and the later it got, the more the booze began to take its toll. A couple of guys were ejected before their shoving match could escalate into something more dangerous, with Logan and another man rushing into the crowd and pulling them away from each other and toward the exit. Joy glanced over at me and gave a good-natured roll of her eyes, as if to say "business as usual."

  Which probably should have prepared me for what came about ten minutes later.

  "Two bourbons and cokes," mumbled the man who'd just staggered up to the bar.

  It only took one look to work out that this guy was well past the "good time" part of his night. Glazed eyes, red cheeks, swaying stance, he checked all the boxes. This was one part of the job I'd been dreading. In my previous life I'd been a chef, and when you work in a kitchen, you never have to deal directly with customers. All of that, both the compliments and the nastiness, goes through the diplomatic filter of the wait staff. But working behind a bar, you're the filter, and that wasn't a role I had any experience with.

  "I'm sorry, sir, but I think you've had enough." It was bar policy not to serve anyone who was clearly drunk.

  He blinked a few times, his eyes slowly focusing on me. "Excuse me?"

  "I can't serve you if you're already drunk, sir."

  "Drunk? I've barely had nothing."

  "Well I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

  His face twisted into a scowl and he leaned down on the bar so he was looming over me. Not that that was particularly difficult to do. You know that saying "she weighed a hundred and twenty pounds dripping wet?" Well that's me to a T. I can hit five foot three if you get me the right heels, but I was wearing flats tonight, and so even though this guy wasn't particularly large, he towered over me.

  "Now listen here," he slurred, dousing me in rank alcohol breath. "You don't get to tell me when I can and can't drink. This is America! I do what I damn well want, and what I want is to have another bourbon." I began to move to the other end of the bar, hoping that would end it, but he reached out and caught my wrist. "Now where are you going? I'm talking to you. Look, all..." He trailed off as a huge hand fell on his shoulder.

  "You're done talking," Logan said, his shadow engulfing both of us as he appeared at the bar. It was the first real look I'd had at him, and I found my breath catching in my throat. He had a solid three quarters of a foot on the guy in front of me, which made him truly gigantic, and the way his body swelled beneath his black tee said he had to weigh over two hundred pounds. A perfectly proportioned slab of a man. His skin was scarred in several places — angry, brutal markings that seemed like they could only come accompanied by horrible stories. But what really caught my eye was his tattoos. Snaking out from both of his sleeves were two intricate explosions of colored ink that hugged his arms like another piece of clothing. It all added up to one incredibly intimidating package.

  Apparently, the drunk guy felt similarly. He released his grip instantly. His throat pumped, his eyes widening as they gradually traveled up and up. For a moment I thought that was the end of it — it would have been like a Chihuahua standing its ground against a Great Dane — but they don't call it Dutch courage for nothing, I guess.

  He paused, then steeled himself. "Hey, we're all cool, buddy," he said, flashing a cautious smile. "I just want another drink, that's all."

  Logan didn't even blink. "There won't be any more drinks. I'm going to give you a choice, which, after laying hands on a lady, is more than you deserve. Either you choose to leave on your own, or you choose to make me remove you. Think carefully." His voice was low and utterly calm, although that only made him sound more dangerous.

  The guy got the message. A tremble rolled through his body that I suspected had little to do with the booze, and he nodded quickly. Shooting me one last dirty look, like I was somehow responsible for the sudden inadequacy of his pectoral muscles, he made his wobbly way toward the door.

  "Thanks," I said, although a part of me was annoyed that he hadn't given me a chance to handle it myself. I wasn't going to be much of a bartender if I couldn't deal with a little lip from someone who'd had too much. I might have spoken up, but the truth was I felt a little wary myself. I wasn't afraid to admit this giant man frightened me.

  He shrugged. "Just doing my job." He looked fairly young, maybe mid twenties, although there was nothing boyish about his face. It was all hard planes and strong angles, masculine in every sense of the word. With sun-darkened skin, close cropped raven black hair and a dusting of stubble, everything about him felt rough, raw, like he'd just wandered in from a lifetime living in the jungle. As my eyes roved over his features, I was struck by a strange sense of familiarity. Had we met before? It seemed impossible I'd forget such a striking man, but nothing came to mind.

  It seemed like that should have been the end of the exchange, but he didn't leave. He just stood there, pinning me in place with those captivating eyes. Up close they were startlingly blue, like a postcard ocean, and the longer I looked, the deeper I sank. That gaze seemed much older than the rest of him, like it was from another time, another place, and it had seen things you couldn't even imagine.

  A strange sensation rolled down my spine and I looked away. "Well, I appreciate it."

  He reached out and took my hand, moving my wrist into the light, and I felt a jolt of energy at his touch. It was a gentle gesture for such a powerful man. His fingers completely swallowed mine, and I couldn't help but glance at them. They were gnarled, brawlers fingers; a chaotic cartography of muscle, bone and scar tissue. His physique wasn't just an idle boast. This was a man more than capable of delivering on that promise.

  "Did he hurt you?" he said.

  "It's fine," I replied, my voice strangely thin. I pulled away, uncomfortable with the way that contact made me feel.

  "I'm Logan."

  "Grace."

  He nodded, as though he wasn't surprised. "Enjoying your first night?"

  "Aside from getting manhandled, it's been fine. A lot to learn."

  "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it soon enough."

  I nodded.

  "Well, if anything like that happens again, all you have to do is raise your hand. This place being what it is," he nodded toward the back door that led to the arena, "the crowd here can be a little rough, but don't worry, I've got your back." He flashed a quick smile, exposing a single dimple in his right cheek. It was the first change in expression I'd seen from him, and it managed to completely cut through the hardness of his features.

  "Good to know," I replied. Again, I was overcome with the sense that I knew him. I could picture that smile in my mind, only it was somewhere else. I just couldn't remember where. "This might be a weird question, but have we met before?"

  He hesitated. "A few months back you came here. We talked briefly outside. You'd had a...big night."

  A sudden bolt of clarity, and I remembered. It had been just a few days after I found Tom; the first time I'd decided to get truly shitfaced just to see if it would ease the agony even a little. I hadn't been to Charlie's before. I wasn't even sure how I got there or what happened when I did. But I remembered sitting on the curb with my stomach and head churning as one and having Logan loom up behind me. I remembered a brief moment of fear, followed by resignation and even a hint of relief. This t
hug was going to do something horrible to me, but maybe he'd put me out of my misery. Only he hadn't. He'd just wanted to talk.

  "You wanted to take my drink away." I tried to make it sound like a joke, but my voice cracked a little as I said it. Suddenly I was right back there, feeling everything open up inside me all over again like a fresh wound. Heat pooled in my eyes, and I blinked furiously. Even now, it didn't take much to set me off. Pull your damn self together.

  There was sympathy in his smile this time. Or was that understanding? Whatever it was, I appreciated it. Even more, I appreciated that he didn't comment about the way I'd reacted. "Only after you poured half of it down my shirt."

  "I did? Oh shit." I laughed as the memory returned. "I did! I'm sorry."

  He shrugged. "No big deal. Comes with the territory. Once you've been thrown up on three times in one night, a little vodka doesn't seem so bad."

  I scrunched up my nose. "Lovely. I can't wait to join that club."

  "Fingers crossed you won't have to. That's my job, get to them before they lose their dinner."

  "How heroic."

  His eyes crinkled in amusement, but he said nothing.

  The silence stretched between us, and that feeling of unease returned. Joy had been right: intense was the perfect word for him. There was something more, though. When he looked at me, it felt like he was searching for something. I didn't know what to make of it.

  Someone approached the bar a few feet away, and I saw my opening. "I should get back to it," I said, gesturing to the customer. Logan nodded, although he lingered in place for a few moments before returning to his post.

  Thankfully, the rest of the night was fairly tame. Everyone who approached the bar was coherent and respectful, and nobody gave Logan any cause to wade back into the fray. But despite him being back near the door, I felt his presence as though he were standing right behind me. He filled the room, and I found myself constantly stealing glances at him just to reassure myself he'd stayed put. My mind wandered back to that evening outside. Most of it was still a blur, but I got the sense that there was something important I was forgetting.

  *****

  As midnight came and went, the bar gradually emptied out. New York may be the most famous "city that never sleeps," but anyone who has laid eyes on the epileptic neon of the Vegas Strip at three in the morning knows it's not the only one. Vegas has a nightlife that's all its own. In most other cities, the bar clientele in the weeknight small hours is fairly predictable; cab drivers, stock traders, shift workers, lawyers looking for a little liquid numbness to soothe their corporate guilt. Here though, things are different. In a city that is one giant twenty-four hour performance, you get a much more eclectic group. Dancers, cocktail waitresses, card dealers, professional gamblers — these are the people that haunt Vegas once the rest of the city retires.

  Some things remain the same though. Working as a chef, I was intimately familiar with the rhythm of the world after most people were tucked up in bed. There always comes a time — usually an hour or two after midnight — when something in the air changes, a kind of unspoken mutual agreement that you've now reached the reflective part of the night. Scotch and gin replace beer and cocktails, and everything seems to get just a little heavier, a little more downbeat. It's the sort of time when mid-life crises are born. Charlie's reached that point pretty soon after the clock struck one. By then we were technically shut, but it was apparently a "soft close," which meant the regulars could hang and finish their drinks as long as they didn't disturb the clean-up. Charlie and the others had left a little while back, leaving Joy and I to handle close. Logan had disappeared at some point too. I think I was relieved by that.

  This part of the job was slightly more familiar. Loading dishwashers, storing leftovers, melting sinks full of ice; it was very similar to cleaning a commercial kitchen.

  Once we'd finished out back, we moved to the front. "So, that wasn't so bad, huh?" Joy asked, tossing me a cloth and nodding at the bar-top.

  "Drunk grabby guys aside, I guess not," I replied.

  She smiled sympathetically. "Hey, we've all been there. Security is pretty quick at making sure that stuff doesn't happen. I'll tell you though, get people drunk enough, and they all turn into animals. You wouldn't believe the stuff you see if you spend enough time in this gig." She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "Two weeks ago, there was a couple sitting at that table in the corner. At first they seemed to be minding their own business, but eventually I noticed them acting kind of odd. The guy started jiggling around like he was having some kind of prolonged mini-seizure, while the woman sat perfectly still next to him with her hands below the table just staring ahead at the wall."

  The implication was not lost on me. My eyes widened. "No way. In the middle of the bar?"

  She nodded. "And this was a Friday night so we're talking full house."

  "Jesus."

  She grinned. "Wait, it gets better. So, once I worked out what was happening, I decided to wander over there and spoil the mood a little. I'm all for free love and what not, but we have to clean up enough grossness without adding some random guy's spunk to the equation. Anyway, I rocked up at the table and began making conversation, just asking them all sorts of questions, and generally making it abundantly clear that I knew what was up. The woman looked mortified and just got up and left, but you know what the guy said? 'Bitch, I was almost done.'"

  We both burst out laughing.

  "Jesus Christ," I said.

  "I know, right? You can't make this stuff up. Anyway, the moral of the story is, you certainly won't be bored here, but you need to be prepared for anything."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  The last of the patrons gave us a nod then disappeared through the door, leaving Joy and I alone. She moved out onto the floor and began to wipe down tables.

  "Speaking of being prepared for anything," she said, glancing over at me with a twinkle in her eyes, "Logan certainly seemed to be taking an interest in you. Perhaps you do have something to worry about."

  I felt a tingle of discomfort. "Wasn't that just him doing his job?"

  She laughed. "Kicking the guy out, sure, but hanging around to chat afterwards? That's not his style at all. A man of few words, that one. Not that he really needs them. Women practically throw themselves at him. He could be mute and I bet he'd still get laid whenever he wanted."

  "Bit of a manwhore is he?"

  "Used to be, but he seems to have shut up shop recently. He had a string of girlfriends back when I was just starting here, including one or two of the other bar girls, but they all ended messily. I haven't seen him with anyone in the last year."

  "So you two have never...?"

  She laughed like I'd said something ridiculous. "No. I've thought about it — to be honest I'd be suspicious of any girl that hadn't — but he's a bit too brooding for my tastes. Besides, I have a rule about getting involved with co-workers." She grinned suggestively. "But that's not to say you can't take a shot. Maybe he's ready to end his sabbatical."

  "There will be no shots here," I replied, a little too quickly. "Getting involved with anyone is the last thing on my mind right now."

  Joy studied me with curiosity in her eyes for a few moments, but her expression quickly brightened once more. "Well, good. I'd hate to get to know you, only to have you quit a month later because some jackass ruined you."

  Too late for that. I nearly said it out loud, but she seemed to get the message anyway. We cleaned in silence for the next few minutes.

  Chapter Two

  Grace

  Over the coming days, I met the rest of the Charlie's team. Unsurprisingly, Logan wasn't the only guy on security. There were six men in total on the payroll. Louis was my favorite; a gigantic, dark-skinned Samoan man whose laugh was as big as his belly. Despite the extra meat on his bones, he somehow didn't come across as fat, just solid, like you could hit him with a car and just wind up with a dented fender. Unlike the others, he would talk your
ear off if you gave him an opportunity.

  Then there was Rafi in the kitchen, who was polite but a little cold. I got the sense he didn't like me. Perhaps he felt threatened having another chef on staff. Charlie had made it perfectly clear that he was hiring me for the bar not the kitchen, but the occasional narrow-eyed glance from Rafi said that maybe he didn't believe that.

  The rest of the bar staff were all friendly, in that gregarious, insubstantial way that bartenders tend to be. They were pleasant company, but nothing more than that, as though everything that happened now was transient and thus not really worth the effort. To be honest, I felt a little like that myself. This was a stopover for me, the first port in rebuilding my life. But there was one exception. Joy. That bubbliness I'd felt the first day we met wasn't an act. That was her, twenty-four-seven. At first, I thought it would be annoying, but there was a charming relentlessness about her that just wore you down until you couldn't help but see things through the rose-colored glasses that she did. It was almost impossible not to like her. I could see us being friends for a long time.

  Logan, on the other hand, was still a mystery. There were long periods of each shift where he was nowhere in sight, but every so often, I'd look over and he'd be resting casually against the wall, surveilling the room. Apparently there were at least two guys on security at any time, one outside checking IDs and the others inside.

  "Logan normally takes outside," Joy said, nudging me suggestively. "I can't remember him ever coming in quite this much."

  I didn't catch him staring again, and he made no effort to talk to me, but somehow just his proximity made me acutely aware of him, like a splinter in my mind that I couldn't quite dig free. I never saw him during the day though, and soon enough I learned why.

  The Sunday after my first night, I was working the afternoon shift when Charlie called me into his office. I arrived to find him talking urgently into his phone.