Page 13 of Renard's Deliverance

“I’ll have to work on changing that.”

“You do that.” Devon nodded at Opal as she settled herself on a chair and adjusted the microphone. “Opal has talent. Real talent. She came in and asked if I minded her singing here once in a while. Mind? Fuck. I wish I could have her here every night.”

“It’s not safe for her to come out at this time of night. Who the hell is making sure she gets home safe?” he demanded.

“I know how to take care of my people,” Devon replied defensively. “I give her a ride home each night.”

So she waited around until Devon was ready to leave? Nope. He didn’t like that.

“Which nights does she come in?” Renard asked.

“Most Fridays. Why?”

“No reason.”

Devon stood with a sigh and nodded at the glass. “You gonna drink that?”

“Nope,” he replied.

“You want me to take it away?”

“Nope.”

“You’re punishing yourself by staring at it and not having it?” Devon asked.

“It’s just a reminder,” he said.

Of how far he’d come.

And how far he might fall if he let go.

So he’d stay the course, hold on tight to the top of the cliff and hope like fuck that he didn’t freefall.

The time might come where he had to let go. But it would be best for everyone if that was short and sharp.

* * *

Opal finished singingher final song, letting the last note linger in the air.

There weren’t many people left in the bar, but the few who remained clapped.

She preferred it this way. She needed to sing; it was an ache inside her. As necessary as breathing.

But what she didn’t want was a huge audience. She didn’t want the attention.

Might seem strange considering the way she dressed and acted.

But flying under the radar was what she really needed to do. So she balanced her need to sing for people with her desire to stay hidden.

Hidden from the past.

Something she wished she could forget.

It was impossible to escape the past when it was living inside you.

That was something he knew.

Renard.

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