Page 12 of Iron Hearts

Of course, my mother, on the other hand, worried enough for the both of us.

I got up from my nap and honestly feltmoretired, but that wasn’t anything an energy drink from behind the bar wouldn’t fix.

I was in my bathroom, pulling my long hair into a high pony, when I heard the front door open. My bathroom had two doors. One that opened just inside the front door, and another that opened directly into my bedroom. I typically kept the one inside the front door locked.

I unlocked it now and pulled it open to my mom and a gaggle of triplet toddler boys piling in the front door of the house.

“Rarity!” Aden, or Caden cried. Braden came right to me and hugged me tight, his hair still dampened with seawater, Mom juggling their life vests and floaty wings and whatever other beach floaty toys she’d taken with her.

“Hey, baby girl, how are you feeling?” she asked.

“Tired as hell, but determined to get to work on time and finish tonight’s shift.”

I let Braden go. He was the quiet one. Mom ordered the boys into their bathroom to rinse off in their shower.

They went but under protest, at least one of them throwing a tantrum when I told them I couldn’t help, that I had to go to work.

“Good luck,” I told my mom, and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m going to need it,” she said and, worriedly, made a last-ditch effort to change my mind. “I wish you would just stay home…”

“Nope!” I declared.

She sighed. “Stubborn, just like your father.”

“Thank you!” I yelled at the compliment. She laughed and hugged me back, and out the door I went.

The drive out of the neighborhood took the longest when it came to the commute to the Iron Horse. I got a premium spot, which was lucky, considering how fast they filled up on the weekend.

I trudged across the gas station parking lot in my comfortable Converse, my long legs slathered in sunscreen, wearing the short jean shorts that I tended to prefer behind the bar. I was in a ladies-cut Iron Horse Saloon bartender’s tee, and I could already hear the band, loud and blaring out from the open-air venue.

The roar of bikes made me wince. As I climbed up to my bar, I noticed it wasn’t as crowded as you’d expect it to be.

Why did that unnerve me so much?

Gemma hugged me and wrinkled her nose at my shiner that I hadn’t even bothered to try and cover with makeup. Could it hurt my tips? Maybe. Was it likely to garner me more? Maybe.

I didn’t care much about that, though. I cared more about the fact that every time I looked in Charlie’s direction, he would get really uncomfortable and immediately look away.

Feeling a little guilty?I thought to myself in his direction.

I could be the Queen of Petty when I wanted to be, and on this? Oh, I wanted to be petty. Yes, I did!

Fucking asshole.

The energy of the Iron Horse picked up as the sun started to dip in the sky. Business started to become brisk, but there weren’t many bikes down below – at least not yet. The distant roar rumbled out there at the road and signaled their approach. All too soon, that growl that could have been mistaken for thunder resolved into bikes, a realbigdamn pack of them. When they rolled up, the whole deck that bar number two, the bar that I worked, vibrated with ferocity as they spilled underneath. They rolled across the packed dirt of the yard down below, sending up plumes of dust in their wake as they all piled in and parked close to fit everyone.

I heard shouts, our security flowing down steps and out into the crowd coming in, and I felt my heart sink.

“What club?” I shouted over the combined music and roar of bike motors.

“Same one as last night!” Gemma hollered back at me from across the bar as she set the tub of bar glass on the bar’s top and slid it across to me.

We took turns bartending and bar-backing. It was going to be my round of bar-backing next, which meant taking a tub with me out into the crowds on the deck, picking up any errant mess, and bringing the empty glasses back in.

By the sounds of it, this would be thelastround of bar-backing for our glassware. It was time to switch to plastic. We tended to go full plastic when the crowds thickened up like this.

I felt my heart sink even more when the first biker from down below crested the top of the steps, andyep– he was wearing hisfuckingcolors.

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