Page 6 of From West, With Regret

I’m looking around the dining room, studying the tables and chairs before scanning the walls. Most of them are blank, but the few pictures that are hanging are old photographs of the city. They’re beautiful and artistic in a way, though I can see how they could be improved.

“You may have a point,” I tell him. “I’ll start thinking about it and let you know. Maybe we can talk about it in more detail another day.”

“Wow.” He gapes, practically bouncing on his feet as he takes a step back down the bar. “Thank you so much. I’m not an expert in design, and I can’t draw for shit, but I’m studying advertising in grad school right now, so I can bringa vision to life. Charcoal sketches would be great in here. The contrast of the classic colors up against the rough black and white would bring warmth and comfort to a place like this.”

I pause, digesting Lewis’s suggestions. I don’t disagree.

“Thank you, Lewis. And thank you for taking inventory of the bottles in the storage room for me before I head out.”

“No problem.” He nods. “I’m sorry you had to cover the bar. Anna was scheduled to come in an hour after me. I know you probably have a million other important things you could be doing.”

“It’s fine.” I wave him off, biting back the sting of his assumption that I’m just another corporate douchebag too busy to pay attention to those who work for me on every level, even those in Lewis’s position. “There’s a reason I own bars across the city. I like serving customers, and I like getting away from the sterile environment of corporate America. It’s important for me to keep life balanced.”

I wasn’t always this way. I didn’t always have privilege and wealth, but no one in my life knows my past.

That reality hits me in the fucking stomach like a fucking wrecking ball.

A heavy weight bears down on my shoulders, and I can’t explain the immense sadness and regret washing over me. I’ve lived a lifetime of regret for a series of decisions I’ve never been able to correct.

People often say they wish they could go back in time and change one thing. They believe a singular moment would have changed everything. But me? I have endless. A series of missed opportunities to regain what I’ve lost. The one person I promised I would never forget. But somehow, I was the one who ended up being forgotten.

I fight the urge to bend over and vomit all over therubber mat lining the floor. I clear my throat and run my fingers through my beard, needing to get out of here.

My driver Alden is still sitting at the end of the bar, sipping on his club soda with a slice of lime. He’s been the only person there for the past hour.

Sensing my attention has shifted to him, he drops his glass on the bar top. “Are you ready to leave, sir?”

I open my mouth to answer him, but turn to my left when Lewis points to London’s untouched beer.

“Is this someone’s drink?” he asks. “I haven’t seen anyone sit here.” He grabs the glass and reaches for the napkin resting beside it.

Too quickly, I close the distance between us, and snatch the napkin from the bar top before Lewis has the chance to toss it in the trash.

I hadn’t realized London left it.

I glance up at Lewis’s worried expression. “They left. You can toss the beer.”

He pours the beer into the sink while my gaze drops to the napkin in my hands.

There are a list of five numbers meant for London’s dead husband.

A blank list with nothing but the name of my bar beneath it.

The napkin shakes in my nervous hands. I flip it over, and this time, I’m certain I can’t breathe.

Sketched in black pen is a pointed clock tower beside a river. The distinctive hands on the face of the clock and the detailed architecture are unmistakable.

Big Ben.

Blood drains from my face.

“Sir?” Alden says behind me. “Are you alright?”

“He’s as pale as a ghost. I’ve never seen him like this.” Lewis says. “Are you okay, Mr. Knight?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I fold the napkin gently in half and shove it in my pocket. I begin to unroll my sleeves and walk around the bar, toward the exit, only to stop near the door and turn to face Alden as I’m buttoning my cuffs.

The shrill sound of the wooden barstool against the floor fills the silence when he stands quickly. “Are you ready to head over to your next bar?”

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