Page 22 of One Room Vacancy
Liam lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Dude, what the fuck,” he says, his voice tinged with irritation.
And this is the other reason I didn’t want to talk to him about it. He’s not just my friend; he’s friends with Sage too, and I’m fully aware that despite my intentions not being so, I fucked up.
“I know.”
“That’s fucked up, man. You cheated on Kara with Sage? While you knew Sage was emotionally involved?”
I don’t appreciate the way he assumes I used her, like I must have just wanted to fuck her with little concern. Nor do I like the other implication. “It never happened when Kara and I were together. It was when we’d break up.”
“Like that’s any better.” He scoffs, irritation morphing into anger. “You used her feelings, dude—that’s not cool.”
I want to tell him that she has never been the only one who cared. I want to tell him everything, but when I open my mouth, I just say, “I know. I messed up.” The confession is barely a whisper. “I never meant for things to spiral out of control like this.”
“You need to fix this.”
“I’m trying.” It comes out reminiscent of a growl, but Liam doesn’t back down.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
FIVE
SAGE
“Is Brittany coming in tonight?” I ask as I wipe down the lacquered bar top, the beginning of my shift starting in chaos.
From the moment I walked into the bar fifteen minutes ago, I saw Harry, the owner, scrambling behind the bar. He moves around like a bull in a china shop, knocking over bottles and spilling drinks. The dated dive bar sits in the heart of the city, and while there are often lulls in business throughout the week, when it’s busy, it’s debilitatingly busy for one person—especially someone who can’t physically keep up.
His face is flushed and his hands tremble as he attempts to pour a shot of Patrón. He’s in his mid-sixties, and his health has visibly declined over the past few months. Brittany must have called off last minute, leaving him to tend the bar alone until I arrived. I wish he’d called—I would have come in early.
“She called off,” he mumbles, clearly struggling.
I step toward him and gently take the bottle of tequila from his hands. “I got it.” I smile. He’s trying, but we all reach a point where we need help.
“No, I’ve got it. Go get the guy at the other end of the bar.”
“No,” I say softly, meeting his eyes. “I’ve got this. I’ll grab him after I get this shot to the customer. Who’s it for?”
He pauses, then finally lets go of the glass. “The woman in the corner booth.”
“Got it. Now, please, go sit down.”
Begrudgingly, he steps away. Within minutes, the backlog clears and the pace normalizes. An hour flies by. When there’s a break, I slip into the back to check on him.
“Hey, big man, how’s it going back here?”
Harry looks up from his desk with weary eyes, the lines on his face deep under the dim light. “It’s tough, kid.” He sighs. “I’ve been thinking…maybe it’s time to sell the bar.”
The words gut me.
“This place is your legacy,” I protest. “You can’t just give up.”
“I appreciate your loyalty, but it’s time.”
I nod, swallowing my sadness. “If it’s what’s best for you, I’ll support it.”
He squeezes my hand and nods. “I want to make sure this place is left in good hands.”
