We want beer. We want beer. We want beer.
Sighing, I rub my hand over my face. “You need to roll the keg, not lift it,” I growl, annoyed that I have to deal with whatever polo shirt wearing dad mess is happening out on the floor. Why did we agree to play sports on the damn TV?
“Are you trying to blame this on me!” She stands abruptly, throwing the towel she was holding on the ground. “Maybe if you hired enough staff to work here, this shit wouldn't happen. You know what. This was only ever a temporary job while I stayed for the Christmas festival, but this …” She says, waving her arms between me and the door. “It's not fucking worth it.”
“Sharon, don’t.”
I can feel it right in my bones that this night is rapidly going from bad to worse. I'm not good with this. Crying women aren't my thing. There's a crowd of worked up people waiting to drink. And on top of all that is the staffing issue we've known about for weeks. We have a high staff turnover anyway, but to have next to no one over this period is a fucking disaster.
Travelers often come to spend a month or two. Just to say they stayed at the infamous Hallowed Springs, but this year is worse than usual with the Christmas festival. Practically overnight, the town quadrupled in size, and we haven't been able to find any staff who can handle the variety of people who drink here, let alone having to work with several bikers.
“Tell Axel it was fun, but this is no longer working for me.”
I stare at her, scrambling to figure out how the fuck I'm supposed to handle this without the night ending in blood—my fists white knuckling in anticipation of a fight to relieve the ever-growing tension.
She hurriedly removes her apron and biffs it at me.
I take a step forward, she takes a step back, making me freeze. Her wide eyes flashing in fear for a second. It's all the reminder I need to know that I'm a 6’7, tattooed, ex-con, and despite her and Axel fucking any chance they got, she never warmed up to me.
No one does.
“Sharon,” I mutter, trying to keep my tone even. “Don’t quit.”
My desperation over the situation outweighs any embarrassment I might be feeling over begging this poor girl to stay. All so I don’t have to interact with the waiting crowd.
She straightens her stature a little, shoulders back, head up, and looks me dead in the eye.
“My name's not fucking Sharon. That was Axel's last girlfriend. Fuck you, and fuck your stupid job. I quit!” She shrieks, stomping her foot once before pushing the door to the floor open, giving me a glimpse of the crowd as she walks away.
Fuck.
Taking hold of the keg, I easily lift it, gritting my teeth as the sound of the crowd grows louder.
Deep breath.
In for four counts.
Out for four.
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 4 - BRYNN
“Why do people like road trips?” Jovie groans from the backseat, shifting uncomfortably for the third time in five minutes.
It’s been twenty-four hours since we left home yesterday, and we’ve spent at least sixteen of those sitting in this car. The short stop at a roadside motel during the early hours of this morning did barely enough to keep us both human, so at this stage, I’m running on caffeine and pure adrenaline, while Jovie is being fueled by skittles and the fact that she has control of the music selection.
“People like road trips because they get to spend time with their families?—”
“Boring,” she chimes loudly before I can finish.
“—And because they stop at a lot of places on the way. Like cool towns or landmarks they’ll never see at home,” I add with a yawn, leaning my head toward the crisp evening air spilling through the cracked window.
“Can we stop and see something cool before we get to Aunt Scarlett’s?” Jovie asks with a heavy sigh. The kind that is sothick with exhaustion and frustration that it feels like someone is reaching into my chest and wrapping their fingers around my heart.
Squeezing it.
Guilt.
