The bar's quiet, most of the regulars gone, and my feet ache in that good way that means I’ve survived another shift. I slide onto a stool, breathing out.
Molly slides over, setting a glass of red wine in front of me."
“On the house,” she says.
I blink. “You sure?”
“Sweetheart, after dealing with Mayhem’s attempts at cocktail ‘innovation,’ you’ve earned it.”
“He said he knew all about something called ‘molecular gastronomy’ and he seemed so confident about it,” I say.
“Mayhem knows a lot of things about a lot of things, and also nothing at all. And if you trust him, you’re either going to be surprised beyond your wildest dreams or wind up with a stick of lit dynamite in your pocket.”
“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”
“I am. Do you want to take a guess what my Christmas present was from him at last year’s gift exchange?"
“Oh, my god.”
“Yeah, so shut up, drink, and welcome to the family.”
We clink glasses — hers full of Coke, mine of wine — and for the first time, I feel something close to normal.
“I’ve been thinking,” Molly says, swirling her straw. “You should start looking for a place. Ironwood Falls isn’t big, but there are pockets worth living in — cheap ones, too, if you don’t mind a little character.”
“Character?” I echo.
“Yeah,” she says with a grin. “Meaning there’s a fifty-fifty chance your neighbor’s running an illegal side hustle, but they’ll also water your plants. Most people in town don’t tend to bother anyone affiliated with the MC.”
I laugh. The sound feels foreign and good. “Any neighborhoods you’d recommend?”
She nods. “Maple Hill’s solid. Avoid Pineview — half the landlords there think maintenance is a myth perpetrated by communists. If you’re in Alderwood Lane and you see a ‘for rent’ sign that looks handwritten, especially if it’s in red ink, call me before you commit. I’ll tell you if it’s haunted.”
I nod. “I will. It’s just…” I trail off, tracing a finger around the rim of my glass. “Right now I’m trying to just feel… safe. Grounded. Like I have my own space again, after so long…”
I stop. The wordrunninghovers in my throat. I don’t say it.
But Molly’s watching me. Her smile softens. “After so long trying to find somewhere to land,” she finishes gently.
I look down. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Molly reaches across the bar, cups my hand between both of hers, and gives it a squeeze that lands somewhere between gentle encouragement and an unspoken warning to listen up. Her rings click softly against my skin — a silver skull, brass knuckle, a turquoise oval. “You’ll get there, honey. Trust me. I understand wanting to feel you’ve got a home.” She lets my hand go and straightens, scanning the room as if she’s head-counting the half-life of chaos still brewing in the Noble Fir tonight.
“Speaking of home — Havoc! Mayhem!” Her voice ricochets down the length of polished wood, cutting through the classic rock and the post-shift hush. “You two are on duty!”
The pool cues freeze mid-stroke. Havoc, who looks like a lumberjack’s apprentice but thinks he’s a philosopher king, blinks twice and points a thumb at his chest. “You mean bar duty? Like, right now?”
“Yeah,” Molly says, already sizing up their excuses. “I’ve got something to do with Riley. It’s time for you two to be useful for once and cover.”
Mayhem snorts and leans against the battered jukebox. His hair is a hurricane of prismatic colors, every strand rebelling, and his shirt — faded and paint-spattered — features a chimpanzee holding a grenade. “Molly, come on, that’s manual labor to support the capitalist system of oppression.” His voice is mock-affronted, but there’s a twinkle of anticipation in it, like he’s hoping she’ll spar back.
“Exactly,” Havoc chimes in, holding his cue like a staff of office. “Why would we perpetuate the illusion of agency when our choices are dictated by the tyranny of commerce and the transactional nature of post-industrial society?”
“You two been reading Marx again?” Molly says, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Havoc grins wide, revealing an eyetooth capped in gold. But something about it seems off, and I’m not sure if his tooth has always been gold or if it’s just something he’s experimenting with, and neither answer would surprise me. “Maybe.”
“Then consider this your chance to seize the means of production and help the proletariat fight thirst-based inequality,” Molly deadpans, reaching for the towel slung at her hip. She snaps it at Havoc’s knee, just hard enough to make him jump. “Try not to burn the place down.”
