Her eyes narrowed. “I know what PTSD is. I don’t have that.”
Cassander’s jaw muscles flexed again. “We all knew you had it. Including God. But he was too pussy-whipped to talk to you about it when he should have. And that fucking day, the day you decided to finally fight your mental battle, was a day you shouldn’t have. Andthatis why I haven’t killed you for what you did. It wasn’t your fault.” He lifted a finger and thumped her forehead—not gently. “But you still need to own up to your shit. You were sick. You’re fine now, for the most part. So own how you were and quit acting like you did it to ‘help’ everyone else. Your actions were mentally selfish, your mind’s way of helping…you.”
I shut my jaw with a snap, my eyes flicking back and forth between them.
Poppy swallowed, her head even tipping back with it. Her brown eyes were unblinking as she questioned, much more quietly—hesitantly, “Ifthat’s all true, then why do you hate me?”
He sucked in a harsh breath and turned his head, his eyes down on the glass of beer he was strangling with his fingers. Cassander hissed, “Because you’re the easy outlet. I have a job to do, and I can’t do it until I know you understand it has to be done.”
She swiveled back to face the bar in an instant, and crooked both arms, placing her forehead in her gripping hands. Poppy pulled at her hair, whispering toward the bar in anguish, “Isn’t there some other way to fix this?”
Cassander’s eyes returned to ice staring straight over my shoulder at nothing. He took a calm sip of his beer, before answering, “Not without me going dark, going insane. And you don’t want that, Ms. Carvene. This world couldn’t handle it if I went off the deep end.”
Her shoulders sagged. I barely heard her breathe. “Then don’t wait for me. Just do what you have to.” She shuddered where she sat, her entire body trembling. “Living like this…is killing me. We’re only putting off the inevitable.”
The man took another drink of his beer, his own voice quieting. “I can’t.”
“Why?” Such pain in one word.
“Because I’m not ready yet either.”
Poppy rubbed at her forehead and didn’t speak further.
When it appeared they had finished their crazy-ass personal what-the-fuck-was-going-on talk, I took a tentative step forward. I rubbed at the back of my neck and flicked angry glares at each of the other occupants who were blatantly eavesdropping on them. They gradually turned away and started their own gossiping conversations, and I returned my attention to the two in front of me.
I questioned softly, “How about a bottle of whiskey for the two of you?”
Poppy released one hand from her forehead, not bothering to look up. She raised two fingers into the air. Her tone was one of defeat. “Two bottles. It takes a lot to get us drunk. Come back in another half hour and give us two more.”
Cassander grunted and downed the rest of his beer. His voice was guttural like it was pulled through rusted barbed wire. “Put it on my tab.”
I blinked. “All right.”
I almost felt bad taking the fifty percent tip from him. Almost.
* * *
Leaning on a broom, one of the three other bartenders asked, “What the hell are we supposed to do with those two?”
“Leave them to me,” I mumbled while I dried the last of the glasses. “I know someone they both trust to take them home.”
All the customers were gone, an hour past closing time. Except for the two drunks with their heads resting against the bar—out cold from too much liquor. Cassander and Poppy hadn’t said another word to each other the entire night while I waited on other customers. The two had sat there, side-by-side and facing forward, just drinking the bottles I kept putting in front of them. A total of four bottles like Poppy had asked for.
The manager of the bar looked up from the mini-pad and the receipts he was tallying, then ordered with dryness coating his tone, “Get it done and get out of here.”
My hand paused, the rag in my hand clenched in my fist. “You’re firing me?”
He couldn’t do that. I hadn’t done anything wrong—tonight.
His eyes went skyward. “No, I’m not firing you. I meant get the high clientele out of here before someone decides to ransack the bar to kidnap them.”
I stared. “Damn. I didn’t even think of that.”
He snorted. “Ms. Carvene didn’t come with guards looking like that. If anything, it looks like she snuck out a damn window or some shit to get here. The last thing I need is Mr. King suing my business if his precious girlfriend goes missing.”
I set the glass and rag down and headed to the back room for privacy. “I only need to make a call. Then we’ll be gone.”
“Tell whoever is picking you up to make it quick,” he grouched, his eyes traveling back down to the mini-pad. “And don’t forget to get your tips first. They’re… excessive… tonight.”
