I texted Nathan again, this time in all caps.
WHERE ARE YOU. SOS.
Zaden finished drying the glasses, then started wiping down the bar, getting ready for the evening rush. He didn’t come over. He didn’t need to. The tension floated in the air, sharper than the bleach stink from the mop bucket Angel sloshed past the bathrooms.
I counted the minutes. Each tick of the wall clock above the bar scraped across my nerves. Bryce didn’t notice. I watched the front door, the side door, even the kitchen, willing Nathan to materialize.
When the bell finally jingled, I nearly knocked over the water pitcher. Nathan strode in and scanned the room, caught my eye, and came over.
"Hey, bud," he said, ruffling Bryce’s hair. "Ready to roll?"
Bryce frowned. "But I was gonna play pool?—"
"Next time," I said, hurried over. "Right now, Nathan needs your help with something at home."
Nathan put a gentle hand on Bryce’s shoulder. "You remember that raccoon from last summer? There’s another one in the dumpster outside the pack house, and I need my best animal wrangler."
Bryce brightened, the disappointment erased. "Do I get gloves this time?"
Nathan grinned. "You get the whole suit. But only if we go now."
Bryce gathered his homework and his backpack. He gave me a hug, then followed Nathan out the door, not even looking back.
The room emptied. Angel had gone out. The bridge crew was gone, their table already wiped down. Only Zaden and I remained, separated by the length of the bar, the quiet stretching between us.
I busied myself, collecting glasses, stacking plates, wiping counters that were already clean. Zaden watched, not moving, as if waiting for me to make the first move.
The kitchen’s walk-in cooler hummed in the silence. My hands shook so bad I nearly dropped a tumbler into the sink.
Zaden spoke, quiet enough that only I heard. "You want to talk, or just keep pretending?"
I stacked three more glasses, then stopped, feeling the weight of his stare on my neck. "Of course, yeah, we need to talk."
When I finally turned, he was gone. I let out a breath, long and slow, and sagged against the counter.
When I came out of the kitchen, the bar was empty but for one man. Zaden sat at the farthest booth, hands clasped together infront of him, the stretch of his shoulders making him look twice as wide as the table.
I dried my hands on my jeans and walked over. Every step echoed. My knees trembled, but I kept moving.
He didn’t look up when I slid into the booth across from him. Didn’t speak, either. Just picked at a scratch on the tabletop.
For a while, we sat in silence. I braced for a fight, but Zaden just kept staring at the table, his jaw working.
Finally, he said, "He’s mine, isn’t he?"
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. My mouth opened, but the air felt too thick to let sound out.
He looked up. There was nothing soft in his expression, just hurt and the kind of anger that doesn’t need to raise its voice to terrify you. "Tell me the truth, Krystal. Now."
I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. "Yes," I said.
His breath whistled through his nose. "How long have you known?"
I couldn’t meet his eyes. "I didn’t know until you told me about Knoxville."
"How could you not tell me?"
The accusation cut deep. But it also made me angry, like I was backed into the corner. I snapped, "What was I supposed to do, Zaden? Run up to you at the party and say, Surprise! You’ve got a kid you never met. That kind of news isn't something you blurt out. Besides, when you told me thatyouwere my one-night stand in Nashville, I had to process. Hell, I haven’t even told Bryce."
