1
VINCE
“Coming through!” Piper calls over the crowd, carrying a serving tray on her shoulder. Her freshly dyed maroon hair is mostly covered by a floral bandana.
The crowd parts to let her by. Behind her, a group of men circle around an open pool table, and two women laugh about something. A constant rumble of conversation drowns the clink of glass and scrape of chairs against the hardwood floor.
It’s busy tonight at Graham’s Bar. Nothing out of the ordinary, but enough to grate on my nerves and make me restless.
The music thumps low in my chest, every bass note rattling through my bones like they’re hollow. My body aches in that deep, gnawing way that never stops now—sometimes dull, sometimes sharp, always there.
Worse, it’s becoming harder to hide.
The front door swings open, and Pete and Andy walk in, followed by a few people from their mountain biking group. Pete claps me on the shoulder as he passes, grinning wide. “Hey, man.”
I nod silently and turn away, refusing to let anyone see my pain. As soon as I’m alone, I lean against the wall.
I wish I were home where I could kick my feet up or watch some mindless TV. Maybe play my guitar. The neon lights, the noise, the bodies going in and out of the building—it’s all too damn much after the tiny sliver of peace I managed to carve out for myself on my days off. They went by too fast. They always do.
But it isn’t just the environment that’s bothering me. It’s the goddamn mask. It’s getting heavier every time I come in.
At home, I get to be Vince, the guy who can breathe through the pain without judgment. But in here? No—in here, there is no room for weakness. In here, I’m Vince the brick wall—the bouncer who sees all, does all, hears all. The one who stands for hours on end, who absorbs the bad energy from people without flinching, and who never cracks.
In here, I need to be strong, and my strength is waning.
Some nights, like tonight, I rely on sheer willpower to finish my shift.
In the dark corner by the front door, I roll my neck and stretch my arms, trying to convince myself the motions help. They don’t. Not really. But going home early isn’t an option. I’ve done that too many times already. Declan is starting to ask questions.
No, I need to push through. Keep going. The world doesn’t slow down because my legs are weak or my nerves misfire.
Keep it together, Mercer.
Sighing, I scan the room again—more out of habit than anything else. There are a couple of people I need to keep an eye on, but nothing out of the ordinary. No red flags.
Tonight, it’s the same crowd. The same music. The same endless crawl of time.
I used to live for the familiarity. It used to feel like a safe haven, like I might belong someday. But more and more I’m starting to doubt that.Have I ever really fit in anywhere?
Declan pauses as he walks by, shirt tight and red hair styled perfectly. “Hey. Need anything? A drink or a break or anything?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
Doubt flickers across his face, but he doesn’t push it. He just nods slowly. “Alright. Just signal if you change your mind, though.”
I tug at my shirt, determined to get through another night without incident. But as the hours fade away, so does the calm. The control I’d managed to hold onto begins to crack.
A subtle tension coils through the room, humming just under my skin.
Shortly before eleven, shouts cut through the noise like a broken bottle, sharp and unforgiving. I turn just in time to see two guys squaring off near the pool tables, their hands balled into fists. I start that way before Declan can, moving fast—or rather, I try to. My left leg drags a little, the way it does when the numbness creeps in. A subtle delay between thought and movement.
Their voices rise the closer I get. The bigger guy jabs a finger into the other man’s chest, his face red with anger. “You’re a damn liar.”
“Oh, shut—” Whatever he says is cut off by more chairs scraping against the hardwood. Half the room has picked up on the tension and is scrambling out of the way. Even the music seems to stall because of it.
I step into the fray, my booming voice demanding attention. “That’s enough!”
The men turn, jaws tense.
