Chapter 22 – Second Chance Shift
I'm Your Possibility
Amelia
Earlier in the day, I called The Iron Pier and spoke with James Raddison, co-owner of the club with Bash and captain of the Steel Port Ice Hawks. James told me Bash would be working at the bar tonight, taking a shift because they were short-handed.
That single piece of information sat heavily in my chest all day. I went back and forth between showing up to face him and just saying, "Forget it."
I decided that before the day was out, one way or another, I'd know where Bash and I stood. Whether he was still available to me or had already emotionally checked out.
Either we'd walk out of that bar together and finally start something real, or I'd leave alone, knowing I'd put myself out there rather than wondering what might have been if I'd only been brave enough to try.
It's been nearly a year since I last saw him. A year since everything fell apart.
My divorce is final now.
Therapy helped me sift through the anger, the humiliation, the confusion that once lived permanently in my head. Those feelings shouldn't have even been mine in the first place. I've spent weeks and months learning skills to stop obsessively replaying conversations. Discovering that moving forward isn't the same as pretending the past didn't happen.
It did happen. And it wasn't all my fault.
Knowing that changed something intrinsic in me. It helped me understand that I'm not fragile at all. I'm strong. I feel steady. My conscience is clear.
Tonight, I'm ready to face him. Ready to find out whether that spark we once had is still alive. I need to know if there's still a chance for us, if the door between us remains open, or if it quietly closed while I was rebuilding my life.
I walk into the club wearing a red tank top and black skinny jeans. The DJ is good. The music fills the room, vibrating through the floor and pulsing through me, demanding movement.
My heart speeds up when I spot him.
Bash stands behind the bar, filling glasses with beer and lining up shots of whiskey. His sleeves are pushed up, showing off those lickable arms. His hands move quickly as he mixes drinks.
Of course, a couple of girls are already perched on the barstools in front of him, leaning in close.
His dimple pops as he gives them a polite smile while mixing something in a metal shaker. He's focused, so he doesn't notice when I slide onto a stool a few seats down.
My heart races. I take a breath. Then another.
He's working seamlessly, grabbing bottles, squeezing lemon wedges, running the register. I didn't come here to panic and leave. I'm here because unfinished things have a way of haunting you.
He turns toward me.
"What can I get you?" he asks, professional and calm, sliding a coaster into place without looking up.
"Must be interesting work," I say softly. "Being a bartender, always listening to other people's troubles."
His head snaps up.
He freezes.
The moment he recognizes me, surprise breaks across his face. Shock flickers, followed by something warmer. He smiles almost in disbelief, and relief softens his features.
"There's something about a stranger that makes people open up," he whispers, his eyes dropping to my lips. "It's probably the most important part of the job. Bartender with a side of therapist."
"With all that expertise, maybe you can help a girl out?" I lean closer, lowering my voice. "You see, I've been hung up on this guy, and I can't seem to get him out of my head. My life was complicated for a while. But with the help of a good therapist and an even better divorce attorney, I worked through it. I cleared out my ex-husband and the baggage he left behind."
I take in his familiar face.
"I think I'm ready to open myself to new possibilities. What do you think, handsome? Are there still any good ones left?"
