“Ever work in a bar?”
She nods quickly. “I worked in a diner for seven years and at a night store for three of those.”
The thought of her working nights alone doesn’t sit right.
“When can you start?”
Her face lights up in a way that hits harder than it should. “Now?”
A breath almost leaves me in a laugh. Almost.
“How about tomorrow morning, around ten? I’ll show you the ropes.”
She nods, relief washing over her like I just handed her more than a job. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and step back before I say something I shouldn’t.
When I return to the bar, Penny is already smirking.
“You did the right thing.”
Cas raises his glass. “Welcome back to having a life, brother.”
I ignore them, reaching for another glass, but my eyes drift back to her table anyway.
Lexy.
Bruised. Alone. Running from something she’s not saying.
I don’t need trouble.
But trouble just walked into my bar… and for some reason, I just gave it a reason to stay.
CHAPTER 2
Alexis
As soon as I got the job, I left, afraid the owner, Dex, would change his mind.
He didn’t like me. That much was clear from the way his green eyes lingered on me, like I was something he hadn’t decided what to do with yet, something inconvenient he’d rather step around than deal with. But I needed the job, and my car wouldn’t take me far. I didn’t have the luxury of pride.
Now I sit in my car at the edge of the Midnight Rodeo parking lot, the engine long gone quiet, the world outside wrapped in that heavy stillness that comes just before night settles in completely. I lock the doors, the sharp click echoing louder than it should, and rest my forehead against the steering wheel as I breathe slowly, again and again, until the tightness in my chest loosens just enough to let air in without resistance.
After a moment, I reach into the backseat and pull out the blankets.
They’re old, worn thin in places, softened by years of use. One has a tear running along the edge, the fabric frayed where it’s been pulled too many times, while the other still carries thefaint scent of laundry soap mixed with dust, something clean and tired all at once. I’ve kept them in my car for years, ever since I learned there are nights when staying isn’t an option. Nights when Russel’s bike sits in the driveway and his club brothers laugh too loudly inside the trailer, their voices bleeding through the walls in a way that makes my skin crawl. Nights when disappearing is the safer choice.
It’s the middle of February, and the cold presses in the moment I recline the seat, seeping through the glass, through the metal, settling into everything. I stay fully dressed, wrapping the blankets around my legs instead of my shoulders, tucking my hands between my thighs to keep feeling in my fingers as long as I can.
I can do this.
I’ve done it before.
My breath fogs the windshield almost immediately, turning the world outside into a blur of neon and shadow, something distant and unreachable. I crack the window just enough to let air move, then pull it closed again when the cold bites too sharply against my skin.
This is temporary. One night.
If I work hard tomorrow, if I keep my head down and don’t mess up, maybe I get tips. Enough for a cheap motel. Enough for a hot shower and something warm to eat. Just one night in a real bed. Just one meal I don’t have to stretch or ration.
