“Stripes,” he grunts.
“Bullshit,” his buddy calls out. “He’s fucking with you, darlin’. He’s solids.”
I scoff, feigning hurt before I adjust my position as I line up the solid six in my sight. Closing one eye, I take a deep breath before plunging the stick forward. The clack sounds, and I watch in amazement as the ball rolls and slides into a corner pocket. I toss my hands in the air—still holding the stick—and cheer like I won a championship.
Inside, I feel like I’m dying.
By nine, the bar has a decent crowd. It’s louder as voices mingle and laughter rings out. Plumes of smoke filter down the hallway from the open alley door, where people stand outside smoking. The same alley where I followed Jett when I first arrived in town. It’s the same alley we used to sneak stolen kisses and touches in high school.
I shake off the memory, letting the music lull my body into a reckless state. I sway my hips, an arm in the air, while the other grips my glass like a life preserver. The dance floor is no longer a party of one. I stumble into people and we laugh it off. Tomorrow, I’ll be the talk of the town, but right now, I’m happy.
Ifeel alive.
Ifeelnothing.
I feeleverything.
As I’m doing another laughter-filled lap around the room, Russ corners me before I can bypass the bar. I sway too hard, hitting my ribs against the thick slab of wood.
“You’re not supposed to be on this side of the bar, mister.”
“Sit, Wren.”
“Bossy.” I flop onto the barstool, resting my chin in my hand.
He grabs the glass of water and thrusts it toward me. “Humor me.”
I grumble as my smile falters. “Ever feel like if you stop moving, everything will catch up to you?”
His eyebrows pinch as he lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. Sometimes.”
“Pain’s a bitch.” I gulp the water to appease him. Then drain the whiskey sour. “Another, please.”
He groans, but I’m staggering on my feet before I can hear him lecture me. If I wanted to be treated like a child, I would’ve come to the bar with my brother.
With the jukebox playing another song, I fling my arms out, spread wide like I could take off in flight. I feel as light as a feather. There’s nothing quite like Jo Dee Messina singing “Heads Carolina, Tails California.”
I wonder what it’s like to be a bird. To be able to spread my wings and fly off whenever I want.
People cheer as I break into some kind of contemporary line dance like I’m auditioning forDancing with the Stars. As the song comes to an end, I bow dramatically, pretending to accept the Len Goodman Mirrorball Trophy. My laughter rings out, but it’s short-lived.
Inside, I’mhollow.
I’mbreaking.
I feel like I’mdying.
Today’s date circles in my mind like a hawk looking for its next victim. I chuckle to myself at the image in my head. It’s funny because the Silo Bay mascot is a hawk.
I shake off my spiraling thoughts and move toward the bar. When I’m close, I smile at Russ’s watchful gaze before attempting a pirouette. I stumble, getting my feet wrapped up before grabbing the bar.
Russ’s jaw is tight. I’m surprised he hasn’t broken a tooth. “I’m cutting you off.”
I gasp, clutching my chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would.” He steps closer, reaching below the bar and bringing a glass to the bar top. “Last one.”
“I knew you loved me,” I slur. “You’re stuckwith me tonight.”
