Page 63 of Wrecked

I look up, and the sheer lack of remorse on her face is making me wonder if she’s on something right now.

“You need help. It might seem like fun, and you might feel good, like a million bucks even, but it won’t last. You’re only going to hurt yourself or someone else.”

Her mouth pinches in. She looks like she’s about to spit. “You’re just a bartender who didn’t go to college and will never travel beyond the city limits of Cedar Ridge. This is as good as it gets for you.” She’s holding her arms out, showcasing the bar. “What are you gonna do when your tits sag and your hair turns gray? You still gonna hop up on that bar and show everyone a good time?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and let the insult roll off my back. I’ve never been one to let words hurt me, and I can’t let them now. When I open my eyes, I see the expensive Gucci bag on her arm and the gold earrings in her ears. She’s wearing a real leather jacket and a pair of jeans that are worth more than I make in a week. Her dark almond-shaped eyes are lined with beautiful lashes. That silky hair is cascading down her shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful on the outside, but you’re poison on the inside. You’re running away from something, and you won’t find salvation in a drug,” I say.

I dig my nails into my palms. She’s not worth Brad’s story. She’s not worth sharing his memory. She’s not worth dirt.

But he was everything, and I’ll be damned if his death doesn’t serve a purpose.

“I lost someone I loved very much to the same shit you’re putting into your body. He didn’t get a second chance. He didn’t take off from an accident. He died on a park bench with a needle in his arm and a notebook on his lap. And a gymnasium full of people mourned him.” I have to look away for a second and take a breath, stilling the burn that is forming in my throat. “Whatever you’re doing to yourself, you’re not just doing it to you. You’re hurting people who love you. Because, when you’re gone, there is nothing left to hold on to. Memories aren’t enough.”

“I didn’t come here for a speech.”

I whip my head back up toward hers. Her face is stone-cold, but her eyes are glassy—either from whatever it is she’s on or maybe, perhaps, my words hit home.

“I want to help you.”

She pulls her bag further up her arm and lifts her chin. Her tongue glides over the back of her front teeth. “You can get all Dr. Phil on someone else. I don’t need it.”

It pains me not to be able to break through to her. “Call the cops,” I say to the bouncer, my eyes still on Victoria’s.

“Don’t even bother. I’m out of here.”

“You’re banned, Victoria.”

She tilts a brow at me. “I never liked it here anyway.”

“From every club and bar in town,” I say.

This finally gets her attention. “You can’t ban me from this bar, let alone every bar in town.” She changes her speech up for that last bit to make me sound like I’m an idiot.

Ron puts his hand on Victoria’s shoulder and pulls her back. “She can, and she just did.”

She looks to Ron and sees the seriousness in his stance. She turns back to me, completely baffled. “Yeah, okay, just try to exile me and see what happens.”

“Bye, Victoria.” I cross my arms and nod my head toward the door.

She looks completely shocked by the turn of events. “You’re going to be sorry.” She pushes on Ron, who escorts her out. Her head spins around to me as she walks away. “You’re gonna regret this!”

I’ve never blacklisted someone in Cedar Ridge. Every bar and club in this town knows that, when someone says a patron is no good, then we all follow suit. There have been too many instances of drug use, and we can’t afford to lose our businesses to trash.

My hand is on my heart, calming down my heaving chest.

Ron walks back in and pats me on the back. “You did the right thing.”

“Doesn’t feel like it. We should have called the cops.”

“Getting her arrested isn’t the answer.”

I let out a deep sigh. “You’re right.”

Playing with the collar of my shirt, I walk around the bar. Then, I place two hands on the counter, take a deep breath, and shake off the vibes.

At least Victoria’s alive.