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“Billy…” my name hangs on her lips.
“Adley. I won’t lose you again. Tell me you feel the same! You came here tonight for a reason. Whether you understand it or not, you came looking for me. And you found me.” I knew I was pushing my luck but I also needed to use every chance I had to get her to understand how much I wanted her.
“I don’t know how to do this. You and me. I don’t know what it looks like.”
“We’ll figure it out as we go.”
“What if I can't do that?”
“Can't do what? There’s nothing to stop us. Except ourselves. And I’m done getting in my own way.”
“Are you?”
I know what she’s asking. And for her? I have to be.
“You’re what I want, Adley. Give me a chance to show you just how much.”
Her green eyes shone in the night. The pink lace wrapped around her body all those years ago was still front and center in my mind. I watched her red lips speak the most colorful words of all. “Show me, Bill. Show me how good we can be. But have patience with me.”
Her eyes told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t going to leave me again, but I had work to do. If she was going to be the one thing I got right, the one thing I redeemed for good in my life, I was going to nail it for good this time.
And so we began healing together. A secret date here, a chance meeting there. We were always together, with our family, with our friends, but we were only together when the night fell or no one was around. I hated it and craved it all at the same time. I wanted to shout from the rooftops that she was mine, but I also had to respect the point that we were learning who we are now, learning who we can be together.She met me at my lowest and I swore she’d be there for my rise. I’d be better. I’d be her Mr. Right. She thought I wasn’t settled, but I wasn’t looking past her, I just couldn’t see past myself. And like any good woman, better than what I deserve, she made me better. She made me look good by standing beside me, supporting me in every aspect.
The door opens and Officer Cash O’Brien comes waltzing through it. A bunch of rowdy ‘how ya’ doin’s’ fill the air as he makes his way to the bar, which pulls me from my reminiscent thoughts. Cash’s smirk as he glances around the bar tells me everything I need to know. He’s been there, done that, too. Only difference is he’s quiet about it. He’s so secretive it’s almost like he’s a walking billboard because of it. The quieter he is, the more outspoken everything around him becomes.
He’s the only one left of us not coupled up. But I know better. His relaxed look and twenty-four-hour smile covering his face means he’s already got a girl who’s giving it to him on the regular. And I think I know who it is.
But it’s going to be a huge shake up when it comes out, so I’ll keep it under wraps for now.
“Cassius!” I give a smug look as he rolls his eyes at my use of his real name. “How you been, bro?
“William. Just fine, thanks.”
“How’s the arm?” Cash was shot in a hostage situation a few months back. His arm is still in a sling, but I think he’s milking the whole injury thing.
He touches it, wincing lightly. “Little sore. I just came from rehab. OT worked me pretty hard tonight.”
Nodding at him, I place a beer down on the bar in front of him. “I bet she did.” When he narrows his eyes at me, I ask, “Shot?” He knocks once on the bar. I throw a shot glass on it, grab the tequila from the shelf behind me, and fill him up.
The smell throws me for a loop. You’d think with the amount of time I spend in this place, it wouldn’t take me back to that night. But it does. Every time.
He shoots it quickly, making a face, and chases it with the beer. “Good night? It’s late and you’re still full.“
“Yeah. Al is definitely happy.”
He watches me closely. “And you?”
“Can you stop being a fucking cop for like ten minutes?”
He chuckles and takes more of his beer. “Can’t help it, Bill. I can’t let my medical leave knock me out of the game. You got something to hide?” He raises a brow.
Standing tall and staring him down. “Yes, I’ve got lots, but this fucking town won’t let me hide, so you all know the gossip already.”
His lips twist, and he points the bottle at me. “Touché”.
Al approached me about three months ago, wanting me to run this bar with him. I thought the old man had finally lost his marbles. Asking a recovering alcoholic to run a bar? Come on. But he doesn’t see me that way. No one does. They think I was just a wild kid who was dipping his tongue in too much beer and his nose in too many baggies.
They know what I’ve done, but not how I carry myself through my days now.
