Routine makes the silence and pain bearable.
Except today, it isn’t silent; Layla is everywhere.
Her sandals softly slap against the wood floors as she paces the bar with her camera in hand, and her blonde hair shimmers in the evening rays coming through the windows.
She’s talking a mile a minute, narrating to the camera, laughing at herself, spinning in small circles to capture every angle.
Hopping onto the edge of the mechanical bull, she caresses the back of it. “This is sooo iconic. I know you bitches wanna sit on a bull and ride.” She slides off, brushing dust from her jeans.
She moves as if she belongs here, like she’s known this bar just as long as I have, and my heart squeezes at the sight of her.
This is my space. The only place I’ve managed to keep steady after everything. And here she is, invading it, filling it, lighting it up like she was made for it. Sunshine bleeding into darkness, I never thought I’d shake.
I catch myself smiling. Ducking my head to pretend to fix some glasses, I hope she doesn’t see and wipe the same glass again, even though it’s spotless.
Eventually, she returns to the bar, her cheeks flushed, blue eyes shining. “Okay. I think I have a substantial amount to edit, for now. This is… this is perfect, Reed.” She tucks her phone away, smiling brightly. “I’ll have to get some more footage when I’m back. I’m heading back home tomorrow, but I’ll text you.”
“Tomorrow?” The word slips out harsher than I intend it to. “So soon?”
She nods, her lips curving in a gentle apology. “Yeah, I have some brand meetings that can’t be rescheduled. But I’ll be back, I promise.”
I grunt, setting the glass down more forcefully than needed. Her smile softens as her gaze lingers, and her blue eyes follow me as if she’s memorizing me.
And fuck me, I want her to.
The bell above the door rings out, breaking the quiet moment between us. Two women walk in, sunglasses pushed up high on their heads, their voices loud and clear for the calm afternoon. They go directly to the bar, searching the shelves for their desired drink.
As their eyes are scouring the shelves of liquor, two sets of eyes land on me, and once they get a peek at the scar tissue that I can’t hide.
It’s the look I recognize all too well; the twitch of lips, the subtle curl of disgust. Their eyes flick over the scars on my cheek and neck, the ones the flannel can’t conceal.
One of them whispers something behind her hand, and the other smirks.
The familiar burn spreads through my chest and down my arms. I keep my head lowered, my jaw clenched, and my fingers gripping the counter tightly.
Before I can open my mouth, Layla’s voice slices through the air.
“Why the fuck are you staring?”
Both women freeze, blinking at her.
Layla steps closer, chin held high, sunshine replaced by fire. “Seriously. Order your drinks or get the hell out. This isn’t a zoo.”
My eyes meet Layla’s, seeing her fire and her determination to protect someone she barely knows. My heart races, that butterfly sensation fluttering low in my stomach once more.
She turns back to me then, her blue eyes blazing and protective like I’ve never seen before. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, the shame doesn’t feel so suffocating.
Because someone finally stood between me and the world, and it was her.
The women mutter something under their breath, then quickly order, their eyes darting anywhere but at me. I pour without speaking, jaw clenched, sliding the drinks across the counter. They throw cash on the counter and slink off to a corner table, their laughter now hushed.
Layla doesn’t look at them again.
She’s looking at me.
Her eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them, no longer the fire from a moment ago, nor the playful demeanor she usually carries. Just warmth, fierce, and quiet all at once. Like she sees every scar, every fracture, and doesn’t flinch.
I swallow hard, my throat thick. “You didn’t have to…”
