Page 4 of Unruly

Zach:

You really think this is how we do this? After everything?

Zach:

CALL ME.

Zach:

Fine. Don’t. But you’re going to have to talk to me eventually and you know it.

I turn the phone face down on the shelf.

He was served the divorce papers today. I mailed them off the other day—certified, which meant a signature was required, and he couldn’t pretend that this marriage wasn’t over anymore.

Aunt Aria thinks that leaving his number unblocked is “leaving the door open,” but honestly, it’s more like leaving a window cracked just so I can prove to myself I won’t climb back through it.

Growth, or whatever the fuck people say.

I slide the phone to the back of the shelf without looking at it and turn back to the well. “Rum and Coke, draft Bud, and whatever that guy at the end ordered,” I call over my shoulder to Aria.

“Whiskey sour,” she says, without looking up.

“Whiskey sour.” I grab the bottle.

Over at the far end of the bar, the usual group of older guys are already settled in like they’ve claimed the place by seniority alone. They’ve been coming here longer than I’ve been legally allowed to drink, and definitely longer than I’ve been working behind this bar.

“Speak of the devil,” one of them calls when he spots me. “There she is.”

I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile before he sees it. “Easy, Boyd. You’ll throw your back out getting that excited.”

“Worth it,” Boyd shoots back without missing a beat. “You get prettier every time I see you.”

“Wow,” I deadpan. “What a coincidence. You manage to get uglier.”

The table erupts in laughter.

“Still got that mouth on her, just like that aunt of hers,” another one—Hank—adds, shaking his head.

“Yeah, and somehow, you all keep coming back for more. There’s a name for people who are into that,” I say, grabbing their usual beers without even asking.

“That’s ‘cause this is the only damn bar in town,” Boyd says.

If I’m being honest, he’s right. So, it’s not so much that they choose to be here, rather that they just stumble in every week because there’s no other place. But that’s the beauty of it.

Aunt Aria, with the help of this bar, taught me how to spot when someone’s had too much, how to shut down a situation before it gets ugly, and how to stand my ground without making it a whole thing.

When I came home, those guys were some of the first to offer to put Zach’s head on a spike for me—besides Aria and Matt—for what he put me through. Giving me support I never knew I could find in the dim lights of The Bar.

They flirt, I roll my eyes, and somehow, we all survive.

“Careful,” I warn, setting their drinks down, and giving them a stern look. “I’ll cut you off for harassment.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Walt grins. “You love us.”

“Debatable,” I mutter, breaking into a smile as I walk away.

Aria appears at my elbow. “How many times did he call tonight?”