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Is that the reason he looks so upset today?
“Hey there, Sheriff,” I say, with a smile. I always call him Sheriff when we’re in public and it always makes him roll his eyes. Tonight he doesn’t do that, and he doesn’t smile after. He barely acknowledges the greeting.
“Get me a bottle of Jack,” he growls. He’s not acting like himself at all, and I know that whatever is bothering him it must be big. I quickly grab him a glass and a bottle, pouring the golden amber liquid into the tumbler and pushing it towards him.
“You okay?” I ask stupidly.
“I said I wanted the bottle,” he says instead. “Leave it.” I instantly let go of the bottle. He doesn’t talk. He quickly downs the glass I poured him and pours another one.
I help a couple other customers and then go back to Ben. He’s nursing his third glass by this time and seeing the white-knuckle grip he has on it, my concern deepens.
I lean in close to him, throwing caution to the wind.
“Ben, Honey, are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer at first. He drags his gaze from his glass to look at me. I get the distinct impression that even though he’s staring straight at me, it’s not really me he sees.
“Sweet as sugar, Junie. I’m starting to think I’m as broken as you are,” he says, and I do my best not to flinch.
“That’s not nice,” I murmur. I know I’m broken, and I know that Ben has seen those pieces more than anyone lately. I don’t like that he thinks it’s cool to throw it in my face.
“It has to be nice if I say it, Junie. Don’t you know? I’m Stone Lake’s resident nice guy.” he laughs, but there’s not a trace of humor in his voice.
“Ben—”
“You know what they say about nice guys, Junie?”
“Ben, I think maybe you should stop—”
“They always finish last. They always lose out. I wonder who you’re going to kick me aside for?”
“Ben—”
“Tell me, Junie, who are you going to let between those sexy legs of yours when you get tired of stringing old Ben around?” he asks, his honeyed voice anything but sweet. In fact, it feels like a slap. I’ve been slapped before and this…
This is much more painful.
“Hey, Kurt?” I call out to my co-worker for the night.
“Yeah, June-Bug?”
“Can you take over? I’m done for the night. I’m going to have Tina come on out and start her shift a little early.”
“You okay?” he asks. I look at Ben whose is watching me, his face tight.
“Yeah, just tired of fooling with drunks who act like assholes,” I respond, not taking my eyes off the Sheriff. I should have learned my lesson before I let my guard down with Ben.
What in the fuck was I thinking?
Ben
I watch as Junie leaves, disappearing through a small door between the bar and where the booths begin. I stare at the door for a minute knowing I’ve been a fucking asshole to the one person who didn’t deserve it. I’m such a dick. I push my glass away from me, throw more than enough money on the bar, and stalk after her.
The room leads to a locker room of sorts, and I see Junie standing in the corner in front of a locker, brushing her hair with so much anger, I worry she might pull herself bald.
“Junie—”
“Get the fuck out of here,” she growls so loudly and with so much hate that I jerk back in surprise.
I’ve fucked up. Jesus, I fucked up so bad. Seeing the anger on her face doesn’t bother me half as much as the pain I see etched there. That will haunt me for the rest of my life.
“I’m sorry, Junie. I was an asshole.”
“Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”
“It wasn’t you, I’d had a bad fucking day and I was just… I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“You got that right.” She’s still refusing to look at me and throwing shit back into her locker.
“If you’d just let me explain.”
“I don’t want you to explain, Sheriff. I’m not your mother, your best friend, your father or your fucking priest. I don’t need your explanation, and I don’t want your damn confession. You were right. I am broken. I’m much too broken to withstand that dick move that you just pulled out there. It’s fine. You want to be a dickhead that’s on you but do me a favor and get the fuck away from me, because I’m done,” she huffs, so much anger inside of her that she’s shaking with it.
She slams her locker shut and as she goes to walk around me I take my hands and brace them on each of her shoulders.
“You need to hear me out.”
“You need to take your hands off of me before I knee you so hard they’ll be doing emergency surgery to remove your balls from your throat,” she threatens.
