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AFTER I FALL: CHAPTER 10
Eli
Kelsey walks in thirty minutes after we open, and for the first time in my life I’m glad the bar is dead. I’d be pissed but I’m too relieved to see her. She flips her glossy black hair over her shoulder and smiles brightly as she immediately gets to work behind the bar. “Hey. Sorry I scared you. Food poisoning.”
I fold my arms over my chest, trying to look like a pissed-off boss. “Yeah? From what? I’d like to avoid praying to the porcelain gods if at all possible.”
“Not sure. I ate off one of the new fusion food trucks, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up passed out on the bathroom floor.” She looks up at me. “And before you say anything, no I wasn’t roofied and yes, I’m sure.”
“Well, as long as you’re sure.” I grin, hiding my worry. “So everything is okay? Did you get that appointment at the VA you were trying to get?”
She slices up an orange with a violence that has me wanting to protect my junk from her rage. “That place is becoming the place that shall not be named. Would it be considered temporary insanity if I just snap one day and burn the entire fucking building to the ground?”
“Since you’re discussing it, that qualifies as premeditated, so probably not.”
“If I get called ‘honey’ and asked for my husband’s social security number one more time, I’m going to cut a bitch.”
Kels would probably do it, too. “I’ll start a jail bond fund in your name. Why is it so hard for you to get seen there?”
She cups her breasts and wiggles her hips. “See these? I’ve got the wrong plumbing for this VA. Turns out, they only know what to do with the boys, and even then, they can’t get appointments.”
“Keep trying. And keep records of all of this. You might need to testify before Congress about this.”
She looks at me like I’m fucking cross-eyed. “Sure. And I’ve got a bridge in Arizona to sell ya. Speaking of which, I might need to adjust my schedule for next semester.”
“Sure. Just let me know and we’ll make it happen.”
She smiles brightly at someone over my shoulder. “Hey! You ready for your first night?”
I follow her gaze to see Parker approaching. She’s wearing a plain white t-shirt that hugs every curve, and I’m struck by how bright she is in the dim light of the bar. Her hair is tucked behind one ear in a lopsided braid. She must have done that in the bathroom or something because it damn sure wasn’t braided an hour ago.
There are a million filthy things I could do with that braid. I have the sudden urge to lift that braid off her neck and press my lips to her skin. To feel her tip her chin to one side and trace my tongue over her pulse and capture her sigh.
I want this woman. I want the promise I see in her eyes. I want to feel her need…me. Just me.
Not the owner of The Pint. Not the former soldier. Not the tatted-out bartender.
Just me.
But I won’t do that to her. Because she wanted to fuck for the wrong reasons. And until I’m sure she’s looking at me, really me, I can’t…I won’t cross that line, no matter how badly my dick might resent my principled stance.
“I’m ready. I hope,” Parker says brightly. She’s not even an hour into her shift yet.
“You’ll be fine. Just remember no one has the right to put their hands on you. Standing order in this place.” She points to a sign behind the bar and Parker’s eyes widen as she just notices it.
“How about that? That’s pretty cool.”
“There’s a lot of cool things about this place,” Kelsey says. “I’ll be right back. We need more Jack Daniels.”
Kelsey disappears into the basement leaving me alone with Parker. Her smile fades just a little, and just like that, I see the girl in the alley once more, asking for things that she doesn’t really want because she thinks it will fix what ails her.
I hate that I can’t fix it. That I can’t lift her chin and kiss the sadness from her eyes. And I don’t want her to see this side of me. The helplessness that twists inside me when I can’t fix what’s wrong with the people in my life.
“Are you okay?” It’s almost a statement rather than a question. Almost.
She looks away. “Just things I’d rather avoid not letting me avoid them.”
“Things like the cause of this?” I reach across the bar and brush my thumb gently, so gently beneath the bruise that she’s done a better job of concealing today.
Her lips twist into a humorless smile. “You’re a pretty good guesser.”
“I’m good with people. It’s part of the job description.”
“Is that bartender or soldier?” she asks softly.
“Both. The Army is a people business.”
“So’s running a bar.”
“Pretty much.” She brushes her braid off her shoulder, exposing the shimmering skin of her throat. I am drawn to it, to her. To the vulnerability in her. The strength.
“You’re glad she’s here,” Parker says quietly.
“Obviously. Otherwise, tonight was going to be really hectic.”
“Nice try.” She slips her hands into the front pocket of her jeans, angling her body slightly toward me. “You’re glad she’s safe. You’re genuinely glad.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? She works for me.”
“That’s not it. There’s something more. You love her. But not sexually. Like she’s one of your soldiers.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. I’m not used to having someone poking around inside my head. “So?”
Her smile is shielded. “It’s nice. Seeing that you care about your people.”
I clear my throat. “Comments like that make me want to get you drunk and hear your life’s story.”
“Well, I was thinking about getting drunk before my shift really got going.”
I can’t help but grin. “Nervous?”
“A little bit. I’m not nearly as good with people as you are.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She toys with the edge of her braid. “A little alcohol goes a long way to loosen a girl up.” Her eyes widen and her mouth forms a surprised “O”. “That came out wrong. What I meant was…”
“I know.” I don’t want to think about her that first night. About how soft she was against the hard, wet brick. About the want I felt in her body.
Or the revulsion I felt when I realized she was trying to hurt herself to hurt someone else.
“You never asked me for any references,” she’s saying when I can focus on her words. “How do you know I’m not some klepto-arsonist-in-training?”
“You don’t look like a klepto-arsonist.”
“And you know what one looks like?”
“Funny you should mention it, but yes, actually I do.” She’s smiling now, and the sadness I saw in her eyes earlier is fading beneath her rampant curiosity.
She leans forward on the bar, braced on her elbows. “Oh, do tell.”
“This kid, Meyers, was in my platoon. Things started turning up missing out of the barracks a few weeks after we deployed. He was a skinny little fuck. Got hooked on meth, started stealing and eventually caught his entire block of the LSA on fire.”
“I’m sorry, you lost me at ‘LSA’.”
“Life support area. Sorry. Where everyone lived on the big bases overseas.”
She makes a noise. “And what happened to young Meyers?”
“He ran away. Went home on midtour leave and never came back. We ended up dropping him from the rolls.”
She flinches, then frowns. I tuck that little piece of information away for later. “You just let him go?”
I shrug. “Sometimes it’s easier to let people go than to fight to make them do something they don’t want to. Or, something you don’t want to do. I would have had to court-martial him if he hadn’t gone AWOL. Him leaving saved us both from doing something we didn’t want to do.”
She runs her index finger over the edge of her thumbnail thoughtfully, as if she’s contemplating whether I’m telling her the truth or not. It’s amazing how much energy and motion is contained in such a small package.
She finally looks back up at me. “What a fascinating life you must have led in the Army,” she whispers.
“You can’t make up the stories we tell.” The interesting parts…I don’t want to talk about those. The funny stories, the shit people won’t believe, those I don’t mind talking about. The rest?
The rest I want to leave buried in the moon dust of the desert sand.