Page 24 of Hemlock

I can't help but feel a sense of failure with how things are going right now.

Chapter 12

Zara

"You don't look very festive," Jersey says, his eyes turned down to his beer bottle as if the brown glass holds answers to questions he's afraid to ask.

"Figured a Santa hat wouldn't go over very well for anyone in here today," I mutter, my tone matching his.

"Sharon left me," he says, resignation in his tone. "Took the kids to her mom's house."

"Finally had enough of your shit, huh?"

I glare at Carlen, another regular to the bar, my eyes saying all the things I know my mouth never will. I may be the kind of person these people want to spill their secrets to, but I'm in no position to give advice, and I'd never voice my judgments even though they run on repeat in my head most days.

"Yeah," Jersey answers, no anger in his tone.

What stage is acceptance? I can't remember.

"Another beer?" I ask the depressed man because that's what I'm here for.

Once again he stares at the bottle, knowing it's probably the root of so many of his problems. I don't think Jersey is a bad man, but any wife and mother would have a problem with practically being a single parent because their spouse spends all their extra time and way too much money at the bar.

"Sure," he says, releasing the empty beer bottle so I can replace it with a fresh one.

"Edith swindle you into taking this shift?" Carlen asks. "She has worked it every year for as long as I can remember."

"I offered," I tell him with a shrug, wiping down the bar in front of him. "Figured she'd like to spend it with her grandkids."

"The ones she's always bitching about being ungrateful little shits?" he scoffs. "I bet she blames you for having a horrible holiday the second she's back on shift."

The idea of this makes me smile. Edith complains quite a lot, but I think it's just part of her personality. The woman never fails to make me laugh.

The front door opens up, pulling all of our attention, but instead of it being another regular here to drink their holiday sorrows away, Owen walks inside, his eyes locking on mine the second he spots me.

"Fucking great," Jersey mutters, but I ignore him.

Instead of giving Owen a hard time like I did last night, I pull a beer from the fridge and have it waiting on the bar before he can even sit down. He nods his head in appreciation, not bothering to look around the bar to see who else might be here.

He doesn't speak, doesn't taunt me about last night, but the simple gleam in his eyes tells me that he knows I can still feel the echo of him deep inside of me. He twists off the top of his beer, and my eyes drop to his mouth as he takes his first sip, his tongue lashing out to capture a stray drop that clings to his bottom lip.

I swear I feel the swipe of it on my skin, and the sparkle in his eyes tells me every one of his secrets.

I take the twenty he slides across the bar, not knowing how I should feel when he waves off his change.

Is it a thank you for last night? Payment for last night? Is he hoping I leave him the fuck alone? Does he want to meet again tonight?

A million questions swirl in my head as I shove the bill into the tip jar and turn my attention back to Jersey and Carlen, but neither man wants to speak. They'd rather drill holes in the side of Owen's head, the man quite content to just stare in my direction rather than acknowledge the attention he's getting from elsewhere.

Jersey, feeling more than a little sorry for himself, cashes out before leaving. Carlen doesn't stay much longer after his friend, and it leaves just Owen and I alone in the bar.

I could ignore him the way I did last night, but I find it more than impossible to do so with a million questions bouncing around in my head.

I wipe down the counter in front of him.

"It's clean," he says, his voice flat and emotionless.

"How did you know where I lived?"

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