Page 2 of Troubles

“Finn, I need a pitcher and two cups,” I shout to him slapping ten dollars down on the bar.

“And two shots of whiskey,” Gracyn yells throwing down another ten.

Finn slides us our plastic cups before filling the pitcher. “Give us a kiss, Gracyn, and I’ll get it for you.” He’s already reaching for the bottle and a couple of shot glasses.

Gracyn leans over the bar and Finn’s eyes go wide with surprise, spilling whiskey as he pours. He thinks he has a chance, but she’s a flirt, plain and simple, so the kiss Finn thinks he’s getting? Nothing more than a peck on the cheek.

We down our shots and turn, taking in the crush of wall-to-wall bodies. There’s a tiny bit of open space by the pool tables, so I grab the pitcher and start making my way through—turning sideways, trying hard not to brush up against strangers. I breathe a sigh of relief when we’re through and fill our cups.

The band in the corner launches into their next set, filling the old bar with strains of violin and lilting voices bouncing around the room.

“Have you heard from them?” Gracyn leans in close, not so much for the noise level, but more to keep this conversation just between us.

I take a drink of the crappy beer and shake my head.

“Nothing? From any of them?”

I shake my head and sigh. “Nope. Not a word.” I should be surprised, sad, something, but this is how my family is.

Gracyn walked in on my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—bending my sister over the hood of my mom’s car on Christmas Eve.

Nope, not going there—not tonight.

“I thought I’d hear from Rob when Francie kicked him and Maryse out last month, but, nothing,” I say.

“Unreal. What a dickhead. Hey—” She lurches at me spilling beer down my front. It doesn’t feel cold in the cup, but when it’s running down my cleavage, it’s frigid.

The icy sneering glare of Rob’s best friend, Tyler, is worse. “Watch where you’re going, bitch. You wouldn’t want to get thrown out of McBride’s.” Tyler wasn’t all that nice to me when I was dating Rob, but since we broke up, he’s been an absolute dick.

Somehow, this is my fault. I feel eyes on me from all around. I hate being the center of attention, and with bodies pressing in from all sides, my skin feels hot and too tight. I blink at the ceiling trying desperately to stem the tears starting to form. There’s no way I can make it through the tightly packed crowd before they spill and, God help me, the last thing I want is for it to get back to Rob that I’m still crying over him—because that’s exactly the story this asshole will tell.

“Oi!” A low growl comes from Francie’s new guy as he slices through the crowd like they’re not even there. “None of that—apologize to her. Now.” His voice, strong and thickly accented, carries over the band and bar noise, leaving no doubt that he’s serious. He stands with his back to me, shielding me from the rest of the room.

Gracyn reaches for the bar towel in his hand and he nods to her.

“Not my fault she spilled her drink—looks good on her though.” Tyler looks around the broad wall between us, leering at the way my shirt clings to my very obviously cold boobs.

The music has stopped, all attention is on me now and I just want to disappear.

Francie checks me with a quick look and a nod placing a warm hand on my shoulder. “Aidan, take her round back and fetch her a dry shirt from one o’ the boxes back there. I’ll take care of this one.” With a firm hand, Francie collects Tyler’s cup and chucks it in the trash. “Out, and ye’ll not come back. Go drink wit’ that bastard friend o’ yours. Off with you, then.”

The new guy, Aidan, takes the towel from Gracyn and pauses, his hand between us. He moves to try and blot at my shirt but stops, handing me the towel instead. “Erm, here.”

I clutch the white towel to my chest, trying and failing miserably to hide my discomfort.

Grabbing my hand, he pulls me in close behind him leading me to the backroom. He rifles through some boxes pulling out a clean shirt that is huge—huge. “This should do, then.”

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Your shirt’s soaked.” He rests his hands on his hips, making a point to meet my gaze.

“I meant coming to my rescue. I’m used to his shit. I’d have been fine.” I shake out the dry shirt pulling it over my head and wrap my arms around myself inside—hiding a little.

“Jesus, what are you doing?” Aidan turns on his heel, his broad back blocking the doorway. “Hang on, I’ll just—” Muttering, he pulls the door shut behind him.

I change quickly, relieved to be dry and out of the cold, clingy shirt.

The door doesn’t budge when I push at it. I knock, but the noise in the bar means the sound gets lost. Sighing, I turn to lean back against it, and pull out my phone hoping Gracyn will feel her phone vibrate, or come looking for me soon. Before I slide halfway to the floor, the door flies open and I tumble out, not at all gracefully.

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