Page 112 of Forgotten Pieces

She rushes down to the other end of the bar and I turn toward my friends. “You met her earlier?” Laney asks.

“Yeah, I accidentally ran into her around the corner. Spilled coffee all over her shirt.”

Cam laughs. “Hopefully that doesn’t hinder your chances of getting a job.”

“She was totally cool about it earlier. And it would be so perfect too. The place is just a block over.”

The teal haired bartender walks back to us with a bottle of tequila and four shot glasses. “Sorry about that. So experience?”

I nod. “I was a bar manager for an upscale piano bar in Manhattan for two-and-a-half years. Been bartending for almost six.”

“What brings you to New Orleans?”

Where do I even start?Nothing she needs to know about. “Needed a change of pace.”

“I get that.” She opens the tequila bottle and fills the four shot glasses and places one in front of each of us. “What’s your name?”

“Tacoma Calloway.”

“I like that name. So will my customers. I’m Charlie, by the way. I own this place. And it looks like you just found yourself a job.”

She raises her shot glass and we all follow suit and throw our shots back. I can’t believe she hired me on the spot like that, but I will not question her decision.

“Can you start tomorrow?”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

One Month Later

Tacoma

I sip out of my giant coffee mug that Cam got me when I moved here as I wipe down the bar. It comes in much handier for coffee than it does for vodka. Charlie keeps trying to steal it. I get why. She has a different mug with a saying on it every day I see her.

I like her a lot. She is a bit crazy but I think that’s why I like her. She reminds me of myself. I like working here too. It’s busy all the time and I am easily making enough money to cover my rent and live comfortably.

I talk to Cam and Laney almost daily. They keep checking on me to make sure I am doing okay. I lie and tell them I am. I don’t think they believe me but they don’t push me.

I’ve done a good job ignoring Ryder’s texts and calls. His texts are easy to ignore, but his calls burn every fiber of my being. He calls me every day and leaves me voicemails. It started with pleading to get me back but has turned into him telling me about his day, his plans with the Marines, and his PTSD. I think it helps him cope, pretending I am there to listen. I only listen to the messages when I am alone. The pain is too unbearable to face in public. I am surprised I have any tears left in me every day when I cry as I listen to his voicemail.

I worked a mid-shift today and sit at the bar for my shift drink when my phone rings. It’s eight o’clock. And like clockwork, I know it’s Ryder. I want to answer. I want to hear the gravel of his voice. I want him to tell me the things he does every day, but this time I want to answer him.

But I can’t. I can’t let myself live through any more pain. I bite down on my fist as tears threaten to come. It only lasts as long as the phone rings. Once it stops the pain dissipates.

I sip my martini and as soon as I set it down my phone rings again. I go to ignore it thinking it’s Ryder, although he never calls twice, but when I glance down, I see my sister’s name flashing on the screen. I grab my drink and head outside to take the call.

“Hey Rae.”

“Are you working? It’s loud.”

“Sorry,” I respond as I push my way through the back door to the quietness of the alley. “I’m outside now.”

“How is life going? I haven’t heard from you in over a week.”

I feel bad I haven’t talked to Raelynn. Both she and Easton call me frequently to check up on me. I am tired of everyone checking on me. They know what happened. They know what Ryder meant to me. It’s not going to be easy for me to get over. It wasn’t the first time. This time is even worse.

“Great,” I finally answer. “Been busy working.”

“What about everything else? How are you doing?”

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