Page 9 of Bee

"No it's not. Come on, let's get this over with." He grabs hold of the door from me and I make my way out.

The very second I step outside I'm grateful for Rye being here next to me. He's a safety net I never thought I'd need again. Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to do once the net is gone.

4

Rye

To say the day has flown by is an understatement.

I didn't waste much time taking Bee back to the motorcycle clubhouse down the road. It was closer than I originally thought. The second I watched her walk in the door I peeled out of there like my ass was on fire.

She's a problem. I can tell just from the way she handles herself. I have a weak spot for problems.

I was married to a woman who had more issues than playboy magazine, but that didn't stop me from falling hard for other women who tend to make my life much harder than it needs to be. I finally got the need to be a savior out of my system, and I'm not going to let little Ms. Bee come in and derail me. I'd rather be alone than have to deal with that mess again.

The issue is I wonder if I don't take the time to help her than who will. It's obvious that she's too stubborn to ask anyone for help even though she clearly needs it.

No.

I'm not going to do it again.

The bar is buzzing with its usual crowd, a mix of laughter and clinking glasses under the dim, flickering lights. I wipe down the counter, the familiar scent of spilled beer and old whiskey filling my nostrils. The walls are plastered with old concert posters and the occasional neon sign flickering half-heartedly. It’s a dive, no doubt about it, but it’s our dive—a second home for the regulars who come here to forget the world outside.

I glance around the room. At the far end, Mr. Thompson is nursing his usual bourbon, his weathered face creased into a frown as he watches the game on the small TV mounted in the corner. Next to him, Sarah and Jess are giggling over a round of shots, their laughter light, but I can see the tension in Jess’s eyes. She’s been through a lot lately, just like many of the others here.

But it’s the door that keeps pulling my attention. Every time it swings open, a rush of cold air slips inside, and my heart skips a beat. I can’t help but hope it’s Bee, but as the minutes crawl by, the reality weighs heavier on me. Part of me wants her to walk through that door, to reclaim her space here, but the bigger part of me knows she needs to heal. Last night still haunts me, the memory of her fear and pain etched into my mind.

I pour a drink for a newcomer, a tall guy with a scruffy beard and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He seems harmless enough, but I keep an eye on him, as I do with everyone. The bar is a sanctuary, but it can quickly turn chaotic if I let my guard down. I focus on my duties, serving drinks and cracking jokes, trying to keep the mood light, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Bee.

I remember the way she looked, shaken, vulnerable. I knew she had a drinking problem, but I didn’t realize how deep it went until last night. I should have seen the signs. I should have done more to protect her. The guilt gnaws at me, sharper than any knife.

Another glance at the door. I catch a glimpse of a couple of regulars, but no Bee. I pour another drink for Mr. Thompson and listen to him grumble about the game. It’s comforting, in a way, the rhythm of bar life, but it’s missing something without her presence.

Every laugh, every cheer feels incomplete. The bar is alive, but it’s as if a shadow lingers in the corner where she should be. I take a deep breath, focusing on the tasks at hand, but I can’t shake the worry that’s settled in my chest.

“Hey, Rye!” Sarah calls out, snapping me back to reality. “Another round over here!”

I nod, forcing a smile as I move to fill their glasses. The steady humdrum sounds has become my life but I can't help but wish for a little bit of excitement.

11:50, ten minutes to midnight my dose of excitement comes bursting through the door.

"Why is it always so dead in here?" Bee shouts and a few of the regulars whoop and clap when they see her. She has a way of lighting up the room.

My eyes stay glued onto her as she saunters wobbly over to the bar.

"How's it hanging, Rye?" She calls over the noise and sits on one of the stools.

I did want to see her again just to make sure she was okay but now that I see her and can tell she's really not okay I'm so disappointed she decided to come.

"What are you doing here, Bee?" I question not even attempting to keep the anger out of my voice.

"What do you mean. I made you a promise." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. Too much for her to be carrying around and flashing like that.

"Jesus Christ, put that away."

"What do you mean put it away. I'm paying my bill for last night. Did you forget?" She smirks at me but she has to put her hand up to her mouth to stop a hiccup.

"You're wasted, already."

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