Page 52 of Veil of Death and Shadow

While I’d love nothing more than to break Chase’s nose one of these days, I reminded myself, as I did every shift I shared with him, why I couldn’t. One, I needed this job. Two, as much as I hated Chase, I deeply appreciated his dad. And his dad probably wouldn’t like it if I broke his son’s nose. Three, without his dad, I wouldn’t have a job.

Chase wasn’t entirely wrong—his dad had broken a lot of the usual rules for me. Frank introduced me to him awhile back, and he took a chance on me when no one else would. He was also willing to pay me under the table. Illegal, sure, but it was the sort of law skirting I was desperately thankful for.

"Right, um, follow me I guess." I grabbed a menu and walked him over to the bar, grimacing slightly when I realized it was still sticky.

Chase never cleaned when he knew I was coming in.

I felt both of their stares on me as I wiped the faux wood surface down, then left them to it. Chances were Chase hadn't done any of his own prep work necessary for the dinner service either, which meant that I had more than usual to get through.

As expected, it was a slower night, and I caught myself staring at the stranger more than once in the long stretches between seating my next table. He hadn't moved from his stool once during my shift, but it looked like he’d transitioned away from booze and on to water and food instead. Probably smart and would also explain how he was still relatively clear-eyed.

More than once, I noticed him whispering to Chase, the ever-present frown-lines etched along Chase’s forehead mysteriously absent. That almost never happened when I worked with him. He looked oddly . . . kind when his face wasn’t contorted in constant, righteous anger.

Curiosity peaked, I found myself making excuses to pass by the bar, hoping to pick up on a sliver of their conversation—but whenever I got within hearing distance, they stopped talking.

Generally, I had to run my drinks from the bar to my tables, but Chase handled the drop-offs on his own—a bizarre occurrence in and of itself. He'd even bussed half of my tables, something he literally never did, even when his station was slow and mine was bustling.

In fact, I was usually the one takinghiscustomer's empty dishes to the guys in the back.

I did my best to ignore the man for most of the night, but something about him kept drawing my focus. I caught myself staring at the back of his head while wrapping silverware orpeeking out at him behind the kitchen doors while prepping side dishes for my tables.

When I ushered my final table out the door, I expected Chase to kick the guy out or cut him off. He didn't.

We closed early on Mondays, but Chase switched the sign to ‘closed’ a full hour before usual.

He nodded to me. “You can take off when you’re closed out.”

My head shot up. “Really?”

There was a flash of annoyance in his expression, but it dissolved with one glance at the stranger. “Really. I appreciate you coming in and covering tonight. You didn’t need to. I’ll handle the leftover closing work—you go enjoy the rest of your evening.”

I froze, lost for words—my mouth gaping open like a fish.

The stranger glanced at me out of the side of his eyes, the corner of his mouth curving up as he took a long sip of water, draining the glass down to ice.

Chase started shutting down the bar, and I watched him for a full minute, half-expecting him to vomit up whatever alien had possessed him.

But no alien emerged, and when he stopped working to glare at me, I decided to just go with it.

First time for everything, apparently.

I shot Sora a text, letting her know about the extraterrestrial event and that I’d be done in ten minutes.

When I closed out my final tabs and pulled out some cash to tip Chase out, she walked in, ignoring the red “closed” sign at eye-level.

Her eyes were dry, but I could tell from her expression that the breakup had gone poorly. Sora was never the sort to wear her pain where it could be easily dissected by outsiders.

She clutched a bottle in a large paper bag at her side, shooting a wary look at me when she noticed Chase.

“Sorry,” she mouthed, “forgot he was here.”

Typically, Chase kicked her out whenever she came in after closing, but today he just smiled at her and waved her in before getting back to the dishes. As in . . . he was actually washing the barware . . . on his own.

Her brows shot up, shocked, and she waved back, the movement stilted and awkward. Spotting the stranger, her face lit up and she slid onto the stool next to him. She shifted slowly, keeping her attention on Chase, as if afraid that she might jostle therealChase back into his body with any sudden movements.

"Almost done, just need to grab my bag from the back." I slid the envelope of tips towards Chase, but with a quick glance at the stranger, he slid it back to me, an odd, forced grin on his face. Odd because I’d never seen him smile without a tone of maliciousness behind it. This smile was almost . . . earnest.

"Keep it all, you earned it tonight." His brows bent in confusion, as if his words were as much of a shock to him as they were to me, his tongue unfamiliar with shaping them.

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