Page 59 of Unearthed Dreams
I took a deliberate step back, putting a respectable distance between us. “Let me help with the memorial.” I kept my voicesteady, casual. Just a friend offering support. “I can handle the music. And maybe help set up?”
Something flickered in his haunted eyes—gratitude maybe, or relief that I understood the need for discretion.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” Simple. Direct. Nothing that would raise eyebrows from the morning crowd. “Billy was important to this town. He deserves to be remembered properly.”
Kai’s gaze dropped to the cardboard box on the counter, his throat bobbing. “Yeah. He does.”
“So let me help.” I slid onto the stool next to him, careful to maintain that friendly distance. “Tell me about the music he liked.”
Rosie appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and another mug, her movements deliberately slow. Giving us cover to talk. “Billy always loved his Johnny Cash,” she offered, filling my cup.
A ghost of a smile touched Kai’s lips. “Yeah. Used to play ‘Sunday Morning Coming Down’ every morning when he opened.”
“Perfect place to start then,” I said, pulling out my phone to make notes. Just two friends planning a memorial. Nothing for the gossips to see here.
But under the counter, away from prying eyes, my pinkie finger brushed his. Just once. Just enough to sayI’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
His hand trembled slightly, but he didn’t pull away.
The last notesof “Sunday Morning Coming Down” faded into silence as I gathered empty glasses from the tables. The memorial crowd had thinned to nothing, leaving behind half-empty plates of Rosie’s food and lingering traces of conversations about Billy. Tales of nights spent in this very bar, back when he was the one behind the counter instead of Kai.
Kai.
He hadn’t said much during the memorial, just nodded and accepted condolences with quiet grace. But I’d felt his eyes on me all evening as I moved through the crowd, keeping water glasses full and making sure everyone had what they needed. Always watching, never approaching. Both of us maintaining that careful distance that small towns required.
Now, in the quiet aftermath, I heard him behind the bar, the familiar clink of bottles being straightened, the soft scrape of his rag against wood. Some habits didn’t change, even on nights like this.
The cardboard box still sat on the bar where it had all evening, surrounded by framed photos people had brought. Billy behind this very bar, that legendary grin on his face. Another of him with a group of regulars, all of them holding up drinks in a toast to something long forgotten. And one, brought by Rosie, that made my heart ache—Billy and Kai, taken not long after Kai arrived in town, both of them looking uncertain but hopeful as they stood in front of the bar’s worn facade.
I set the last of the glasses on the bar, careful not to look directly at him. “Do you want me to go?”
The steady rhythm of his cleaning faltered, just for a moment. “No.”
The empty bar felt different now—more intimate withoutthe buffer of other people, more honest. Shadows stretched across the worn floorboards, and somewhere a tap dripped quietly, marking time.
Kai let out a long sigh, finally setting down his rag and looking at me. His eyes were tired, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”
The simple admission hung in the air between us, more powerful than any grand gesture could have been.
“No. You shouldn’t have.”
He ran a hand over his beard, looking at the cardboard box that held all that was left of Billy.
“Why did you do it?” I asked. “Push me away?”
He stared at the box, his fingers tracing patterns in the condensation left by the glasses I’d set down. “Never really had anybody... care.” He shrugged. “Not used to it, I guess.”
I moved closer, drawn by the raw honesty in his voice.
“Billy used to tell the same stories over and over,” Kai continued, still not looking at me. “But there was this one... about the night he met Kelsey’s mother. He’d say, ‘Sometimes life gives you these moments, these chances, and you either take them or spend forever wondering what if.’” His voice cracked slightly. “He’d tell it like it was the first time, every time. And each time, he’d end it the same way—‘I took my chance. Even knowing how it ended, I’d do it again.’”
I reached across the bar, covering his hand. This time, he didn’t pull away.
“The bar was his whole life,” Kai said roughly. “His chance at something real. And when he gave it to me... fuck, Charlie, I didn’t deserve it. Don’t deserve any of this.”
“That’s not true.” I squeezed his hand. “He chose you for a reason.”
