Page 5 of Bartender Daddy's Girl
3
JUDGE
Ican’t say for certain what it is about her. Why I care and want to help. But I do.
Almost like some divine and holy being came down and touched me on the shoulder when she walked through my door. Whispered in my ear that this one is yours, and you’d better keep her safe. Hell, I’d have trusted the instinct if it came from my gut, but this is something different.
Every fiber in my being burns to see her smile. Wants to wipe away non-existent tears and tell her that everything’s going to be alright. Show her that the world does have good to combat the evil.
Guess it helps that a man like me treads the line very carefully.
Hours have passed since I left her upstairs. The day has turned to night, and my bar is busier than usual. Shouldn’t be surprised. Word travels fast in these small towns, and now the people are eager to lay their eyes on the man who delivered an ass beating of biblical proportions to two of their own.
My first instinct was to expect rowdiness. Another batch of tough bastards coming out to challenge me. Twenty years ago, it was the kind of stupid shit I’d do to pass some time. Look for the biggest guy I could find, and show him that I’m top dog now. To my surprise, it’s been a pleasant evening so far.
Laura’s parents stopped by to say thanks for what I’d done. Felt peculiar. Unwanted and unwarranted. I don’t do what I do to get handshakes and praise; I do it because people like Laura can’t do it themselves. Someone has to step up for those being weighed down.
“Are we expecting trouble, Judge?” Frasier asks from the seat he hasn’t gotten out of all afternoon.
Ah, who am I kidding? Apart from catching some sleep and taking a piss, he never leaves that seat.
“Doubt it.” I scan the crowd. We’re a few hours in now, and a couple of tables are getting rowdier after their third rounds, but I don’t see anyone giving my waitresses trouble.
And a busy night like this would be their opportune time. People along the bar blocking my view of the main hall. Tables packed with friends, families, and the odd straggler hanging around in the back corners. Noise levels so high, I have to stand real close to Frasier to hear what he’s saying.
Yeah, there’s no better time for shenanigans. Yet, no complaints have come my way. Everyone in my pub is on their best behavior, and I couldn’t be happier.
“I don’t mean with them,” Frasier shoves the end of a hand-rolled cigarette into his mouth and lights up.
“I’m talking about the girl upstairs.”
I look at him sideways, eyes narrowing and jaw flexing. He’s lucky I like him, or my response might’ve been very different. “Probably, but when isn’t there trouble?”
He scoffs and ashes his cig. “You’ve got a point there.”
“I’ve got a more important question.”
It’s not that I don’t want to talk about Carrie; in fact, it’s the opposite. Any time I think about her, my body starts burning up. Feels like I’m blushing, but the heat isn’t quite the same. It barrels out from my core and leaves me weak-kneed and desperate for another moment in her presence. To see another attempted smile that hides her woes so well. “How the hell did I agree to buying a bar with you, and you don’t do any of the work?”
“Age and wisdom, my friend.” Frasier slams a flat palm against the bar counter, belting out a laugh that catches way too much attention. “Give it time and you’ll learn all the secrets.”
“Someone sell you a course on the secrets of laziness?” I roll my eyes at him and look away.
Only to see Carrie descending the staircase slowly. Her focus darting from one end of my bar to the other as she inspects the patrons. Searching for a familiar face, maybe, but not in hopes that they’re here to get her out. It’s the same panicked gaze I saw when she entered this afternoon.
“Man the bar a second, will you?” I speak to Frasier, but don’t take my eyes off Carrie.
“Sure.” He stands and wraps around the closer side opening. “But I’m gonna be grumbling while I do it.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” I’m already walking away.
I brush past a few people, almost in a hurried jog, to reach the flight of stairs. I arrive too late, finding Carrie had completed her descent and was no doubt wading through the sea of people to meet me at the bar. If it weren’t for that horrified look in her eye, I might’ve chuckled at my mistake. Played it off as both of us being too eager.
But this is no laughing matter.
“My, my, what do we have here?” A man asks, and as soon as the question hits my ear, my blood starts to burn. Spinning on my heels to see who spoke it doesn’t do a damn thing to calm me.
Some balding fuck sitting at a table of three is the speaker. One of the others catcalls but doesn’t get involved in the conversation. Smart move on his part. It might end up saving him a trip to the emergency room.
