I glance at the ceiling, swearing internally.
Of course. The one heterosexual man to ever chat me up out of his own accord has to be the enemy.
Not mine, my father’s, but it doesn’t change much.
“I wasn’t asking for permission,” he says, his voice low and rough like that of old rockers.
I crash with reality when Tayler rests his back on the bar beside me.
“I’ve got money, Tayler. I’ve got this.”
“I know you do. Which is why you’ll buy the next round. I’m sure wherever you spent your evenings back in Chicago was a lot fancier than this, but it’s not that bad, right?”
Most people around us return to their conversations, but a few still watch me with curious eyes. Mostly older men with large beer bellies and long beards, but there’s also a group of young guys in the corner whispering among themselves, their eyes darting to me every few seconds. Jean’s still at our table by the pool. Rick stands nearby, engrossed in a conversation with a tall, broad, tattooed man in his early thirties. A deep scar runs from his left eye down his cheek, disappearing under his immaculately trimmed beard.
“That’s Archer,” Tayler says in a hushed voice, following my line of sight. “He and Rick served together for a couple of years. I don’t like the guy.”
A note of envy rings in his voice, making me chuckle. Tayler might be the most insecure man I’ve ever met. Archer’s head snaps in our direction as if he can hear me above the hum of the chatting crowd and the upbeat music seeping from a vintage jukebox. His eyes slowly float down my body in a shameless once-over. I feel exposed. Almost vulnerable under his scorching gaze. My pulse would skyrocket if Dante were in his place, but Archer’s open staring makes me uncomfortable.
“Oh, great,” Tayler huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Looks like he’s into you. He’s an ass, Layla, he—”
“Don’teven start.” I spin back around, focusing on the barmaid and the beers she’s pouring. “I’m not interested in him or anyone else.”
“Good. Well, not good that you’re not into anyone, but good that you’re not into Archer. He’s not worth your time.”
He grabs the tray with beers that Sydney pushed his way and crosses the room, his steps small and careful so he won’t spill a single drop. Once I’m comfortable in my seat, clutching the cool glass of beer, Jean and Tayler move away to set up the first game. My skin crawls, ears burn, and I’m pretty sure Archer is still watching me, but I don’t turn to check.
“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” Rick comes back to our table when Jean’s almost done humiliating Tayler. She put most of her balls in the pockets while he only managed two.
“No, I’m honestly not very good at games.” I laugh to myself, remembering my poor attempt at bowling.
There are more balls here, and even though I wouldn’t do much damage with those, the long wooden stick could prove a weapon of mass murder in my hands. We talk until Tayler loses and Rick takes his place. Jean doesn’t sit down for the next four games because Tayler lets her win every time. His over-the-top chivalry doesn’t appease her, though. The truth is, she’s well aware of his feelings but never asked him to stop hoping. It’d save the guy time and effort, but I think Jean enjoys being wooed.
The beer glass in my hand empties slowly. It’s not the bitter taste that stops me from upping the tempo. I’m just not in the mood for a bar outing. I’d rather curl into a ball in bed because evenings are the worst. Longing hits hard as if the fact I lived through another dayalonedoesn’t mean anything. Still, moping in bed won’t do me any better than sitting at the table and watching my cousin win time after time. An hour goes by before I head to the bar for another round.
Archer’s piercing gaze catches mine as I rise from my seat. He’s in the corner of the room, alone.
Why wouldn’t Rick invite him to join us?
He offers me a one-sided smile, but I’m not about to give him the green light in case he gets up to start a conversation. Instead, I nod, aiming for a stern look on my face, and walk away, feeling his eyes follow my every move.
“Four beers,” I say, stopping at the bar.
This time, Sydney doesn’t bother asking for ID, and no one pays me any attention as I stand there, waiting for her to pour the beers. I can’t say it’s growing on me, but I could get used to the bitter taste.
I rest my elbows on the countertop, hiding my face in my hands. Jean’s words echo in my head, tempting, taunting, and confusing the ever-loving hell out of me.
“You hope he’s looking for you, Layla. You want him to find you because you think he’ll forgive you.”
Naive.That’s what I’ve been called my whole life by my father, mother, and everyone on my path. Even Dante said that once, but it ends now. I’m too trusting for my own good. I might wear my heart on my sleeve, but I refuse to be naive anymore. Frank brainwashed me to the point where I lost all sense of right or wrong. Once he died, the hold he had on me died too. My mind cleared of the clutter.
Dante won’t forgive my sins, but he won’t hurt me, either. He loved me with everything he had. That kind of love doesn’t disappear or fizzle out. It stays with us forever, lingering in the depths of our hearts. No, Dante won’t hurt me. He won’t find me to put a bullet through my head. He won’t find me, period. What now seems like a lifetime ago, he made me a promise... although I deserve worse, it hurts more than anything I have experienced so far that he has no intention of keeping his promise.
“I won’t control you. I don’t have to know where you are at all times, but when you’re supposed to meet me, and you don’t show up, don’t pick up the phone, and no one knows where you are, I will look for you.” He moves closer, kissing my lips. “Always.” He kisses again. “Until I find you.”
“You good?” Rick nudges me gently. “C’mon. I’ll help you with this.” He grabs two beers from the countertop, waiting until I take the other two. “Stop tormenting yourself, Layla. Dwelling on the past won’t help you move forward. Youcan’tmove forward if you keep staring backward. You need to distance yourself from what you’ve done and accept that it was unavoidable. There’s nothing you can do to turn back time.”
“That’s the problem,” I say when we sit back down. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t change a thing.”