Martinis After Dark (Bernadette's Book 1)

by Gina Drayer

  “Thank you,” she croaked.

  “Now, you need to rest.” He pulled out a vial from his pocket and started checking the various machines she was hooked up to. “I came in to give you your meds. You’re going to be in sleepy town in a few seconds after that. We can discuss your secret rendezvous later.”

  Early the next morning, after a short phone call, Dan wheeled her past the guard and down the hall. Her pulse sped up. She had no idea what to say to Dylon. Would he be angry? He’d lost everything because of her. He’d provided her a safety net, and she had lied and kept things from him. She’d led Christian to him. She’d been crushed by his disappointment; she wasn’t sure she could live with his hate.

  Her nerves got the better of her, and she was about to call out for Dan to take her back to her room when she spotted him, coming up the hall on a set of crutches. Her stomach lurched, and she blinked back a few sudden tears.

  Neither of them spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Unable to stand the silence any longer, Lee swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to apologize.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, unable to say anything else.

  “They wouldn’t let me see you.” He reached down and wiped the tears from her face. “I thought you were going to die. I don’t know what I would have done if things had ended differently.”

  “I’m okay,” she said and sniffed. “I should be out in a few days.”

  Dan came out of the little room and cleared his throat. He’d warned her that she’d only have a few minutes, but it wasn’t enough time. There was too much left unsaid. Dylon turned around and nodded to the nurse.

  “That’s my cue. When you get out of here, don’t leave. We need to talk. There’s a lot I need to say, and this isn’t the right time.” Dylon leaned down, and she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead his eyes moved over her face and down to her hand. “God, I’m afraid to even touch you. I wish I could kill that bastard again.” He picked up her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “Come see me.”

  Lee sniffed and nodded. Dan came around and nodded to Dylon before wheeling her into the small CT room. It wasn’t the reunion she’d hoped for, but the fact that he wanted to see her at all was a miracle.

  Over the next few days, Lee was in and out of consciousness. The swelling was completely gone, and there didn’t seem to be any lasting effects from the head trauma, but the medication she was on knocked her out. Every time she woke, she asked about when she’d be able to get out, and the answer always seemed to be the same. The doctors assured her that she’d be able to leave in a few days, but a few days turned into a week.

  After the visit in the hall, Lee stopped asking to see Dylon, knowing that there was nothing she could do while she was still in the hospital. Once she was feeling better, she tried to call so she could hear his voice, but the number just rang.

  It was probably for the best. There was a lot that needed to be said, and a phone call wouldn’t cut it. She passed a message on through Janet, letting him know she’d be in touch as soon as she could. Which was going to be sooner rather than later. Even if she had to leave the hospital against medical advice.

  Chapter Twenty

  The acrid smell of smoke that lingered in the bar was still strong enough to sting Dylon’s nostrils. The scene around them was depressing. While the interior of Bernadette’s was mostly untouched by the fire, everything was soaked. The walls, the floors, the furniture. Everything.

  Walking around the room was a challenge. Broken glass and chunks of drywall crunched ominously underfoot. The firefighters hadn’t been gentle when they busted through to put out the fire. There were holes in the wall, broken furnishings, and bottles everywhere. But the place was still standing. That was something to be thankful for.

  “The insurance agent offered me a settlement,” he said to Cash. “The repairs are going to be more than the building is worth.”

  “It’s a good thing you have a friend with a construction company,” Cash said. “We’ll make it work. I can save you thousands on labor alone.”

  “You know I can’t let you do that. Especially with a baby on the way.” Dylon looked around the room again and sighed. “You’ve already given me a place to live until I can figure this out.”

  “It’s not charity. You’d do the same for me,” Cash said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “How about we trade? I discount the labor and get material at cost for a lifetime of free drinks.”

  “But just for you. Your wife likes to drink the expensive stuff.” Dylon looked back at his friend and smiled for the first time that day. He’d never figure out how he got to be so lucky. His friends had rallied around him, helping out with anything and everything.

  Cash surveyed the room once again. “The upstairs is going to be a challenge. And even though the fire didn’t make it to the ground floor, you’re going to have to replace almost everything. But with my help, we can bring her back to life.”

  “Do you think you can save the bar?” Dylon asked.

  It was one of the only things Dylon and Roxie hadn’t changed when they took over Bernadette's. His uncle and aunt’s initials were carved into the hardwood top with the year they’d opened: 1982.

  He’d spent a good number of hours sitting at that bar. It was the place he’d had his first beer and where he’d learned to mix drinks. It was also where he’d sat, listening to lectures from his uncle when he got in trouble as a teen.

  One particular four-a.m. lecture stayed with him. He’d been picked up for joyriding when he was fourteen, and instead of punishing him, his uncle had sat him down, man to man, and talked to him. That was the first time Dylon ever felt a connection with an adult. It wasn’t long after that when his aunt had sat Roxie and him at that bar to tell them their mother was giving up parental rights. It was a bittersweet moment in his life.

  And most recently, it was there, over late-night martinis, that he’d fallen in love with Lee.

  “I’m not sure,” Cash said and walked over to the bar to check it out. “The surround paneling needs to be replaced, but the top is good. There are enough layers of lacquer on that old wood, I think it could survive almost anything.”

  “How long until I’m open again?” Dylon asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. The insurance money was paying for the repairs, but unfortunately, they turned down the extra coverage that asshole had taken out because of the arson, and there wouldn’t be much left to cover the lost revenue.

  Cash patted his back sympathetically. “As bad as this looks, the cleanup downstairs should only take a few weeks. Luckily, the structural engineer says that the building is sound. Most of the damage was confined to the third floor. The inspectors said you can use the downstairs rooms as soon as we rewire the electrical. You’ll have to close off the upper floors for months.”

  “So basically I’m going to be homeless,” Dylon said with a sigh.

  “You could always take the insurance company’s offer and walk away," Cash said. “You could start over.”

  "Walk away and not rebuild?''

  “It’s an option. I wouldn’t think any less of you if you didn’t want to deal with all this."

  “I don’t know,” Dylon said. “This has been my life for so long.”

  Dylon went to the bar and ran his hand over the gorgeous mahogany. He traced his uncle’s initials. It was intact. A little waterlogged, but intact.

  He stepped around the counter, and without knowing why, he poked around the debris. He’d always been at home behind the bar, and that’s where he wanted to be as he weighed his options. Cash went back to directing his crew. Dylon knew his pal was right about one thing; it wasn’t going to be easy.

  Then he realized why he was poking around. There were things here, artifacts from his life, that told a story. He reached down to the shelf under the bar and pulled out a dish towel. Hiding underneath was a paperback novel. He remembered Lee reading it on slow nights. She hid it under the towel, not knowing h
e’d seen her reading it. He picked up the book and flipped through the pages. It was a romance novel with a half-naked man on the cover.

  It was almost funny. So much had been damaged beyond recognition and yet this paperback survived with nothing more than a towel for shelter. He put it on the bar so he could give it to her when she came back. And she was going to come back.

  Cash raised his eyebrow at the book.

  “I don't think she finished this," Dylon said.

  "Who?"

  “Lee. She left the book here. Strange how a paperback, of all things, survived the water?”

  “Not really,” Cash said with a shrug, unimpressed. “I’ve done enough fire repair. There's no rhyme or reason to what survives. The oddest things are left untouched. I was called in for a demo on this house that was completely destroyed, but I found a teddy bear in the middle of all the charred remains, untouched. Not one other thing was recognizable.”

  “I think it’s trying to tell me something,” Dylon said.

  That earned him a smile. “So tell me what that book is saying.”

  “I don’t know. Not yet.”

  Dylon looked around again. He was looking for another piece of the puzzle. Something that would link everything together. But then again, maybe he was just looking for a sign.

  And there it was, sitting on the rubber mat in the corner—his hat. He’d left it on the bar after his last shift and thought it was gone with the rest of his things, but there it was. It was a little wet, but otherwise okay. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You're wrong," he told Cash.

  “I’m often wrong according to Kim,” he said with a laugh. “What about this time?"

  "It isn't random. What's left after all the destruction tells you that there’s always hope."

  “You think so?”

  He held up the hat and looked around. The place looked different to him now, less a total loss and more promise. The bar would be cleaned up and repaired. As he looked around, he felt familiar feeling, and he laughed. It was the way he felt when his uncle offered him the keys.

  “My hat survived.” He put it on his head and checked his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “It's a sign—a good fucking omen. It’s telling me that there’s still something here worth saving.”

  “Then I’m with you. All the way,” Cash said and handed him the clipboard. “I’ve already contacted an electrician, just sign where I’ve marked."

  Dylon laughed. “You had this ready for me?”

  “Yup.”

  “You knew what I'd do before I did.”

  His friend nodded. “You would never let this place go. It’s as much a part of you as those tattoos.” Cash looked around the room and smiled. “And besides, where would I come for drinks if you closed down?”

  “Why don’t we talk about the next few months, so I can get out of your spare bedroom?”

  Lee knew that the walk from the subway exit to the bar was only two blocks, but it seemed endless. Her feet felt like lead. She needed to see the damage, the havoc she’d caused. She’d seen the reports on television, lying in the hospital bed. She’d seen the charred brick on the third floor that used to be her bedroom, but she needed to see the damage in person.

  It was her fault that Christian had burned down Dylon’s building. She had chosen to hide from him there, knowing he was after her. She had brought trouble right to his doorstep.

  Everyone would be better off if she’d left town, gone away on that damn bus right after the break-in at Summer’s place. But she’d come here, involved Dylon, and stayed until he had to throw her out. It was her stubbornness that had gotten Dylon caught up in her drama.

  The only good thing that came out of the whole mess was Christian had been killed and couldn’t hurt the people around her anymore. The ADA had warned her that she could still be at risk from Del Rossi. But she’d picked up from Christian’s insane raving that the only person Del Rossi was interested in punishing had been Christian. No one was after her now, according to Janet. Without Christian, there would be no trial. Because of that, Del Rossi had no reason to hunt her down.

  She was free. Absolutely free. But her life was just as ruined as the bar.

  She hadn’t seen Dylon since that day in the hospital, and that memory felt like a blur that her imagination had summoned up. It wasn’t until he’d kissed her and wrapped those powerful arms around her that he felt real, but by then Dan was ushering her back down the hall.

  As soon as the doctors gave her a clean bill of health—sort of—she’d left the hospital. They’d wanted her to do rehab and home care, but she couldn’t wait any longer. Still sore and with faded bruises covering her face, Lee headed back to the only home she knew. But she didn’t even know if Dylon would welcome her. He may have come to check up on her, but that didn’t mean he’d forgiven her.

  Like the criminals in TV dramas, she felt the need to return to the scene of the crime and to see firsthand the damage she’d caused. The entire trip there, her stomach was in knots. Facing Dylon after what had happened terrified her, but she had to do it.

  Outside the bar, other than broken upstairs windows and some charring on the brick, the building looked normal. While she took in the place, a guy she didn’t know came out carrying a broken stool. She waved him down.

  "Is Dylon Knightly around?'' she asked.

  The man jerked a thumb, pointing inside the bar. “You’ll find him in there somewhere. But you can’t go in. It’s not safe.”

  “I’m his … Uhm, I used to work here,” she said. “We’re friends.”

  Who was she to him anymore? That was the question. She didn’t even know whether he’d consider her a friend. As much as she hated and regretted everything to do with Christian, the idea that Dylon might despise her was worse. He couldn’t love her after what she’d done. She knew that much. But maybe over time he could forgive her. She’d do whatever it took.

  “I really need to talk to him,” she said.

  “I’m not going to stop you,” the worker said, shifting his load from one arm to the other, “but don’t be surprised if the foreman kicks you out.”

  Lee took a deep breath and went into the bar. It was dark. The damp from the fire hoses still permeated the place, as did the lingering smoke.

  Her first glimpse of Dylon was surreal and somehow seemed perfect. He stood in the wreckage of Bernadette’s with his back to her—a heroic figure in black and white, illuminated by a spotlight. He was dressed as he always was, as if he had come to this place expecting to walk behind his bar and start serving drinks at any moment. And of course, he had on that hat.

  She remembered her first night in Bernadette’s sipping her vodka martini light years ago. She hardly remembered that woman and her dismissive impression of him. Dylon was not supposed to be her kind of man. But he ended up being the only man she could see spending her life with.

  It was impossible to reconcile her feelings for him now with that first ignorant impression. She loved the man, and seeing him surrounded by all that he’d lost made her heart want to burst. It was agony enough to know he’d suffered such a devastating loss, but it was a thousand times worse to know she was the cause.

  The acute, powerful feelings overwhelmed her and kept her from approaching him. She simply watched. Dressed in his uniform of T-shirt, slacks, suspenders and his stupid hat, Dylon was an incongruous figure against the backdrop of the ruined husk of a building.

  Conflicting desires wrestled over her heart, tearing it apart. Part of her cried out to turn around and walk away. She had hurt him, and he would be better off if she just left. Another, more persistent part of her screamed at her to run to him, to throw her arms around him.

  That conflict held her, frozen in place, unable to move and trembling on the edge of breaking into tears.

  Cash caught sight of her at the door. His lips curled in an almost imperceptible smile and he turned to the center of the room. “All right guys, lunch,” he announced in
a booming voice. “Everybody out. Sandwiches from the deli up the street are on me.” He slapped Dylon’s arm when he started toward the back and nodded his head in Lee’s direction. “I think you already have a lunch date.”

  Dylon turned and saw her. He didn’t say anything at first, and her mouth went dry.

  “I’m here about the ad in the paper,” she said unsteadily. “I need a place to live. You see, I had this great place, and I screwed it all up.”

  “Lee. You’re really here.”

  The simple observation told her nothing about what he thought or felt. Nervously, she took a step forward. “I am.”

  “And you’re okay?” he asked, still not betraying what he was thinking.

  She shrugged. “Bruised, sore, and a little weak from being in the hospital for so long.”

  Her heart raced, pounding in her chest.

  I survived because of you, she wanted to cry and throw herself at his feet. I love you, please forgive me.

  “I’m glad.” He raised his hands, indicating the destruction. “Sorry. The apartment isn’t available anymore. The last tenant was kind of rowdy. As you can see, the place needs a bit of cleaning up before I can open again."

  He kept his distance, and Lee tried not to let it wound her too much. She didn’t deserve anything more. “You plan on reopening?" she asked, swallowing her heartache.

  “I have to. This is where I belong. I just have to figure out how to do it,” he said.

  He was right; she couldn’t see him anywhere else but behind that bar. She looked around, trying to imagine it restored. “You can do it. I’m convinced you can do anything.”

  He’d crossed the room and was now standing a few inches away. “I could with your help. Do you want a job keeping the books?”

  Her heart pounded in her ears. “You want me to help, to stay?”

  “Someone has to do the books, and you know how I am with that sort of thing. If you want to.” He frowned. "I wouldn't be able to pay you."