by Khan, Jen
“No, it’s not,” Braden answers.
He takes the seat across from her while Holly puts a coffee down in front of him. “Black,” she states.
“Thanks,” he remarks before taking a sip.
“What’s going on?”
“We need to talk about Emma. You’re going to answer some questions for me, okay?” he asks and Holly’s body goes rigid. Her eyes roam the shop, avoiding his.
“Holly,” he starts before she whispers, “Shit, Braden, I can’t be here with you right now.”
“I need you to talk to me. We need to help her together and she’s not letting me in very easily. What do you know about Emma breaking things off with me?”
Holly's eyes grow wide and immediately she pulls back her head, sliding her gaze to the ceiling, taking a deep breath in and out.
“Don’t do that, Holly,” he says, his voice so quiet that she almost missed it.
Her eyes slide to him and she says, “Nope. I can’t be here with you right now. If Emma finds out I was here talking about her relationship with you, she’ll freak. I don’t want her to freak. She’s had enough freak to last her a lifetime, don’t you think?” she asks.
Braden inhales deep and answers, “Something happened to her back then. She holds me at a distance. Just when I think I’m making a break in her walls, she adds more barriers. It’s like I take one step forward and three more back. I don’t know what I’m doing, Holly. Can’t you see? I need to know what happened and I know you can tell me what that is.”
“I can’t tell you anything.”
Braden opens his mouth to reply but Holly isn’t done yet. She leans forward, elbows on the table.
“If I could help you, Braden, God knows I would do it in a second. I hate seeing her beat herself up day in and day out. She is so wounded inside after all of this. Granted, she’s gotten a lot better over the past couple of months, but she is so scarred and frightened. Delgado is locked up right now and it might as well be her. She’s living in her own little prison hell. She got dealt a shitty hand.”
Braden closes his eyes and she goes on. “Her lot in life is shit. That bastard father of hers, Delgado, almost everyone who has crossed her path has either disappointed or hurt her in some way. If there was something I could do for her, if there was something that I could tell you, dammit, Braden, I would. But I can’t. She would never forgive me for telling you. You have to let her be the one to do it.”
He opens his eyes. “You do know why she ended us.”
“Yes.”
“I need to know.” He reaches across the table, taking Holly's hand. “I need to know so that I can help her. So I can fix this.”
“You can’t fix this. I know you want to. I see it all over your face. But I can’t tell you. She swore me to secrecy, and as her best friend, I have to give her that. When she is ready, she will tell you. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing. Just handle her with care.”
“She’s in so much pain, Holly.”
“I know,” she whispers.
"I need more. Please," he pleads.
“Again, only thing I can tell you is to handle her with care.”
Braden’s chest gets tight and his jaw clenches.
“I can’t say any more other than the fact that she needs you. You coming around again has been the best thing for her to get through this shit. Nothing Olivia or I could do would break through her barriers like you have just being near. I know she gives you shit sometimes, but stick with her. See it through and you won’t regret it. Please.”
Braden squeezes her hand and releases it, taking another pull of his coffee.
Holly sits back in her chair, bringing her coffee to her lips.
“Last night, Emma showed up at the bar when I was working a shift,” Braden starts. Holly’s eyes slide back to his. “She walked in and saw me talking to a girl I had a thing with not long after she broke up with me. I was hurt and lonely and got tired of not getting a response from her, so I went to Tara. She and I were sleeping together, but I ended it when Em went to the hospital. We weren’t anything serious anyhow—“
“She saw you?” Holly interrupts.
Braden nods his head. “Yeah. Emma saw us and spun so fast to try to run I almost didn’t catch her. Before she left, she could barely look at me, but when she did, Holly, the look in her eyes was filled with so much pain. It cut me deep.”
Holly nods, her eyes going to her coffee cup. “It was hard on her, Braden.”
“I understand. I never wanted her to have to know that I’d been with another, but I did and that’s been over.”
“No, that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Braden’s eyebrows go up. “No?”
“No.” She shakes her head and goes on. “It was hard on her. Breaking up with you. She was broken up about it. She didn’t want to do it.”
“Why did she?”
“She has to be the one to tell you.”
“Why can’t you tell me? Get it out now. Get this over with.”
“Because.”
“Because, why?” Braden clips, feeling himself start to lose his control on his temper.
“She. Has. To. Tell. You!” Holly fires back, clearly starting to lose her control as well.
“This is bullshit.”
“Listen, I’m not going to tell you anything. Emma is my best friend—“
“Yeah, you’ve made that loud and clear,” Braden interrupts.
“Okay, now that you got it, what I will tell you is that having to break up with you was the hardest damn thing she’s ever had to do. And you know what she’s dealt with in her life. That was the worst. It broke her down, but she had to do it. She had her reasons, and believe it or not, they’re pretty good fucking reasons. She was broken, and what Delgado did to her, what her father did…“ Holly shakes her head. “That completely shattered her.”
“What did Joe do?” Braden asks, now completely confused and getting more pissed by the second.
That piece-of-shit old man of hers is the reason why Emma has lived such a hard life. The man makes his skin crawl, and every chance he had to see him, he wondered how he’d been able to keep his cool and not strangle the motherfucker.
“I can’t say, but I promise you that when Emma is ready she will tell you everything. Just be patient and handle. With. Care. She’s going to need you even more when it all comes out if you can handle it, which I know you can, seeing as you still love her.”
“More than anything,” Braden whispers. “Never stopped.”
“I know. I see it every time you look at her.”
Braden nods. Holly covers both of his hands with her own.
“You’ll find the answers you’re looking for. But, when you do, stay strong. You’re not going to like what you hear.”
His chest gets heavy, and he is having a hell of a time catching his breath.
“When you finally get ahold of her, don’t let go again. Don’t let her run you off. She’s worth the fight to keep ahold of her.” Holly squeezes his hands. “She needs your support. You helped her heal when she fell in love with you. Now, you have to do it again. You do that and I will forever be indebted to you. I’m the closest she’s got to family besides you and your family.”
Braden leans across the table, hooks Holly on the back of her neck, bringing her closer, and kisses her on the top of the head.
She smiles at him, stands, and slings her purse over her shoulder. “Gotta get back to work. Duty calls,” she mutters, snagging her coffee cup and walking to the door. Before she leaves, she turns her head back over her shoulder to him. “You take care of my girl, right?”
“Always,” he responds, and she pushes her way through the door.
He watches Holly walk down the sidewalk to her car and sits back in his chair before taking out his phone, swiping the face, and scrolling through his contacts to send Emma a ‘good morning’ text, to which he does not get a response.
Chapter Ten
> Emma
I avoid Braden like the plague for a week. He calls, he texts, and he shows up at the apartment with lunch. I don’t answer, respond, or open the door. I even make myself scarce a couple of times by leaving the apartment so I won’t be there when he shows up.
I have enough sense to know that this isn’t his fault. This is my fault. I broke things off with him, and to have expected that he would sit around waiting for me for all of eternity was a stretch. It still hurts all the same.
He knows that I’m avoiding him. His texts and messages started out soft and sweet, but soon they became aggravated and now they have a hint of anger to them. Still, every day I get something from him.
He knows I’m hurting over finding out about him and Tara. I just need a little time to lick my wounds.
While licking those wounds and crying into a pint of ice cream every night, I still manage to go to work and not run into him.
Now, I have two weeks under my belt and things are falling into place. I am more comfortable with my management position. The regulars have taken me under their wings, and I am getting along well with the staff. We have a mutual respect for each. And then there is Murphy. He is always flirty and bringing drama into the bar. I’m convinced that the two girls who quit my first night on the job were fighting over him. He’s slept with almost every single girl in town. Well, those who aren’t smart enough to see through his bullshit. He is hot, I’ll give him that, but he is an asshole.
It hasn’t escaped me that all of the bar and wait staff are actually pretty hot, and now I am wondering if this is a prerequisite to work at Holt's. This includes Braden and Tristan, who are in and out a lot to help out during Happy Hour. It would seem as though my new specials are definitely a hit.
I wander into the back of the bar and notice Murphy leaning against the bar, flirting with a gaggle of giggling ladies. I swear the boy doesn’t work worth a shit, but he cleans up in tips, especially with the female patrons.
He grins at me. “Hey, boss.”
“Murphy,” I clip. “I see you’re keeping our fine customers smiling as usual.”
After I brush past him, I hear his footsteps following me into the office.
“So, I was hoping that I could take on a couple of extra shifts.”
“What? You barely make it to the ones you do get.”
“Oh, come on. That was one time and I’ve been faithful to you since.”
I roll my eyes as I shove my bag under the small desk in the corner of the coat-closet-sized office. I shrug off my jacket, revealing my electric blue button-up blouse and black mini skirt. Sexy yet chic.
I look Murphy up and down, noticing that he was not wearing the signature Holt's staff tee that all of the other staff members are donning.
“What are you wearing?”
He looks at his attire and shrugs. “Clothes, princess. Too much?” he smirks.
I’m going to beat this man within an inch of his fucking life.
“Where’s your staff t-shirt?”
“I don’t have one.”
I turn, looking around the office to spot the box next to the safe that holds our supply of extra shirts. I pick the pink one and slap it to his chest.
“And now you do. Change before you head back behind the bar.”
Murphy stands before me, looking confused. His thick, wavy brown hair is a little disheveled, most likely due to the cute blonde who is waiting for him outside the office door on her barstool. This guy is a serious douche, and for the life of me, I cannot imagine why he hasn’t been dropped yet.
I walk around him to the bar as he follows me.
“Come on, boss. I don’t need the shirt. I wouldn’t wear it anyhow. And, well it's pink.”
I whirl around on my heels and look up at him, pointing my finger in his chest. “If you want to work here, you will wear the shirt.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean my hip.
Murphy copies my stance. “I don’t need the shirt.”
“Then you don’t need the job.”
“Jesus, Emma. Fine, I’ll wear the damn shirt.”
I smile with this mini victory.
Then, to my utter horror, the douche puts his hand behind his head, pulls his shirt off, and smirks down at me. I could smack that look right off his face.
He takes great pride in his body. Murphy is all muscle. Not muscle like Braden and Tristan, but muscle nonetheless. Once again, if I didn’t think he was an asshole, he’d be hot.
There are whistles and cheers coming from down the bar as more customers enter. I turn to them, shining a bright, fake smile, and shrug. “His penis might be small, but he’s got great abs.”
The men start laughing, the women look disappointed, and when I turn back to Murphy, his mouth is gaping wide.
He shrugs into his brand-new pink Holt's tee and serves the newcomers like a good little boy.
As the night wears on, Murphy doesn’t give me any more shit. It’s a busy night.
Murphy and I are serving up shots and flirting with the customers. Our tip jar is filling up fast. I love the nights when I get to work it behind the bar.
Within seconds after I am slipped a number by a drunken college kid who is majoring in business up at Western Carolina University, Murphy is behind me pouring a beer. His eyebrow arch up in question.
“How many of those have you gotten so far?”
“Only ten. There was this kid, the lawyer, the doctor, the land developer, oh and the landscaper. I really liked him. He told me if I went out with him he’d give me a great deal on a hedge trimming.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him as he barks out a laugh.
He collects himself and clears his throat while shaking his head in disbelief. “You gonna take him up on that?”
“Well, it has been a while since I’ve given the proper attention to my hedges.”
Murphy laughs again and says, “You’re all right, boss. Sorry for giving you a bunch of shit earlier. Won’t happen again.” He heads down the bar to talk to one of the customers.
Hmmm…
Olivia is hanging out by the island bar I had installed for my impending pool league, talking to some customers with Juice. We talked to a few of the local leagues who decided to start playing at Holt's right after Thanksgiving. That is only a month away, and seeing as most of the guys are planning to head out of town for the holiday, they decided to wait it out until everyone gets back.
Apparently everyone who works here also hangs out here.
I am at the tap filling a pilsner when I hear it coming through the jukebox. A smile spreads across my face. I turn, setting the beer down on the service bar. Murphy slaps his palms on the top of the bar like everyone else who is sitting at the bar or at a table. The others in the bar are cat-calling, clapping, whistling, hollering, or owww-owwwing.
Everyone is watching the space in the middle of the bar where Olivia is being swung and twirled by Juice to Bad Company's "Feel Like Makin' Love." She loves this song.
Olivia's short hair is flinging around and she is laughing. Juice is also laughing and smiling big and bright for her. Shocking to me, he is a good dancer. I mean, really good.
He is twirling her around like a man who knows what he’s doing out there and in front of the entire bar.
I whistle and give a little ‘Woot woot!’ to show my support.
Juice, with his fantastic dance moves, and Olivia look like they are each enjoying it as much as the other. His body moves with the rhythm and she wears a big-ass grin. They seem like they’re having the time of their lives.
Juice spins her out to arm's length, reels her back in, grips her hip with one hand, and holds her tight to his body as he slows their movements and starts to sway.
Wow! They look great together.
Olivia gives him a big hug and he releases her just after he gives her the sweetest, most tender kiss to her temple.
I walk over to them. “What’s up!”
“My homegirl!” Olivia hollers.
Tonig
ht she has bright orange streaks through her hair. She is dressed in black leggings, black knee-high boots, and a black-and-white skull sweater dress. That has to be the coolest sweater dress I’ve ever seen. It is a short-sleeved turtleneck with a huge white skull design across the front made of roses.
Before I can get to her, Juice slams into me, lifts me up by the waist, and starts to twist me around in his arms.
I am giggling. Yes, these people make me giggle.
I really like Juice. He’s a bit of a player with the ladies, but he is a good guy deep down. Well, I guess he is a good guy as long as you aren’t sleeping with him.
He plants me back on my feet taking a pull at his beer, and tips it at the people standing around, introducing me to them. I’ve been getting to know all of them since they are here on a daily basis.
There is Bob, an older gentleman who I knew through careful observation spent most of his afternoons here playing pool and making a killing off of it. Big Pete, who is just that—big. He enjoys happy hour every afternoon and again every evening after he went home and had dinner with his family. Charlena, a petite, busty brunette who enjoys her darts and loves her Beam and Diets. Bobbie, a biker chick in her fifties donning a tight red tank with black leather pants, platform heels, and dark brown hair with striking streaks of blond. Bobbie’s biker husband Josh, a huge man who is just as comfortable in leather from head to toe with biker boots. I always wondered how the two of them could fit on a bike together until I saw his massive bike. Mike, an older man who I recently found out is a widower—his wife died seven years ago—and never could bring himself to move on. And there was Bernie, an upper middle-aged woman who has had her eyes on Mike for the past seven years since his wife passed away.
Olivia approaches me and gives me a tight squeeze. “How’s the night going?”
“It’s been fine. I had to put Murphy in his place, but once established, he laid back and we worked well together behind the bar.”
“Is that a pink Holt's shirt he’s wearing?” Olivia inquires.
I giggle and answer her with a big, loud, “Damn straight it is!”
