The room is already busy, with all the tables occupied, and I guess word has gotten out about the great new bar in town. I jump behind the bar, where Kyle and Jase seem to be in a competition for who can shake the fastest as they each pump their arm muscles and pour, much to the satisfaction of the group of girls sitting at the bar. The scream and clap, and one of them, a particularly pretty blonde with a strapless top and huge boobs, even blows a kiss at Jase as her friend catcalls.
I puff up my chest. They may be pretty, but I was the one he made out with at the beach. I'm the one he thinks is special.
"Hey," I say, sidling up to them.
"Thank God," Jase says when he sees me. "Can you get out the back?"
"Sure." I plaster a fake smile on my face and walk out to the kitchen. I am totally cool with being out the back while you stay out front and have those women fawn all over you.
Why didn't I know hot bartenders were a thing? I thought it was only girls people fawned over in bars. Someone should have warned me about that before. You know, since I'm eighteen and all, and allowed in bars in order to see it.
I'm placing the glasses in the dishwasher—and oh, okay, I'm using a little extra force than necessary—when two big hands wrap around my waist and the warmth of a hot, manly body settles behind me.
"I've been dying to kiss you all day."
Melt.
Eight swoon-worthy words.
All of a sudden I'm thankful his hands are supporting me, 'cause I don't know if I could do this standing up business on my own.
I spin in his grasp and he kisses me, those soft, sexy lips sending me to a state somewhere between bliss and heaven.
After what feels like eternity and no time at all in an instant, we separate, and I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Hi—man, we are so lame." He laughs.
"The lamest," I agree.
"I had to send you out back because as soon as I saw you walk in. Damn, I want you."
Heat flushes to my cheeks, and any jealousy I felt over stupid Boobzilla is gone, dissipated just like that.
"Jase, can I get a hand out here?" Kyle appears in the doorway. "Oh, er, I can come back."
"No, it's fine." Jase pulls back from me and Kyle's wide eyes lessen in freak-out. "Sorry man, I shouldn't have left you hanging."
"S'not my business, bro." Kyle claps Jase on the back as he walks in front of him and back out to the bar, where the girls squeal at his presence once more.
This time, when I put the dirty glasses in the dishwasher, I do it with care and they don't squeak in protest. I even throw an extra tip of that powder that makes things shiny in there, just because I can. You're welcome, glasses.
Yep, I've officially lost it. You don't talk to the barware.
The night goes on and I quickly lose myself again in my rhythm of washing, shining, packing, cleaning, a cycle I love immersing myself in. Even Soraya strutting around like a peacock doesn’t bother me. For once, life seems a little more manageable.
It's getting late, near eleven, when it happens. I've been stuck out the back for a good while now, trying to play Tetris with the glasses to make them all fit in the dishwasher. I finally get in all but two, and triumphantly turn, grab my serving tray and head out front again, ready to clear some drinks.
It's noisy out here, the steady hum of voices now a din. All the seats are taken and others are standing around and drinking, in groups and clusters, all holding glasses. I feel a rush of pride for Jase and what he's created. Clearly, Emerald Cove was crying out for a place like this.
"Lia?"
My heart stops.
Despite the noise, I manage to catch its last thud.
I turn my head to the table behind me, the one closest to the kitchen I'd walked straight past one my way out—
And she's there.
My mother.
Sitting around one of the high tables with Julietta, Elmo, and Who The Hell Remembers His Name. I guess at least I should be glad that Smith isn't present.
"Heeeeeeeey," Elmo calls, raising his beer glass at me.
"Isn't that your kid?" Julietta asks Mum.
I glance over at the bar, thankful that Jase is busy scanning the spirit selection, no doubt looking for his next ingredient, then I scoot over to their table as fast as my legs will carry me.
I've thought of a lot of what ifs when it comes to working here. What if the police come and I somehow get in trouble?
(Answer: I'll make my way out the back in the ruckus and sneak out the stock room door.)
What if I lose time for practise and fall behind where I need to be?
(Answer: I'll book an extra hour each on Sundays and Wednesday to make sure I'm on top of my game.)
What if I fall too hard for the bar owner?
(Answer: ... well, it's a work in progress.)
The one question I hadn't ever thought would be a problem I had to deal with was what if my mother comes to the bar. Because we don't have a lot of money. And this upmarket, well-priced, young kinda venue isn't exactly targeted at people her age.
I reach the table and just look at her. Her eyes are glazed, and her glass is empty. She's swaying a little on her stool, supported by Julietta's hand at her back, and I don't know how long she's been here but I know she was definitely drinking before she arrived.
Possibly, days before.
"Hi, Mum. Julietta. Elmo." Pause. "Hi."
"Aren't you too young to be here?" Julietta cuts straight to the chase, and Elmo howls "Ohhh," rubbing his hands together in glee.
"Yeah. Aren't you"—Mum stabs me in the chest with her finger —"too young?"
"I'm ..." C'mon, brain. Think. "I'm eighteen in a week and a half. And I'm not actually serving any alcohol."
I don't know if it's a truth so much as a distraction from the key issue—I shouldn't be in a bar at all—but it seems to work, and several nods go round the table as I heave out the world's biggest sigh at having dodged the world's biggest bullet.
"Are you taking orders?" Julietta asks. "You gotta be doing somethin', kid. You are carrying a tray."
"Yes." I grit my teeth.
"Great. We'll get a round of margaritas, and maybe a little something on the side." She winks, as if now that her friend's daughter works here, she'll get hooked up with some free booze benefits.
"Mum, can I talk to you for a sec?" I ask.
"'Kay." She stumbles out of her seat and follows me to the corner of the bar near the door. As I stand there, Jase raises his head to look at me, and I try to give him my best 'everything's okay I'm just talking to a patron I don't even know who's definitely not had too much to drink' smile. If that's a thing.
"Mum, how much have you had to drink?" I ask, pleading with her with my eyes to understand that this isn't funny anymore.
Then again, it never really was.
"Just a few bottles of ... whatever at Julie's." She shrugs. "I tell you what though, that man"—she points at Jase—"makes a real good drink."
"Well, I think maybe you should leave before—"
"You should get him to teach you to make drinks!" she screeches, then claps her hands. "Oh, you'd be so good at that."
A few people from nearby tables turn to look at us, and I try and put on my best calm face. "Mum, remember how you're not supposed to be drinking?"
She frowns. "But this is social."
"But you're really drunk," I whisper.
"I am not drunk!" It's as if she tries to counteract my quiet with a loud, boisterous response. Again, we attract the attention of those near us, and even Jase looks over from the bar. You okay? he mouths.
I nod and smile, then turn my attention back to the problem at hand.
"Didn't they talk to you about not drinking altogether? At AA?" I prompt, hoping it'll jog a memory and wishing I'd seen her at home since Wednesday to discuss how the meeting had gone, but nothing. She'd slept at Smith's last night, and thankfully, they'd
both stayed there all evening.
"I ..." She pauses, and her eyes go up and to the right, and I swear I can see her thinking. "I can't remember."
It's better than a denial. I have to give her that. "How 'bout you go sit down and I get you a water. You know we can't really afford drinks here anyway." I place my hand on her back and give her a gentle nudge toward the table.
"But you work here. Can't you get us a discount?"
"Sorry, Ma." I pull out her seat and she flops down into it.
Then he walks over.
Smith.
I hadn't seen him appear from wherever he'd been, but it made sense that he'd be with her. They barely seemed to spend a second apart these days.
"Everything okay?" Smith asks, and I want to shrink inside my own skin and then zip a second set over it. Flashes of him touching me the other night blitz through my mind on high speed. Even now as he looks at me, it seems as though he's thinking weird thoughts, or perhaps he's remembering that moment the other night too, those crackly leather lips on my—
"Peachy." I plaster on my best faux smile. I've gotta get out of here. "Have a good night, guys."
"Don't forget our margaritas!" Julietta trills, and I groan.
There's less of a crowd directly in front of the bar now, with most people having settled into the cosy lounges or grouped around tables together. I push my way to the front and stand in front of Jase, who leans over closer to me.
"S'everything okay with that lady?" he asks, concern written all over his brow.
"It's nothing." I wave it off. Just my mum potentially about to get me fired from my second job in as many months. No biggy. "They do want a round of margaritas—although for the one I was talking to before? Can you make hers a virgin?"
"Sure." He grabs a tequila bottle and throws it from one hand to the other before placing it on the bench in his prep area. "I'll get Kyle to take 'em out. Looked like she might have been giving you a hard time."
"Thanks." I smile a smile full of relief, then panic stops my heart. What if Mum mentions my age to Kyle? "I mean, I got it. It's good for me to show that I'm in a position of authority, you know?"
Jase frowns. "I do, but you're allowed to let some battles slide. You don't have to prove yourself to every drunk idiot that walks through those doors." He gestures to the big double wooden doors at the entrance to the bar, and even though I wholeheartedly agree with him, there's still a little part of me that stings when he calls my mum an idiot.
"Well, it's nice to win one." I hedge, and he shrugs.
"Suit yourself. I'll give you a yell when they're ready."
I thank him again, then scoot straight out the back, my tray still empty in my hand, clasped against my thigh.
Once out there, I brace myself against the counter, pressing my weight against my hands as I breathe slowly out. I can't believe she's here. She's really here.
I take a quick glance at my phone, and thank God that there's only thirty minutes of service left. Thirty minutes and she'll be going home, and she won't have embarrassed me, or told Jase I'm under eighteen, or stolen or broken anything. The last two are in there almost as an afterthought, but hell, it'd be nice.
In what seems like seconds Jase has called me, and I realise I've just been standing there, staring, and that the dishwasher is still full of glassware. Apparently, all it takes to rattle me is my mother. Especially when you add Smith into the mix.
I paste on my brightest smile and walk out, placing my tray on the counter for Jase to load drinks onto.
"There you go." He finishes, and gives the side of one of the drinks a small swipe with a cocktail napkin. "The virgin's the one without the umbrella."
I walk away to Mum's table, drinks balanced precariously. Once there, I deliver all the drinks to a round of cries from those seated. I put Mum's in front of her last, and lean closer to whisper in her ear, "This one isn't alcoholic. They don't have to know."
She meets my gaze, and gives a small smile that seems part relieved, but also part sad. I wish I knew what the right thing to do to help her was.
Jase makes the last call, and I go from table to table, collecting empties and fielding the odd request for a refill. Soon it's just after twelve, and there are only three groups left in the bar—Mum's being one of them, despite two polite suggestions from me that perhaps it's time to go.
I’m unpacking the dishwasher when Jase steps out the back.
"I'm gonna do the rounds, ask everyone to finish up again," he says, and I almost trip over my tongue in my haste to protest.
"It's cool! Why don't I do that?"
"Um ... because it's really more my job as manager?" He's not unkind, but there's a light in his eyes, and I know he's onto me. "What's with you and that table?"
A glass shatters somewhere in the bar, and I'm momentarily saved by the (glass) bell.
"Lia baby, your ma broke a glass. Can you bring out a dustpan?" Smith sticks his head into the doorway and smiles, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
Jase's eyes go wide, and his lips turn thin, but he doesn't say a word. He just stands there and watches me.
"Yes, Smith," I say meekly. I duck down to grab the dustpan and broom from the corner cupboard, and am about to walk out to fix it when Jase's hand latches onto my wrist.
"We're going to talk about this later." He clears his throat. "I ..." Something flashes across his face, and instead of it being the anger I expected, it's sadness. Regret. "Are you embarrassed of me?"
“No!” I rush out.
“Then why would you hide who she is?” He shakes his head. “It feels like a lie, Lia. And I don’t like liars.”
It's so much worse than if he'd blown up at me or lost it. That I could have handled. This, though? This pain and disappointment? It's ten times worse.
"Lee Lee, hurry up, baby!" Mum screeches.
Make that a million times worse.
I grab the dustpan and broom and rush out into the bar area. Now Mum and co are the only ones left, and as I sweep up the glass, they continue their merry conversation over the top of my head. Their voices are too loud, too slurred, and all of a sudden, I'm sick of them, sick of their attitudes, sick of Smith and his creepy eyes, sick of Mum and the way she sometimes seems intent on ruining my life.
With the last of the glass in the dustpan, I march over to the register and punch in the few numbers to print out their bill. I place it in a saucer and walk back over to their table then slam it down in the middle of all of them.
"We're closing." Five pairs of eyes snap to mine. "Here's your bill."
Stunned silence engulfs the group, then Smith starts laughing, a slow, evil laugh, like something straight out of a horror film. The others all join in, and even Mum gives a nervous giggle or two.
"Lia, it's polite to let the customers finish their drinks. Are you gonna get your mum an extra to replace the one she dropped?" Smith reaches out and pulls me to his side with his giant animal-slaughtering arm. I wriggle out of his grasp, and shoot him an indignant glare.
"No, we're closed. Our licence doesn't cover us after twelve." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my eyes widen.
"Your licence?" Smith asks. He steps closer to me and leans down, whispering in my ear. "You know what else your licence doesn't cover?"
I shiver and nod, the threat behind his words clear.
"Come on, guys, let's go." Smith gets out his wallet and slams a credit card on top of the bill, and I sigh with relief as I take it up to the machine to process it. Kyle's wiping down the bench there, and he shoots me a look as I start typing in the payment.
"Jerks, right?" he asks in a soft voice. "They came in here, all demanding and rude. Some people just don't get it."
I concentrate on the receipt the machine spits out, barely trusting myself to speak. "They don't," I finally manage.
I take the card and receipt back to the table and place them down. The group are all wriggling into jackets and coats, picking up handbags and the like
s.
Mum is noticeably quiet, and as the others file out the door, she takes a step closer to me. "I'm sorry, Lee Lee."
Her eyes are sincere, and I have no doubt she means it. But I've heard sorry so many times, and this time, sorry isn't enough. I look up to the door, feeling someone watching me. Smith stands there, his dark eyes boring into mine.
I shrug. "We can talk about it later."
"Love you, baby." She wraps her arms around me and kisses me on the cheek, and I'm overcome by her scent of cheap perfume and even cheaper booze.
She walks out, Smith's hand protectively on her back, his eyes still trained on mine till I shut the big wooden doors and pull the lock. I rest my back against them and breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God that's over.
Then I see Jase's gaze drilling into me from the kitchen, where he stands with his arms folded, and I feel as if I have a whole lot more to answer for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kyle, Soraya, Jase and I clean up in silence, and just as I'm about to finish shining the final tray of glasses, Jase lets Kyle and Soraya go, and it's just the two of us, alone in the bar and a whole heap of silence.
He stands next to me, grabs a glass and starts shining, expertly making his way around it before placing it on display in the bar.
I'm torn between being sad and afraid, and eventually settle on angry. So what if I kind of avoided telling him about my mother? I'm sure he can understand why. And his whole reaction seems a little over the top. Besides, I can't get my heart too lost in him anyway. I'm going to Melbourne, damn it! I don't have time for this—
"My mother used to lie to me."
I spin to face him. He's leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded and a troubled expression on his face.
"She'd do the classic battered wife routine—oh, I ran into a door, or whatever—even to me."
I nod, showing that I'm listening, and I put the glass I'm polishing down.
"At first I'd see through it, but soon she became so good at lying that I couldn't tell what was real, and what was not." He runs a hand through his hair, then turns his gaze back to me. "I guess I'm just worried that ... you were really good at hiding the truth out there, y'know?" He tilts his head back, indicating the spot where we'd talked. "And I wonder ... is there anything else you're hiding?"
How To Save A Life (Emerald Cove #1) Page 18
