Liam
“Hey boy, where’s that beer?” Floyd yelled from the other end of the bar.
“Keep your panties on,” I shouted back at him, reaching into the cooler and popping the top off a bottle of Bud, before sliding it down the bar. Floyd’s eyes were focused on the game and the bottle sailed right past him and off the end of the bar.
The sound of shattering glass finally got the old man’s attention. “Jesus, kid. I said get me a beer, not throw it at me.”
I pulled another bottle from the cooler and popped the top, setting it down hard in front of him. “You would’ve caught it if you weren’t so busy watching…” I looked up at the screen to see what was on. “Women’s volleyball? Jesus, Floyd.”
“What?” Floyd complained. “Them some talented athletes.”
I shook my head, then nodded to Al to toss me a rag and the dust pan from behind the bar to clean up the mess.
Taking over The Den hadn’t been as seamless a transition as I’d hoped. Some of the regulars fought me on every single change I made, no matter how small. Floyd cussed me a blue streak for almost an hour last week because he was convinced I’d changed the brand of toilet paper in the bathroom.
It’s been a rough few months to say the least, but Jack has been a big help. He’s had my back, defending me to the regulars and helping me get to know the vendors, basically passing on his general knowledge and the tricks of the trade. He’s been coming around less and less over the last couple of weeks and the place was finally starting to feel like it was really mine.
I bent down to sweep up the glass as Bridget passed with a tray full of fish and chips. She raised an eyebrow at me and I gestured toward Floyd, which earned me a nod of understanding. Bridget was a woman of little words, my favorite kind.
The bell above the door jingled as I finished sweeping up the glass.
“You sure do spend a lot of time on your knees,” Sean said.
My sister, Madison, smacked his chest and he laughed as he rubbed at the spot. They’d been on again off again so many times I couldn’t keep track, but they’d been doing pretty good for a while now so I guess this time it was gonna stick.
“No more than you, asshole,” I replied.
Sean looked at my sister and licked his lips. “Damn right I do,” he said, giving her wink. Color instantly flooded her cheeks and she ducked her head to hide her face.
“Jesus Christ, Taylor. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to hear about you fucking my sister.”
“Aww,” Sean said with a mock pout. “Wittle Wiam’s so sensitive.”
I shot him a glare which he returned with an amused grin. Sean and I liked to rib each other. All in all, he was a good guy and he loved my sister so I put up with his shit.
“All right,” Madison said, holding her hands up to separate us. “That’s enough.”
Sean puckered his lips at me and I growled. Asshole.
I headed behind the bar, pulling a Sam Adams from the cooler for Sean and poured a glass of wine for Madison.
“How’s the loft coming?” Madison asked, taking a seat on the bar stool.
“Slow, but it’ll get there.”
When I bought the bar, I also bought the building it’s in. Turned out there was an old storage space upstairs that I began converting into an apartment. It was a dump, but after a lot of work, I’d managed to make it livable.
Madison took me in after I dropped out of law school and my parents cut me off. The timing worked out for us both. She was going through a nasty divorce with her dipshit ex and I…well, I needed a place to stay.
After she got together with Sean, though, things got a little awkward for me. Working at the bar meant I was often coming home in the wee hours of the morning. Which normally wasn’t a problem until I came in at four o’clock in the morning to find Sean making a sandwich in the kitchen bare ass naked. Needless to say, it was time I moved out.
“Finishing up the drywall in the bathroom this weekend,” I said.
“Need some help?” she asked.
I laughed at the image of Madison covered in drywall dust. My sister wasn’t the type to get her hands dirty. She was a southern debutante turned corporate big wig. I appreciated her offer, but I wanted to finish the place on my own.
“What?” she asked. “We could help.” She nudged Sean with her elbow. “Right?”
Sean was engrossed in Floyd’s girls’ volleyball match and not paying any attention. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, beautiful.”
I shook my head and chuckled. Madison just rolled her eyes. “He’ll help. Just say when.”
“I’ll let you know.”
For the first time in my life I was doing what I wanted—making my own way in the world, and it felt good. Being born into privilege comes with a lot of restrictions and expectations that I wanted no part of. My parents expected me to finish law school, marry a debutante from a good southern family with old southern values, join my father’s firm, and sire the obligatory two point five kids to start the whole vicious cycle all over again.
It’s a tradition my family has upheld for years, but I wanted none of it. As far as I was concerned, they could keep their money and their status if it meant I could live my life on my terms.
Floyd let out a yell and slammed his beer bottle down on the bar. His team must have lost. Didn’t matter who was playing or what they were playing, Floyd would pick a team and cheer them on like he’d been following them his whole life.
He slammed a twenty down on the bar and hopped off his stool, making a beeline for the door. This was everyday with him. He comes in, drinks exactly one and a half beers, roots for a losing team then storms out with a dark cloud hanging over his head.
Floyd pushed past Drew and Alex as they made their way through the door. Drew eyed the old man as he shuffled down the sidewalk.
Drew hooked his thumb in the direction Floyd stormed out. “You change the toilet paper again?”
I rolled my eyes and headed to the tap to pour him a beer.
Drew and Alex greeted Madison and Sean with smiles and hugs all around, while I served them drinks.
Tonight was trivia night, our busiest night of the week. With just me and Al, the part-time guy, behind the bar, Bridget on the floor, and Sam in the kitchen we would be running around like chickens with their heads cut off all night. I really needed to hire some new staff, but I wasn’t gonna hire just anyone. There was a delicate balance here. I needed to take my time and hire just the right person who could fit in easily with minimal disruption.
***
As the night went on, I’d barely made it out from behind the bar more than once and even then it was only to restock the beer cooler. I’d made more drinks than I could possible count and my muscles ached from hours of lifting cases of beer and shaking drinks. I was ready for the night to be over.
The Trivia host announced the lightning round and I sighed in relief, thanking God that this night was almost over. He fired questions off, one after another. Teams called out the answers and jumped to their feet as the lightning round came to a close.
Bridget came out of the kitchen, a large tray of our specialty fish and chips balanced on her shoulder. She made her way through the boisterous crowd, careful not to drop the overflowing tray.
The host announced the winning team and the place went crazy. The team hooted and hollered like they’d just won the super bowl. A big guy stomach checked his smaller friend and sent him sailing right into Bridget, who went down hard as fried fish and greasy fries rained down around her.
Apologizing, the big guy attempted to pick her up and set her back on her feet, but as soon as she put the smallest amount of pressure on her leg, she hit the floor again yelping in pain.
I raced out from behind the bar, pushing patrons aside to get to her.
“Shit, Bridge, you all right?” I asked.
“I think it’s her leg,” the little guy said.
I looked up into the crowd and locked eyes with Al. “Call 9-1-1,” I told him. He nodded and reached for the phone to call an ambulance.
***
I closed up as quickly as I could and headed to the hospital to check on Bridget. I prayed that she would be okay as I rushed through the doors of the emergency room and headed straight for the nurse’s desk.
“My friend was brought in about an hour ago, Bridget O’Brien.”
“Are you family?” the nurse asked.
“No, I’m her boss. She doesn’t have any family here.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said. “If you’re not family then I can’t give you any information.”
“I just want to know if she’s okay,” I said. “Just look it up, her name is Bridget O’Brien.”
“O’Brien?”
I turned around as the doctor took a step toward me. “Yes, Bridget O’Brien. Is she okay?”
“Are you family?”
I sighed, more than a little irritated by the repetitive questioning. “No, I’m Liam Sinclair, her boss.”
“Oh Mr. Sinclair,” he said. “She’s been asking for you.” The doc looked over at the nurse and smiled. “I’ll handle this, Noreen. Follow me, Mr. Sinclair.”
I followed the doc through the emergency room doors, past bays of people in various states of unrest before he stopped beside a green curtain. He pulled it back, revealing Bridget looking pale and ashen, her right leg propped up on a pillow.
“Bridget. Oh, thank God.” I sighed. “You all right?
She shook her head and looked up at the doc to explain. “I’m afraid your friend has a fractured tibia,” he said. “She’ll be fine but she’s going to have to stay off that leg for a few months.”
My eyes widened. A few months? Shit! How was I going to run the bar without her for a few months? As soon as the thought entered my mind I cursed myself for being a selfish prick. Bridget was laid up in the hospital with a broken leg and I was worried about the bar. Some friend I am.
I stayed with her while they set her leg in a cast and then I drove her home. I helped her into the house and got her settled, telling her to rest and to call me if she needed anything.
Fuck. Not only did I need a new bartender, but now I needed a waitress too.