Chapter Four
Eden
Taking a few shaky breaths, I looked around the building. Exposed brick walls and high ceilings. A zinc bar with glass shelves of liquor and antique mirror splash backs spanned the wall across from me.
Sunshine streamed in from a set of open doors in the back, giving the distressed hardwood floors a honey glow. A warm June breeze carried the scent of mint and lavender and something sweet…was I imagining that? It was a bar, not an herb garden. I craned my neck to see outside. Whitewashed brick walls enclosed a paved courtyard, and dark green foliage twined around wood beams. A brightly painted food truck said Jimmy’s Tacos.
The guy who I assumed was Killian returned, loaded down with supplies—ice pack, first aid kit, water, and a black hoodie slung over his shoulder. He set everything on the table and handed me a bottle of water and two Tylenol.
“Thank you.” I washed the pills down with a few sips, closed the lid, and set the bottle on the floor next to my leather backpack. He must have brought it in. I certainly hadn’t.
Rolling up the hoodie like a bolster, he propped up my ankle and placed the ice pack on it with a bar towel underneath. As he cleaned my knee, I stared at the scar on his neck, white against his bronzed olive skin. Thick and raised. Jagged like barbwire. Like someone went for the jugular.
He placed the damp cloth on the table and rummaged around in the first aid kit, coming out with antiseptic wipes. “This might sting,” he said, ripping open the packet with his teeth. God, that was sexy. I pictured him doing the same thing with a condom wrapper. “Need a whiskey?”
I laughed a little. I could use a whiskey, but not because of my knee. Scrapes, bruises, and sprains were a regular occurrence in my childhood, thanks to my brother Sawyer who was great at coming up with acts of daring. Stupid me, I followed him into the fire every time.
“I’ll be okay.”
It stung a little, but once again, he was gentle. He tossed the wipes in the garbage can behind the bar and took a seat on the coffee table across from me. I sat up straighter and angled my body toward him.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Eden. Eden Madley.”
“Killian,” he said, not bothering to mention his last name.
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” His eyes narrowed in accusation, as if I’d tricked him and he was trying to figure out what I wanted from him. “For a job,” I said quickly, which didn’t appear to set him at ease. “I heard you might be looking for a bartender. And I’m looking to be a bartender.”
He rubbed his jaw and squinted at something in the distance. It looked like he was waging a battle with himself. “I don’t put women behind the bar.”
“You think it’s a man’s job?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“That sounds sexist, you know.”
He scowled. “Bartenders stay late. Anywhere from two to four in the morning. Those are dangerous times.”
“I live really close. Only a fifteen-minute walk from here, so it’s no big—”
“Walk?” He looked horror-struck, as if I’d suggested jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge. “You’re not walking anywhere at that time of night.”
“Fine. I’d take a taxi. You can’t discriminate against me just because I’m female.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I rushed in before he got the chance to shoot me down.
“If someone…you…just gave me a chance, I know I’d be good at bartending.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have any experience?” he asked, sounding exasperated.
“No. But I took a course. And I’ve worked a lot of jobs in the service industry. I was a server for a while, and I know how to use a register. I’m good with people. I’m reliable. Punctual. A hard worker. And I’m not usually such a klutz. I have no idea how that happened.”
“It’s the road.” He whipped out his phone and typed something into it. “I’ll take care of it.” I got the feeling this guy could take care of anything. I imagined him calling and giving the city hell about the pothole on the road.
“Let me work for one night. If it doesn’t work out, you can just ask me to leave. You have nothing to lose.” I flashed him a big smile. He didn’t look impressed, but I wasn’t above begging. I really wanted to work here. Out of all the bars I’d visited, my gut feeling told me this was the right one for me. “Everyone needs to start somewhere, right? I’m just asking for a chance. Please.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two. How old are you?”
“I’m not looking for a job.”
He was more man than boy, and he didn’t look old, but he didn’t look young either. If I had to guess, he was probably my brother Garrett’s age. “Twenty-six?”
“Twenty-seven in August,” he said, unwilling to acknowledge I’d been right. He was still twenty-six and wouldn’t be twenty-seven for another two months. “Are you in college?”
“I just graduated from Penn State in May.”
“What do you do in your free time?” he asked.
Was this an interview or was he just making small talk? He didn’t strike me as a small talk kind of guy. “Since I moved to Brooklyn, I’ve been checking out the neighborhoods. Taking photos. And visiting art galleries. I run every day. And I draw and paint.” I wasn’t sure why I said that. I used to draw and paint, but it had been six months since I’d picked up a pencil or paintbrush.
“Which artists do you like?” He tilted his head, as if the answer really mattered to him.
I didn’t know what kind of answers he was looking for, or how this had anything to do with bartending. “I like Picasso. Especially his Blue Period. Frida Kahlo. Willem de Kooning. Rodin’s sculptures. And the street art and graffiti in Brooklyn.”
I stared at the black and grey inked tattoos on his left arm. I’d add them to my list of art I liked. Intricate designs, interwoven with thick swirls and chains. A shield of armor on his upper arm. An anatomical heart and dagger. A Celtic cross. A banner trailing down his forearm, with words written in script. Not English. Latin? I wanted to know what it said and meant to him.
“Why should I take a chance on you?” he asked, reminding me of the reason I came here in the first place.
I dragged my gaze back to his face. God, he was gorgeous. His face was a study in symmetry. My fingers itched to hold a charcoal pencil so I could sketch him.
“I’m looking for a fresh start.” Something like recognition flickered in his eyes, but it was so fleeting, I might have imagined it. “That’s why I moved to Brooklyn.”
“By yourself?” he asked.
I nodded.
“That’s brave.”
I wasn’t sure about the brave part. So far, it was lonely. And a lot harder than I’d expected. “I really need this job. Brooklyn is expensive. And I can’t go home. I just…can’t.”
He studied my face, and I wondered what he saw there.
“These are the rules. Number one: don’t lie to me. Number two: don’t steal from me. You ring up every drink you serve. You don’t give free drinks to your friends. Number three: no drugs. If you break any of my rules, you’re out. Got a problem with anything I said?”
“Are you offering me a job?” I asked, gripping my lower lip between my teeth to keep from smiling. His gaze dropped to my mouth and lingered there before he shook his head and looked away.
“I’m offering you a chance. Not everyone is cut out for bartending. So?”
“I don’t lie, steal, or do drugs.” The two times I’d smoked pot with Trevor didn’t seem worth mentioning.
I held Killian’s gaze until he nodded, satisfied I was telling the truth. My face broke into a smile, but he held up his hand to stop me from getting too excited. “You’ll have guys hassling you. When they get drunk, they say and do stupid shit. I’m not saying it’s right,” he shrugged one shoulder, “but you’re not unattractive, so you’ll need to deal with that.”
“I’m not unattractive? Are you always this charming?”
“If you’re looking for Prince Charming, it ain’t me, Sunshine.”
Sunshine? At least he didn’t make any empty promises or pretend to be something he wasn’t. “I don’t believe in fairytales. Or happily ever after. Prince Charming was an evil villain in disguise, and Cinderella was the doormat he wiped his feet on.” His brows went up a notch. “So, don’t worry. I’m not looking for Prince Charming. I’m not looking for a guy to sweep me off my feet either. I’m just looking for a job. And I can handle guys hassling me. My dad and two older brothers taught me how to fend for myself.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Did they?”
“Yes, they did. My dad and brother are state police officers and my other brother is a Marine. I grew up in a testosterone-fueled house with enough badassery to rub off on little old me.”
His lips curved into a smile, showing off his straight white teeth…and—oh God, dimples. He had dimples. But the smile faded all too quickly, as if he’d caught himself doing something he shouldn’t, and the mask slipped firmly into place again.
“Any questions?”
I had a million questions, but I refrained from asking anything too personal. Now that I’d secured a job, I didn’t want to blow it with my unfiltered mouth. “Why did you name it Trinity Bar?”
“I didn’t. My partner did. His mother is from Trinidad.”
“You have a partner? Does he need to interview me?”
“He’s away. If you’re still here at the end of the week, you’ll meet him.”
Thanks for the vote of confidence. “I’ll still be here.”
He gave me a we’ll see look and said he needed to get me an application. When he disappeared around the corner, I removed the ice pack. Standing, I put weight on my left foot, testing it out. It still hurt, but not white-hot pain. If I taped it up nice and tight, I’d be good to go. I sat back down and pulled the first aid kit into my lap.
When Killian returned, I’d finished taping my ankle. I pulled on my sock and nudged my foot into my boot. It felt like it was two sizes too small now. On the inside, I was screaming in pain, but I schooled my expression.
“You need to rest your ankle,” he said.
“I need to walk on it.” I took a few tentative steps. This had always been Sawyer’s method for dealing with an injury, so I should have known it would hurt like hell. I’d seen him tape up cracked ribs and busted knees, hiding them from the coach, and he always got back on that football field, pretending he was fighting fit. “I’m good to go.”
He gave me a skeptical look and handed me the application. “Fill it out at home and bring it back.”
I stuffed the application in my backpack. “Do you want me to start tonight?”
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I thought, maybe, I had. I hadn’t felt like myself since I set eyes on him. “No. Come back tomorrow at five. Bartenders spend a lot of hours on their feet. If your ankle’s not better—”
“My ankle will be fine.”
He handed me a black T-shirt with white lettering that said Trinity Bar. I checked the label on the collar—men’s medium—and held it up in front of me. It would fit me like a mini-dress.
“Just wear it for now,” he said. “I’ll call you a taxi.” He motioned for me to sit back down, and I collapsed on the sofa, acknowledging defeat. Fighting him on this would just be stupid pride on my part. The fifteen-minute walk to my apartment would take me twice as long, and it wouldn’t help my ankle.
“Where do you live?” he asked, his phone pressed to his ear.
I gave him my address and the cross streets, and he relayed the information before hanging up. “Five minutes.”
Someone knocked on the door, and Killian opened it wide.
“What up, man?” the guy in the doorway asked, bumping fists with Killian. He pulled a pen from behind his ear and handed it to Killian, along with a clipboard.
“I’ll let you know when the taxi’s here,” Killian said.
I nodded and gave him and the delivery guy a smile. “Thanks.”
I watched through the open front door as Killian climbed into the back of the delivery truck. A guy with a dark ponytail and a beard called out a greeting to Killian on his way into the bar.
“Hey. I’m Jimmy.”
“I’m Eden. Is that your taco truck?”
“Sure is. If you come back later, I’ll make you the best taco you’ve ever eaten.”
“Eden. Taxi.”
Killian guided me out the door with his arm around my waist. He was tall, six-foot-three or four, and his physicality was overwhelming. At five-seven, I wasn’t short, but he dwarfed me. I was trying to tell myself he was just being helpful, a good samaritan, and his nearness didn’t mess with my head. He held the taxi door open, and I slid into the backseat, grateful to put some distance between us. Maybe now I could start breathing again. Before he closed the door, Killian handed me his cell phone. “Type in your number.”
I entered my number and handed his phone back to him. My phone rang once and stopped. “Call me if you can’t make it.”
“I’ll be here. And thanks for giving me a chance. I really appreciate it.”
He nodded once, closed the door, and took a step back. When the taxi pulled away, I leaned my head against the seat and tried to process what had just happened. The only part that was clear was I had a job. Or, at least, a chance to prove myself.
The driver stopped in front of my building, a three-story brick rowhouse, and I fished some money out of my bag. I held it out to him as he held money out to me. “What’s that?”
“Your change. Or the guy’s change.”
“He paid? For my taxi?” I asked, taking the money from his hand.
“You got a problem with that? Are you one of those raging feminists or something?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m a feminist. But there’s nothing raging about it.” I rolled my eyes and pressed my lips together to stop myself from going off on a tangent. I’d had this argument too many times at my family dinner table. “I’m just surprised. That’s all.”
He snorted. “A girl who looks like you…I’d think you’d get plenty of free rides.”
I gave him a two-dollar tip, more than he deserved for that kind of sexist talk, and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary.
Sweat beaded my forehead as I hopped up the stairs on my right foot, using the wood banister as a crutch. By the time I reached the third floor, I felt like I’d just scaled Everest. I let myself into my new apartment, double-locked the door, and pulled the chain. This place was secured like Fort Knox. When Garrett and my dad moved me in, they did a full security sweep and found it lacking. My dad installed an additional lock with a deadbolt and made me promise to be vigilant about locking up. If he had his way, there would be bars on the windows too. My dad texted me every day to make sure I was okay. He’d insisted on a code word if I was ever in trouble. How he’d rescue me from three hundred miles away was anyone’s guess, but if it helped him sleep at night, I wouldn’t begrudge him.
Tossing my bag to the floor, I collapsed on my white Ikea sofa—the only piece of furniture in my living room—and removed my boots and socks. My ankle was swollen, and the bruising had come up just below the ankle.
I stretched out on the sofa and closed my eyes, covering them with my arm to block out the late-afternoon sunlight and all the jumbled thoughts in my brain. But I saw his face and his body, his scars, and tattoos, so clearly in my mind, like it was burned into my memory. I could still feel his arms around me when he carried me, the flex of his muscles, the warmth of his body, his heady scent.
My ringing phone woke me. I blinked in the darkness and answered without checking the screen.
“Eden,” Luke said, his voice briefly taking me back to another time and place before he and Lexie shattered my illusion of happiness. But reality crept back in, like always. “We need to talk.”
“Go talk to your baby mama.”
“We never talked about this, and I want to explain—”
I punched the disconnect key and hurled my new phone across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the hardwood floor with a clatter. Smart move, Eden. I hobbled across the room and picked up the device. Even in the dark, I could see the crack in the screen. Great. I broke my new phone. Six months later, and I was still throwing tantrums? I was better than that. This needed to end. Right here. Right now. My phone started ringing again, and I let it go to voicemail. He wouldn’t leave a message. He never did.
Who gave him my number?
Ten minutes later, Cassidy’s name appeared on the screen. Of course. “Why did you give Luke my new number?” I asked, skipping the greeting.
She sighed. “He kept stopping by my house and begging me.” Cassidy had always been a sucker for Luke. Everyone was. “Did you talk to him?”
“No. I hung up, then threw my phone against the wall and cracked the screen.”
“Did that give you any satisfaction?”
“A little,” I admitted. “But now I have a cracked screen.”
She laughed. “How’s Brooklyn?”
“Great,” I said brightly. Fake it ‘til ya make it. But hey, I had an apartment. And a job. I was getting my life together. No more going off the deep end. No more crying in my beer. I wasn’t wasting any more time or energy on that. I’d moved on. New life. New me. And a world of possibility, all my own making. “I scored a bartending job today.”
“That’s great,” she said, but her cheer was forced, and that kind of hurt.
Cassidy and I had been friends since junior high. She had stayed in our hometown for college, but she used to visit me at Penn State all the time. Now she was working for an accounting firm and living at home to save money while working on her CPA. She had her whole life mapped out: get a job at a top accounting firm in Pittsburgh and marry a wealthy, handsome man. Someone a lot like Luke.
Despite the baby on the way, it didn’t derail Luke’s life or his future. In the fall, he’d be starting law school at Duquesne. He and Lexie were living with his doting parents, and I was sure the only thing required of her was to lounge by the pool and look after herself. And her unborn child. We couldn’t forget that.