Chapter 2

Melissa

It was a discomforting combination, being both gawked at by people when they thought I wasn't looking while also not being able to meet my eye. About an hour into my shift I was ready to yell at somebody, but I kept my feelings to myself for once. There was nothing to be accomplished by snapping at one of the Alibi's patrons, just in the same way there was nothing to be accomplished by trying to cover the bruise around my eye up with make-up. It wouldn't change anything, and it certainly wouldn't make people look at me less.

I kept pouring out beers, trying not to let everyone's obvious curiosity irk me too much. Not one of them had had the balls to ask me about the black eye yet, and I doubted any of them would. Not the patrons, anyway. Not most of the staff, either. I expect they all had their own suspicions, most of which were probably right, and I would have been quite happy to keep pretending there was nothing out of the ordinary if they weren't all so fucking bad at it.

Naomi Smith ended up being the only one who stepped up to the plate and asked, even though she was the least likely to spread the gossip out of all of them.

"What the hell happened to your face, honey?" She stood at the stretch of bar we kept free for the servers to pick up their drinks, one hand on her hip while the painted black fingernails of her other hand drummed on the empty serving tray.

I didn't bother lying. Naomi would see right through it, the same way she saw through every lie I told.

"Donnie and I had a fight," I said simply. "It's fine."

Naomi didn't flinch. She had more tattoos than most people had sense and hadn't stayed at the Alibi so long just because the tips were good.

"Did you get him back?"

I snorted. My boyfriend, Donnie, was about twice my size and as mean as a rattlesnake when he was drunk. Much as I would have liked to have gone after him with a rolling pin the second he hit me, I was smarter than that. I knew that as soon as he sobered up, cooler heads would prevail.

"He was drunk," I said, skirting her question. "It's the first time he's done it and mark my words it will be the last time."

Her chestnut eyes narrowed on me judiciously. "Baby, that's what they all say. I know that he's...well, Donnie Berland, but that doesn't mean you gotta take shit from him."

"I don't take shit from anyone, Naomi." I slammed down the two beers I'd been pulling for her, the foam sloshing over onto the tray. I hadn't meant to put them down so forcefully.

"There's a shiner just below your eyebrow that says otherwise," she snapped back.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it."

She lingered a second longer, probably debating making a scene just to prove her point. I didn't blame her. She had two girls at home and was fiercely defensive of them, and somehow since I started working here two years ago that protectiveness had transferred to me too. She was a mamma bear and I was just another one of her cubs, even though I was only six years younger than her twenty-eight and had proven on more than one occasion that I could handle myself. I wouldn't have lasted this long at the Alibi if I couldn't, despite what anybody else might think.

"Naomi! We gettin' those drinks over here or what?" Naomi's customer hollered from the other side of the room.

She let out an irritated sigh and picked up the tray, shooting me a look that made it clear our conversation was far from over before she turned and yelled a reply. "Keep your pants on, Duncan. It's other people who have to drink for you to become more attractive, not the other way 'round."

The bar burst into laughter and I let out a breath. I'd barely convinced myself that Donnie and I's scrap was water under the bridge. How the hell was I supposed to convince her?

"Hey, bartender," a gruff voice called.

I turned to face the grizzled man who'd just sat down, taking in his stained plaid shirt and the sheen of sweat on his bald forehead. "How about you get that tight ass over here and pour me a drink?"

Oh, so not the right night to talk about my ass.

I put on my sweetest smile, the one that I seemed to pull out exclusively for situations like these, and sashayed down the length of the bar. A lecherous smile crept up his fat mouth, and his bloodshot eyes shot straight to the cleavage of my white v-neck. This guy was a trucker through and through, and the locals around him quieted as I approached so they wouldn't miss a second of what was about to happen.

"You wanted a drink, sugar?" I asked, batting my lashes.

Neil Buckins, a regular and a sweet old man to boot, chuckled from beside the trucker, who remained unconcerned.

"Depends on what else is on the menu," the trucker said, exposing a gap-toothed smile.

He was reading the wrong signals from my beatific expression. Idiot.

"Hmm..." I said, letting my fingers stroke over one of the taps as I considered his proposal. He licked his lips and watched. "We've only got simple fare here at the Alibi. Burgers, fries, that sort of thing. But I'll tell you a secret." I crooked my finger, urging him to lean in closer.

He did, nearly panting like a dog. I imagined his dick was probably about to explode out of his pants, the creep.

The trucker leaned in, and I scooped up a cup of half-melted ice from the sink just out of his view.

"Here's the secret," I said, biting my lip flirtatiously. "Are you ready?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

"You can't order any of it unless you speak with a little respect," I snarled, upending the glass over his head. “Asshole.”

He screeched in alarm and nearly fell backward from the stool, frantically brushing the ice off of him and trying to retrieve the cubes that had made their way down his shirt.

For the second time in five minutes, the bar erupted into laughter.

"Looks like she wants you to cool off a bit, you dirty trucker!" heckled someone nearby.

The trucker stopped and glared at me, then slammed his hat down on his head and stormed out the front door, hoots of laughter chasing him out like nipping hounds. As soon as he was gone, things went back to normal. I served my waiting customers, and people even stopped gawking so much at my eye. All in all it seemed like it was going to be an okay evening, even if I had Naomi's inquisition to deal with at some point.

Then my boyfriend walked through the door.

It wasn't Donnie entering so much that was the problem, since his uncle owned the bar and he was in here most nights. It was always his friends I took the greatest issue with. They were loud and obnoxious, and brought out the loud and obnoxious side of Donnie that I couldn't stand. When they all got drunk together, it was all I could do to run interference and do damage control to make sure Donnie didn't make too much of an ass out of himself.

I saw Lara, one of the servers, notice them entering and stopped her with my hand on her arm. "I'll take their table," I said.

She was fairly new here, and seemed appreciative—if a little confused. I threw my bar towel over my shoulder and stepped out onto the floor, painting on my smile as I approached their table.

"There she is," said Donnie proudly. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me tight against his side, head nestled against my ribs. "We're gonna grab a round of beers, babe. Put it on my tab."

Donnie's "tab" was essentially the five-finger-family-discount, in that the tab kept growing but he never intended to pay for it. Every few months, Hank would call up Donnie's parents and let them know the damage, and they'd send over some money to cover it.

"Are you sure she can handle that, Don?" asked his friend Matt, whose hair was so blonde it was almost translucent. "You know, being how clumsy she is and all."

Matt and Donnie's other two friends snickered like he'd just told some sort of private joke. At first I didn’t get it. I realized with a wave of white hot anger that they were referring to my shiner, but bit back my retort

"Nah, she's a good girl." Donnie looked up at me and winked. "She always learns from her mistakes."

Great. He was drunk already. I knew Donnie acted like a dick around his friends, but this was a new low. Would he be sitting there so high and mighty if his friends knew how he'd cried on his knees after hitting me last night? How he'd begged me not to leave him? I doubted it.

"Just the usual?" I asked sweetly.

Donnie gave me a pat on the butt and nodded. "Thanks babe."

I walked away from the table, and by the time I reached the bar I'd decided that Matt was getting something a little extra special in his beer. I snagged two empty bottles from Naomi's tray when she came to pick up one of her orders and dumped the dregs of flat beer and saliva into the bottom of Matt's drink before filling it with the new stuff. Then I dropped the drinks back off at their table and hoped at least tonight Donnie would know his limit and stay within it.

It was a busy night, and it was late before I got a chance to take a break. Luckily there was nobody else out back when I got out there, and I pulled up one of the wooden crates that the cooks sat on for their smoke breaks and sat down to finish the sketch I'd started before my shift.

The girl on the page looked a lot like me, but the black bruise surrounding her right eye marked her as something else. Something about the disfigurement made it more difficult to recognize my own features. It didn't fit on my face. It wasn't me. It didn't matter that the girl beneath it had the same long nose, the same full brows, and the same pouty mouth—the black eye made my face seem alien somehow. The picture was probably finished, but I wasn't finished with it yet and so kept shading the black eye while I figured out why I couldn't recognize myself even in a drawing that could have served as a mirror image.

Why? Why? Why?

Was I disappointed in myself? I supposed a little. I always told myself I wasn't the kind to take shit from anyone, but for whatever reason that didn't apply where Donnie was concerned. Worse, I was angrier at myself than I was at him. The reasons why were all toxic, but I couldn’t keep them out of my head.

I shouldn't have baited him so much. I should have ducked. I should have known better than to argue with him when he was drunk. The embarrassment at being seen like this, at being pitied by people like Naomi and gossiped about by everyone else, was much worse than anything else he could have doled out. If I'd just been a little more careful...

The back door creaked open and my heart kicked up in my chest. I slammed the cover of my notebook closed and stuffed it back inside my bag, smiling in greeting at James, one of the line cooks, as he lit up a smoke.

"Busy night?" he asked.

I rose to my feet and headed for the door. "It comes and it goes."