Page 75 of Unruly

“Cash—”

“I’ll call you when I know what’s going on,” I cut him off, already halfway out.

The cold night air hits me as I jog across the gravel to my truck. I yank the door open and slide in, starting the engine before I’ve even shut the door all the way. My phone buzzes in my pocket again—the background check from Miranda coming through.

I don’t open it.

I just throw the truck in drive and peel out of the lot, tires kicking up dust behind me as I head toward town.

Toward The Bar.

Toward her.

My hands are tight on the wheel, jaw clenched so hard it hurts. I don’t know what the fuck I’m walking into, but every instinct I’ve got is screaming that something’s wrong. That Zach showing up isn’t some random coincidence. That I should’ve gone to her sooner instead of sitting around pretending I didn’t give a shit.

I press down harder on the gas.

I’m coming, Darlin’.

Just hold on.

HALLE

Ilock the front door with a soft click that echoes through the empty bar. The neon “Open” sign outside flickers once, twice, then dies as I flip the switch.

It’s just before two in the morning, and the first time tonight that there’s complete silence. There aren’t clinking pool balls over in the corner, or the speakers of the jukebox deafening us with the same song played a dozen times tonight.

Because Aunt Aria has been overwhelmed with life lately, Matt decided to take her to the cabin they own up in the mountains for a few days. So it’s just been me running the place until they return. I don’t mind, though. I completely get feeling the weight of it all. Apart from running things here, life has been pulling all of us in so many directions.

One of us deserved to get the fuck away from it all.

“She needs fresh air and no one asking for refills,” Matt told me with that knowing smile.

I didn’t argue.

Someone has to keep the lights on, beers flowing, and make sure the doors stay open for the regulars who treat this place like a second home.

I wipe down the bar top again. My shoulders ache from hauling those kegs earlier in the evening, making the thought of taking a bath when I get home so appealing.

Closing down the bar is easy, though. I did this when I was in college too. At this point, it’s methodical.

Sweep the floors until the old wooden planks shine again.

Wipe down all the tables and straighten chairs.

Check the stock in the cooler, noting what needs ordering tomorrow.

Count the till carefully, stacking bills and sorting coins.

To be honest, I spend as long as possible doing it because the longer I’m here, keeping myself busy, the less time I have to spend at home, constantly thinking of Cash and how he ended things. And less time I have to think about the fact that in a couple weeks, I have my court date with Zach to finalize this divorce.

Cash is right. It was foolish to think we could be anything other than what I insisted we were from the start. He’s young and fun and I was naïve to think he could be honest about his feelings about me. And deep down, I know it was wrong of me to do it all while still legally married. Or at least, that’s what I keep trying to convince myself, even if that part isn’t quite clicking.

Finishing up the main room, I head to the stock room to see what needs to be taken care of back here. I haul empty bottles to the recycling bin, the glass clinking softly with each step. Bringing the mop up front, I get the sticky spill left behind by that rowdy group who rolled in around nine, their group growing louder with every round they ordered.

My mind wanders back to Cash and the way he ate my pussy while I was tied up, begging him to let me come. My pussy aches at the thought of him doing it again.

It was just fun … That’s all.