Music plays loudly through the bar as I mix drinks. It's karaoke night, which means there are plenty of drunk, tone deaf people sounding like whales while blurting slurred lyrics to their favorite Top 40 song. In other words: it's the worst night of my life.
"I need a vodka tonic." A gruff man with a beard and a lumberjack shirt says as he slams down at the bar. "And maybe some earplugs to block these losers out."
"Tell me about it." I say, starting to mix his drink as I look at him. "You from around here?"
"Next town over. Westdale." He says. "Can't go to a bar there without running into somebody I know. I'm tired of talking I'm just trying to drink."
"Well," I say, sliding the vodka tonic in front of him. "Drink away. Let me know if you need anything else."
"Thanks." He says, raising his glass to me before I shoot him a smile and walk over to the other side of the bar where Nick wipes down some glasses.
"I hate karaoke night." I say.
"Tell me about it." Nick says, picking up a new glass as he turns around to face me, sighing. "You ever feel like Candace puts us on these nights to torture us?"
"I feel like everything Candace does is to torture us." I say.
"Believe it or not, I couldn't give less of two shits about you." Candace says, walking up behind us from the back rolling a pallet of brand new liquor bottles. "What I do give two shits about though is that you two niggas stop yapping and do your damn jobs."
Candace starts stacking bottles on the shelves and I look at Nick, who gives me an eye roll before walking back out to tend to the tables.
"You, you, you oughta know!" A drunk, middle-aged lady in a too tight dress and half-inch heels finished her rendition of Alanis Morrissette's You Oughta Know before throwing her middle fingers in the air. "Fuck you, Craig!"
A group of other women and one guy, who I assume are her friends, cheer profusely for her as she jumps from the stage and walks back over to them.
"Emory." Candace says, and I turn to look at her with my eyes raised. "The next time you can't find a babysitter and have to bring those kids, at least make use of them and put them to work, or don't show up at all. Finish stacking those bottles. I need a smoke break."
Candace wipes her hands on her pants and walks out of the bar. I sigh as I watch her disappear through the door and into the night.
Gotta love Karaoke Night.
⫷⫸
"I never meant to cause you any sorrow," The guy that was with the "fuck you Craig" lady is now on stage singing Prince. Surprisingly, he's doing an okay job. The best one that's stepped up there tonight. Cheers to the gays.
I finally finishing stocking the new liquor when Nick walks back behind the bar.
"There's somebody in booth seven that's requesting you." Nick says as he refills a picture with beer.
"Who is it?" I question, because I've never been requested before.
Nick gives me a one-shouldered shrug. "I dunno. Looks familiar though."
I grab a notepad in case they try to order food, though people rarely ever eat when they come here, and then I walk to the back where the booths are.
"I only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rain,"
I almost stop dead in my tracks when I see is sitting in booth seven, and I feel my fists involuntarily clench at the sight of him. Beckett. I haven't seen him since the other day at his house. Why the hell is he in a bar on this side of town and why the hell is requesting that I be the one to serve him?
"How can I help you?" I say, putting on the fakest most polite voice that I can muster up, though it comes out sounding very forced.
Beckett looks up from his phone, where I catch a glimpse of some Instagram thot's page that he appears to be stalking. From the bleary look in his eyes, I can already tell he's drunk.
"You're the one that was sniffing my mom's draws the other day, right?" Beckett questions, a slur in his words as he narrows his eyes at me. He has incredibly thick and long eyelashes. I wonder why I haven't noticed them before?
Wait a second. It he trying to charm me with a look? Ha! He's going to have to try a lot harder than that.
"How can I help you?" I repeat again, this tome more forcibly than before.
Beckett chuckles. "I see how this is gonna go. That's fine though. You probably used to asking that question to people like me ain't you?"
This asshole.
"Tell you what," Beckett says, locking his phone and setting it down, "you be extra good to me and maybe I'll give you a big tip. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
I should slap him in the face. Punch his teeth down his throat. Rip every single thick eyelash off of his face and then gauge his eyes out. Who the fuck does he think he is? Is he privilege really that deep? Does he think people are just supposed to cater to his every wish and desire?
"Tap water it is." I say, turning on my heel and I'm about to walk away, but then he reaches out and grabs my elbow to stop me.
I immediately turn and yank my arm out of his grasp. "Don't fucking touch me you asshole." I snap.
Beckett chuckles. "There it is."
"There what is?" I question through my teeth.
"That fire I saw at my house the other day." Beckett says back.
"So what? You came all the way out here just to make me mad?" I ask him, because if so it definitely worked.
"No. I didn't even know you worked here." Beckett says. "Then I saw you standing behind the bar and couldn't help myself."
"Why are you on this side of town anyway?" I question, deciding not to comment on what he said. "I'm sure there are plenty of bars on your side that are much nicer and probably have better alcohol."
"Liquor is liquor." Beckett replies. The true words of an alcoholic. "Besides, people who know me go to those bars. Here I can fly under the radar."
"Whatever." I grumble. "What do you want?"
"Rum and coke on the rocks." Beckett replies, and then he's back on his phone. "Two ice cubes."
I roll my eyes. Two ice cubes. I turn on my heel and walk back over to the bar to mix his drink. Fuck this and fuck him.
⫷⫸
When we finally close, I have a pounding ache in both my head and my feet. I've never felt more exhausted in my life as I finally gather the last of the trash and hoist the big bag out of the door and into the back alley where the dumpsters are.
Beckett didn't leave me a tip at all like he said he would, even though I think he was trying to be funny. After I brought him his drink, he didn't say anything else to me, just down three more glasses, paid with a platinum credit card, and walked out of the bar.
Light rain has started to fall, and I remember it's supposed to get heavier throughout the night. I use all the might that I can muster to sling the trash bag into the green, spray painted dumpster, and I'm about to turn back around and walk back into the bar when something catches my eyes.
Standing at the end of the alleyway are two figures—two that I recognize. One more than the other, but that hulking figure couldn't be missed anywhere. Giovanni, one of Bachelor's corner boys, and Beckett Tate.
They slap hands, and I have no doubt that what they're exchanging is money and drugs. Every logical part of my being screams to me to head back inside as fast as possible, that this wasn't my business, and that that asshole Beckett Tate is going to get what's coming to him if he keeps this up. However, a smaller voice inside of me tells me to stay, to watch what unfolds, for reasons that are completely unknown.
Giovanni and Beckett get ready to part ways, but just before Beckett can hurry off, Giovanni grabs his wrist.
"Wait, bruh, this ain't enough." Giovanni says, counting the wad of cash in his hand. "Where the rest?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Beckett says, and he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. Even in such a simple gesture it's easy to read the massive amount of entitlement that he carries around with him.
"Nigga, you know damn well what I'm talking about." Giovanni says, and I see him reach for the back of his waistband, and I already know he's got his fingers curling around a gun. "We not in ya hood no more, we in mines. Now, you either gon' give me the rest of the money, or ima have to settle this."
"Settle this how?" Beckett counters, stepping up to Giovanni like a complete idiot. He really thinks he's invincible. It doesn't help that he's drunk off his ass, too.
"You trying to find out?" Giovanni asks, pulling his gun out and pointing it right at Beckett's forehead just as thunder rumbles in the distance and lightning streaks across the sky.
As the lightning illuminates the alley for a split second, I can see the reserve that replaces the cockiness on Beckett's face.
Beckett raises his hands up slowly. "Look, I got you, but I ain't got you today."
"Don't play with me or my money, pretty boy. You better call that rich daddy of yours and tell him you done got yourself into a little bind." Giovanni says, pushing the barrel of the gun right between Beckett's eyes. "Go on. Call him right now. I wanna watch you."
Beckett doesn't make an sudden movements, and there's a thick silence lingering over them before a whoop of a siren and a flash of blue lights as a cop car appears at the end of the alleyway just as heavy rain starts to fall.
"Shit!" Giovanni says. "You got lucky this time nigga."
Giovanni takes off running, and I slip back into the bar quickly, watching through the little window as Beckett makes a run for it—running in the opposite direction of the police car and the way Giovanni went—and finding himself stuck at the end of the alley—right outside of the door I'm standing behind.
The blue lights illuminate his worried face as he turns back to the cop car.
"Put your hands in the air." I hear the cop say over the loud speaker, and I see Beckett raise his hands in the air slowly.
Just leave, Emory. Just go.
Beckett swallows thickly, and I the worry is evident in his eyes even from this far.
Don't get in the middle of this. This is not your business Emory. Close up and go home.
"Get on your knees!" The cop says through the speaker, the car getting closer and closer to Beckett, and the rain falling harder, making it harder to see, thunder booming through the sky.
Don't do it, Emory.
Shit.
I open the door to the bar, and gesture for Beckett to come closer.
Beckett turns his eyes to me, his hands still raised high in the air, and his eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"You either come with me or go with them. What's it gonna be?" I say over to him, and his brown eyes dart back to the police car that's getting closer to him. They're driving slowly—probably laughing on the inside of the car. Such assholes.
Beckett only lingers for a moment more before darting to the left and rushing into the bar. He's dripping wet as his large body breezes past me, and I can smell the liquor wafting off of him. I close the door and lock it.
"Wait, I know you." Beckett says, standing there dripping on the floor. He's drunker than I thought. He was just here.
"Yeah. Now where's your car." I say quickly, walking past him and shutting off every light. I'm the last one here, so all we have to do is leave through the front and get the hell outta here.
"Across the street." Beckett says, a heavier slur in his words now than he had earlier. "You're my maid's son."
"Don't make me regret helping you." I say, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind me through the bar.
"We drinking some more?" Beckett questions, stumbling slightly as I move as fast as possible.
"Give me your keys." I say, holding my hand out to him.
"Why?" Beckett questions, moving to sit down on a barstool, but I grab him by the shoulder and drag him along. Beckett whips out of my grasp, stumbling into a table before turning and looking at me with wild eyes. "Get your hands off of me!"
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I should've just left him out there. It'll be a matter of time before the cops loop back around and bust in here looking for him—and then we'll both probably go to jail. Oh, God, what have I done?
"Give me your keys. I need them to drive you back home because you're too drunk." I say, holding my hand back out again. Beckett just looks at me indignantly. "It's either you give me the keys and I drive you back home, or you get back behind the wheel and majorly fuck up. What's it gonna be?"
Beckett stares at me again, his gaze still hard and unwavering, but I can see that the wheels are turning in his intoxicated brain. He knows what will happen if he gets in trouble again. I've met his father.
"Fine." Beckett digs his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to me, and I go to grab his arm and pull him behind me but he pulls it back from me. "I can walk myself."
"Then come on." I say.
We head to the front door of the bar, and I peak outside to make sure that there aren't any cops. They haven't come back around yet, but I know it's only a matter of time. I close the door and lock it behind us, and then we hurry across the street to Beckett's parked car.
We get in, and I've never been in a car this expensive before. I push the button to start it, and the Mercedes purrs to life. I adjust the seat, moving it forward, because my legs aren't as long as Beckett's.
"Don't wreck my shit. I know you can't afford it." Beckett says as he struggles to buckle his seatbelt.
I sigh and reach over and do it for him. "Don't be an asshole to the person saving your ass."
Beckett grumbles something that I can't hear, though I'm sure it some smart ass comment. He better be glad I couldn't hear it, otherwise I would've put him out on the street.
Just as I'm about to drive off, the cop car rounds the corner, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel.
"Shit!" Beckett curses, dipping down as low as possible in the passenger's seat, and I stare blankly out of the windshield.
It seems like time creeps by at the slowest pace possible as the cop car creeps by as well, my heart thundering in my chest as heavy rains pelts against the car, and I don't realize that I'm holding my breath until the car disappears around another corner. I sigh in relief.
I put the car in drive and pull off.
⫷⫸
The first ten minutes of the ride is silent, which is good, because I'm definitely reveling in the feeling of being behind the wheel of a car this expensive. It's strange to think that Beckett probably takes this for granted. I, on the other hand, got my license with the knowledge that I wouldn't have a vehicle to drive.
Maybe I can convince drunk him to give it to me.
"Why are you doing this?" Beckett asks out of the blue, his face still trained on the trees passing by outside of the window, his voice breaking through the thick and heavy tension in the car.
"Doing what?" I ask, but I know exactly what he means. It's obvious. He's probably going to think I'm stupid, or that it's what I'm supposed to do for someone like him, but I really don't care.
"Helping me." Beckett says, finally turning to look at me. I glance over at him for a second, and through the darkness I can barely see his brown eyes. He looks a mess, like his drunkenness has finally shifted to tiredness. "I mean, I was a complete asshole to you the other day."
Wow. Wasn't expecting that. Is this an apology without the I'm sorry?
"You're right. You were a complete asshole to me." I say, eyes trained on the yellow lines on the road as we pass them. "But I couldn't just stand by and let you get taken in by those cops."
"Why not? I was technically breaking the law." Beckett says.
"You were breaking the law. Most definitely. No technicality in it at all." I correct him, still trying to avoid his question.
"Okay?" Beckett says, a bit of a tone in his voice that tells me he's getting annoyed with my dodging. Maybe he'll take the hint and leave me alone. "That still doesn't answer my question though."
Damn it.
I sigh, shifting my hands on the steering wheel and chewing on the inside of my cheek for a moment. "Let's just say, I don't have a very good experience with the cops. No one in this part of the city does."
Beckett much catch the hint that I really don't want to talk about this, because he seals his lips and doesn't say another word for the rest of the drive. I've got to say—drunk Beckett is a lot more manageable and likable that sober Beckett. Sober Beckett is a complete and utter asshole.
I watch from the corner of my eye as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little baggy of white powder. Crack? Seriously?
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I gotta snort this shit before I get back home." Beckett says.
"You fucking do crack?" I question, eyes knitted together. How fucking stupid is he? More importantly: when did Bachelor start dealing that? I thought he just did weed and pills.
"No. This is gonna be my first time." Beckett says, opening the bag. "You're about to witness me pop my crack cherry."
"Like hell I am." I say, reaching over and snatching the little baggy from him, rolling down my window, tossing it outside, and then rolling it up.
"Yo! What the fuck?!" Beckett exclaims, shooting me a glare.
"You're welcome." I say. "Weed is one thing, but you're heading down a dangerous path when you start messing around with them heavy drugs."
"I paid good money for that."
"You didn't even give Giovanni all the money that you were supposed to, so I don't even want to hear it." I say. "You know, you're lucky that cop showed up when he did otherwise you'd have a bullet in your head right now."
Beckett sighs, leaning back in his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know."
I look at him for a second, he's much more of a mess than I originally thought, but that's really not my business.
When we finally pull up to the gate, I expect to have to press the button on the box again, but as I drive forward the gate opens automatically. They must know the car and think that Beckett is driving. Beckett reaches over, pressing a button on the touchscreen, and the garage door slides open.
"Just pull in between those two." Beckett says, and I do as I'm told, pulling in between two more expensive cars.
I put the car in park and turn off the engine. Beckett and I sit there in silence for a moment, both just looking out of the windshield at the concrete wall of the garage.
"I guess I should say thank you." Beckett says, turning his head to look at me.
I nod my head. "That's what someone with manners would say."
"Sorry I was such a dick to you." Beckett says with a shrug. "Usually just take out my frustrations on other people."
"Yeah, well, I like you better drunk than I do sober." I say with a chuckle, and Beckett laughs softly too, but it's almost like he's trying to mask pain or fear.
"I like me better drunk, too." Beckett says, his voice low as he looks at the glove compartment for a while.
There's another beat of silence. The tension is still thick in the car. I can't decide if I like him at all or not. My first impression of him was definitely a bad one.
There's a rapping on the window, and we both jump slightly as we turn to look at his father standing there, hands on his hips and a look of disappointment on his face.
"Shit." Beckett curses beneath his breath, sighing as we both get out of the car.
"I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when I get a phone call that says my son was spotted by a deputy in the midst of a drug deal with a gun pulled on him." Mr. Tate says, eyes burning holes into Beckett, who looks anywhere but at his father shamefully. I guess Beckett wasn't as far away from prying eyes as he thought he was. "Get your ass in the house, Beckett. We have some things to discuss, because it seems like our last talk didn't fix any of your damn problems."
Beckett sighs, turning on his heel, and walking through a door in the house. I stand there awkwardly, hands in my pocket, and lips rolled back between my teeth as Mr. Tate's eyes move over to me.
"You." He says, eyes trained on me over the top of the car. "Thank you. It's Emory, right?"
"Yes." I say.
"Thank you for looking out for him. You could've gotten in some serious trouble if you'd gotten caught." He says.
"I know." I say with a sigh. I was being stupid for a guy who was such an asshole to me.
"Why'd you do it?" Mr. Tate asks, tilting his head quizzically as he slants his eyes at me, as if he's trying to read me to determine what my motive is here.
"I, um, I didn't want to see him go down like that." I say with a shrug. "I know how law enforcement officers can be sometimes, and as much as I didn't like our first encounter—I didn't want to see your son go down like that. Plus, I didn't want him driving back here and killing someone."
"Oh." Mr. Tate says, nodding his eyes, and it seems like there are gears turning in his head again as he stands there watching me silently for a moment. Finally, he speaks again. "Thank you, again. I'll have our driver Smith drive you home."
"Oh, that's not necessary. I can walk. Catch the bus." I say, because honestly I'm just trying to get out of here.
"Nonsense. There's a thunderstorm going on." He says, pulling out his phone and sending a text. "It's the least I can do to repay you."
I just offer him a small smile.
⫷⫸
It's late when I finally get back home.
Smith hasn't said a word the whole ride, which only made it awkward, so I'm thankful when he pulls the black Cadillac Escalade into my driveway. I thank him before getting out, using the umbrella that Robert insisted on me having, just as a familiar car speeds down the road and then slows down.
Bachelor.
As Smith drives off, Bachelor reverses his car and backs back to the front of my driveway and stops. With a sigh, because I really just want to shower and go to bed, I walk over to his car and get inside.
Lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating Bachelor's handsome face for a moment, and I can see the worry and stress etched in his features.
"What's going on?" I ask. "Are you okay?"
"I ain't tryna talk if ya know what I'm saying." Bachelor says, turning to look at me slightly.
I know exactly what's he's saying.