9
* * *
Trick
I checkmy watch for the millionth time. And it’s 4:37, two minutes after the last time I checked. I pace along the length of the bar. We just opened and there are only a few patrons here. Tina’s got it covered, so I head into the kitchen.
“She should be there by now. It’s only six hours, and even with stops--”
“She is. I just got a text a couple minutes ago.” Nolan reassures me, though his words cut like a damn knife. She texted him? What the hell? How could I have read that situation so wrong? Just as I’m berating myself, my watch dings and I see her name flash across the screen.
Charlie: Made it safe and sound.
Holy hell, what do I respond to that?Great, now turn back around and come home to me. Ha. Hardly. Charlie made it clear when she left that I’m not enough of a reason to stay. And maybe that's on me-- last night really meant something to me, so I threw out declarations like we’d been a couple for three years, rather than just friends. But holding her like that? And telling her I wanted to stay like that forever? I thought I’d made my feelings clear, but maybe she thought I was just speaking in the heat of the moment?
I have no clue how to respond, but I know I need to. I give her a thumbs up emoji, so she knows I got the text.
There.
That’s good. Neutral, polite.
“You did not just send her a fucking thumbs up emoji,” Nolan scolds from over my shoulder, where he’s reading my text.
“You can see that I did,” I deadpan.
“Uh, maybe I’m missing something here, but a few hours ago, you were damn near crying into your coffee cup over her and now you’re sending her the universal text symbol for “fuck you.” What the hell, Trick?”
“What are you talking about? Thumbs up meansyea, cool, I got it.”
“Uh, maybe in 2009, it did. But now it’s sarcastic as fuck. It’s basically the middle finger of emojis.”
Jesus.
I have no time to dwell on my digital faux pas because Tina beckons me out front.
I swing through the saloon-style doors that separate the kitchen from the back of the bar and see red when I come face-to-face with Brady, the dick weasel.
Clueless as always, he says, “Hey, is Charlie here yet?”
My hands fist at my sides. Holy hell, do I want to punch this guy. He’s such an asshole. He has no idea what he’s put Charlie through.
“Nope,” I say, popping that last consonant.
“Is she working tonight?”
“Nope,” I repeat.
This pisswizard is finally getting a clue that I am not happy to see him.
“What the hell, Trick? I just need to talk to Charlie. We had a misunderstanding yes--”
I’ve had enough. I’m seconds away from kicking Brady out for good, but first, I have a few things to say. “A misunderstanding?” I question. “You misunderstood that you’re not supposed to bang another chick on your ex-girlfriend’s bed?”
He pales at my words, but tries to recover. I don’t give him the chance. “Save it. She’s gone. The where is none of your concern, and the why is completely your doing. Do us all a favor and forget you ever met Charlie Pierce. Forget how beautiful she is, how funny, how fucking badass. Because you lost her. You fucked up more times than I can count. She broke up with you months ago, but here you are, ready to beg her to come back. Guess what, chump? It ain’t happening this time.”
“Fuck you, Trick. You think I never saw the way you looked at her? Fuck. You. You’re just jealous she’s--”
A fist comes out swinging from Brady’s left side. I see it clear as day, but it blindsides the fuck out of him.
