Noah (The Mitchell/Healy Family #1)(14)
Author: Jennifer Foor

Not only did my uncle let me move in, but he also offered me a job. I’ll never forget the day I packed my things and walked out of my house. I never said goodbye, or told him where I was going. In fact, I still don’t think he knows my uncle is back, and that we are in touch with each other.

The last time I saw my dad was this morning at the graveyard. He tried to hug me, but I pulled away before we connected. The older I got the more disgusted with him I became. What man drinks so much that he thinks his daughter is his dead wife? It repulses me.

Thinking about my dad brought me back to why I was so pissed off. Not only had my boyfriend forgot about the importance of the day, but he’d blown me off to hang out with friends.

I should have known he was bad news when we got together, because that’s all I’ve ever been attracted to. I want a guy that I work hard to get; one that treats me like shit, but keeps expecting more.

It was my nature by fault, and I didn’t know how to change it. The only good thing that came out of it was that I never expected a man to save me from myself. I knew how I was and I’d accepted it.

The only real downfall to setting my standards so low was that at times like these I needed support. I needed a shoulder to cry on, and the reminder that I wasn’t alone in the world. Sure, I had friends and even some family, but they’d walk away from my problems for their own petty needs without a single ounce of guilt.

That’s what ripped me apart inside.

It was probably a bad idea to feed a complete stranger so many shots. Usually I wasn’t so negligent when it came to patrons. Going to jail for serving someone alcohol and them getting in a wreck wasn’t my idea of a good time. After the seventh shot for him, and second for myself, I’d decided that he’d drank enough.

We’d spoke briefly, and both times I was sure I wasn’t exactly friendly. My mood was tampered by my shitty life, and knowing that I’d never get out of this town to pursue what I really wanted to do.

I approached the customer and noticed that his eyes were drooping. Where he’d worn a frown before was now replaced with a cool smile. His white teeth were perfect, and I almost wondered if they were fake. Though he was wearing a hat, I could tell he had thick dark hair. Then there were those eyes. My god, I’d never seen green eyes like his before. “You comin’ over for another round, darlin’?”

His words…

That accent…

He gave me butterflies when he spoke to me, which was so unusual. I dealt with men every day, and not even my boyfriend could get a response like that. “Actually, I was coming to give you your bill. I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

He grabbed my arm before I got a hold of the shot glasses that were empty on the table. “Just a couple more and then I’ll be on my way.”

I pulled away from him as a natural reflex. Too often I was being approached with random drunks from town. They reminded me of my dad and I always got nauseous.

Except this was different. His focused eyes stayed on mine. “You’re already way over the legal limit. I think it’s best for both of us if you had a couple glasses of water.”

“You got any Doritos? I love eatin’ those f**kin’ things after I’ve been out partyin’.”

He wiped his face, so awkwardly that he almost missed it completely. He definitely couldn’t pass a sobriety test.

“I’ve got pretzels and water.” I turned to walk away and he grabbed the back pocket to my jeans, pulling me back towards him. When I fell down on his lap, after losing my balance, I shot up and was prepared to smack him. He covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry,” he slurred. “I just need a minute to think.”

I placed my hands on my hips and waited for him to say something else. Instead, he stood up and then fell back down in the chair. “Did you put drugs in my drink? I don’t do drugs. What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ wearin’ such crap? I bet you’re beautiful without a disguise,” he slurred.

It was funny to me how this drunk stranger somehow understood why I dressed that way for work. The less skin and figure that I showed, the safer I was around a bunch of intoxicated, belligerent fools. It wasn’t like my brother cared if I was abducted and sexually assaulted. He’d made that obvious when he started leaving me to close up shop without him.

“Water and pretzels would be nice.” Finally he relaxed in the chair again.

When I got back to the bar I noticed that money had been left on the counter and all of the other customers had gone. The clock was nearing midnight and I felt comfortable that nobody else would be stopping by for a drink. After locking the outside door from people coming in, I served the drunk guy pretzels and a bottle of water, and started cleaning up.

After a while I forgot that he was still there. I mean, in the back of my mind I knew I wasn’t alone, but he was so out of it that it wasn’t like I had good company.

The jukebox had stopped playing a mixed variety of music for a while, and I hated the quiet, so I started to do what I did best; what I did every night that I closed out the bar.

I sang a song that I wrote for my mother. I’d sang it earlier in the cemetery and every year on the same day. She was my angel, the one person who understood what I was put on the earth to do. She made me promise that I’d never stop singing, and I couldn’t let her down, no matter how hard life got, I couldn’t stop.

“Why’d you have to leave me,

Out in the cold so alone and afraid.

I’ve done my best with what I’ve been given,

I’ll never feel ashamed.

I know you’re out there watching,

Making sure that I don’t fall.

Life without you, Momma,

Feels like no life at all.”

Clapping made me jump and stop singing.

The stranger was standing, well leaning, on a stool on the other side of the bar from me. “That was amazin’. Do it again.”

My cheeks caught fire as I became aware that he’d been listening. Since I was no good at performing in front of people, this had made me uncomfortable. “I –”

“What’s a little thing like you doin’ with pipes like that?”

I couldn’t help but smile. When I was a little girl I sang in the choir. Back then it was easy for me to perform. It wasn’t until my mother died that everything had changed. Maybe it was after she died, when my father came home and blamed all of my singing on her cancer. He said my voice was from the devil and that I’d made her sick.