Settling in
1141 Words
(Mira)
A few days passed since the dinner at Ridge's parents' house. The work at The Spoke was getting easier. I knew the regulars now, knew what they ordered, knew which ones tipped well and which ones didn't.
The routine was simple. Pour drinks, take orders, clear tables. Hank trusted me enough to handle the bar alone during the lunch shift while he ran errands. That felt good. Like I was earning my place here.
What I didn't understand was Ridge.
He came to the bar every night around six. Always sat in the same spot at the end of the bar. Always ordered the same thing. Burger, fries, water. He'd eat, handle whatever club business needed handling, and watch me work.
Not in a creepy way. More like he was making sure I was okay. Making sure nobody gave me trouble.
It should have annoyed me. Instead, it made me feel safer than I had in years.
Harlow came by yesterday afternoon. She'd sat at the bar, ordered food she barely touched, and talked about everything and nothing. Her job at the local real estate office, her parents, people in town I didn't know yet. She never pushed for information about me, which I appreciated more than she knew.
On my day off, I was upstairs folding the few shirts I owned when my phone rang.
I'd kept it off mostly, only turning it on once or twice to check. But today I'd left it on while I cleaned my room.
The screen lit up. Unknown number. My stomach twisted.
I let it ring. Listened to it go to voicemail. Waited.
The voicemail notification popped up a minute later.
I stared at it for a long time before I hit play.
"Mirabelle." Tyler's voice filled my ear and I wanted to throw the phone across the room. "I know you're out there somewhere thinking you got away. But you didn't, baby. You can't just leave me. We belong together. You know that. I've been looking for you. Asking around. Someone's going to know where you went. And when I find you, we're going to talk about this like adults. I'm not mad anymore. I forgive you. Just come home."
The message ended.
I deleted it immediately and blocked the number. Then I sat on the bed and tried to breathe normal.
He was still looking. Of course he was still looking. Tyler didn't give up on things he thought belonged to him. And he'd always thought I belonged to him.
My hands were shaking. I pressed them against my knees and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then thirty.
It didn't help.
I thought about telling Ridge. He'd said if I had trouble following me, I should tell him sooner rather than later. But what was he going to do? Tyler wasn't here. He was just calling. Just talking. Just reminding me that he existed.
No. I could handle this myself. I'd handled worse.
I turned off my phone completely and shoved it back in my bag.
I needed to get out of this room. Needed to move. Needed to do something other than sit here and think about Tyler's voice.
I went downstairs. The bar wouldn't open for another two hours, but Hank was already there setting up.
"Thought it was your day off," he said when he saw me.
"It is. Just needed to get out of my room."
He nodded like he understood. "Want to help me inventory the stockroom? Always goes faster with two people."
"Sure."
We spent the next hour counting bottles and checking supplies. It was mindless work, which was exactly what I needed. Hank didn't ask questions, didn't push. Just let me work.
By the time we finished, I felt more settled. Not okay, but better.
"Thanks," I told him.
"Anytime." He checked his watch. "Bar opens in an hour. You sticking around or heading back up?"
"I'll stick around. Maybe grab something to eat."
"Help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen."
I made myself a sandwich and sat at the bar eating it. The place was quiet. Peaceful. I could almost forget about the voicemail. Almost.
The door opened and Ridge walked in. Earlier than usual. It wasn't even five yet.
He saw me and stopped. "Thought it was your day off."
"It is."
"Then why are you here?"
"Couldn't sleep."
He walked over and sat next to me. Didn't say anything. Just sat there.
After a minute, I said, "Do you ever get tired of people asking you questions?"
"All the time."
"Good. Then I won't ask you any."
His mouth almost curved into a smile. "Appreciate it."
We sat in silence. It should have been awkward, but it wasn't. It was just quiet.
"You want to tell me what's bothering you?" he asked after a while.
"Not really."
"Fair enough."
More silence.
Then I said, "If someone was looking for you, how hard would it be for them to find you here?"
Ridge turned to look at me. "Depends on who's looking and how hard they're trying."
"What if they're trying really hard?"
"Then they'd probably find you eventually." He paused. "This about whoever you're running from?"
"Maybe."
"They call you?"
I nodded.
"What'd they say?"
"That they're looking. That they're going to find me." I stared at my half-eaten sandwich. "That they forgive me."
"Forgive you for what?"
"For leaving."
Ridge was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Someone who needs to forgive you for leaving isn't someone you should go back to."
"I know."
"You planning to go back?"
"No."
"Good." He stood up. "Then we'll deal with it when they show up. If they show up."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
He walked behind the bar and grabbed a water from the cooler. Came back and set it in front of me.
"Drink something. You look pale."
I took the water. "You don't have to take care of me."
"I know."
"Then why do you?"
He looked at me. Really looked at me. "Because I want to."
It was the simplest answer in the world. And somehow the most complicated.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay."
He sat back down next to me and we stayed like that until the bar opened. Other people started coming in. Club members, regulars, people from town. The noise level rose. Life continued.
But I kept thinking about what Ridge had said. We'll deal with it when they show up.
Not if. When.
Like he already knew Tyler would find me eventually. Like he was already planning for it.
And instead of scaring me, it made me feel less alone.
For the first time since I left, I thought maybe I didn't have to handle everything by myself.
Maybe it was okay to let someone help.
Maybe it was okay to stay.
- Writer
