On the Rocks (Pub Fiction Book 2) Read online

  Hillary insists that I’ll will change my mind, and that I just need to put myself out there more socially. Jeez. Her, London and Grams. I swear they are all in cahoots.

  Hillary is absolutely right about me, though. I never put myself out there at all. Right now my social life consists of the Disney Channel, dress-up with Emmerson and her stuffies, playing euchre with Grams and her gals Tuesday nights, and hanging out with London. I know, I know, I’m thrilling. Sarcasm alert. Clearly, thrilling I am not. I’ve been lame for a while now—but I’m really hoping to change that this year.

  I’ve decided that being in my last year of university and having hid behind Shawn’s death and motherhood for so long, I owe it to myself to start trying to have a good time…well, more of an adult good time. I’m both excited and scared shitless about the prospect of making some changes in my ever-structured routine. But with Grams, London and my Little Miss all cheering me on, I know I can do it. I can become more of a “human” as Grams has so eloquently put it time and time again. However, I constantly struggle with questions like: will people even like me? Accept that my life is a little different than most twenty-two-year olds? Will they want to be friends with a mom?

  Only time will tell, I guess.

  Guilt. Guilt plays a huge role in my daily life. I know I need to move forward but I just can’t seem to stop looking back. I know Shawn never wanted this for me, but I just can’t seem to get past the idea of being with anyone other than him. He was so many of my firsts, so I’m conflicted that he won’t be my lasts. I think because of that, I don’t allow myself to take the risk of falling in love.

  Shawn wrote that he would always watch over our daughter and me and that one day he would bring us our “Knight”. He was clear that he wanted us to be happy over the years to come. I’ve re-read certain parts of his letter repeatedly looking for some justification for his actions, but in turn it only ends up confusing and upsetting me, and making my body and my soul ache to breathe his breath just one last time. These beautifully scrawled words of love coming from my beautifully broken man in the worst time of his life are killer on my being, but I pull the letter from my purse.

  “Wynnie, I promise you will know when I’ve sent the happiness cavalry for both you and my baby. I’ll make sure you meet your Knight. The one who’s meant to care for you just as I should have. I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you, I hope you know this has nothing to do with you, I just can’t take it anymore, the daily fight to not feel the heavy weight that overtakes me when I’m on my own, away from you. I want to be the man you deserve, but I can’t. Please believe me that my only light has only ever been you. I know you will always guide me in the darkness as I will guide you in the light. I’m about to begin a new journey without you and I’m so fucking scared, but I have to. I’m tired of hiding my anger, my hate for myself; I need the torment to end. I’m sorry for being selfish…I just can’t.”

  I may have lost my birth parents because I chose Shawn and my baby, but in the process I gained the best people I could ever have now standing in my corner. Thank goodness my Grams was there to get Emme and I the hell out of that town once and for all. Unfortunately, all my family saw was a sinner who chose the wrong path and deserved to deal with whatever consequences came my way, rather than a broken girl who lost so much and needed help to find herself again.

  I’ve learned some important life lessons over the years since Shawn’s death, the main one being: love is for fools and I will NEVER be a fool again. The second lesson: I will never understand the choice to take your own life.

  The saying, “Suicide doesn’t end pain, it just passes it on to others” is a lesson I’ve found to be true the hard way. Despite my wavering on my feelings over Shawn’s suicide as the years pass, I still move through the grief stages. I fluctuate from anger to blame to understanding; I still struggle to compartmentalize my feelings toward the man I assumed was my forever. The man I thought I knew. The hardest part was getting over the final images I saw of him, ones that have plagued me over the years. But after talking it through with Hillary, I realize Shawn wasn’t thinking about me finding him that way, it’s not like he was being malicious. No, he was simply hurting, and not in any frame of mind to think of those around him. I just can’t ever seem to stop asking why? Or how could you? Along with the contents of his note, I also can’t seem to shake the belief that I am in some capacity a reason Shawn isn’t here. Lucky for me, Hillary assures me my feelings are completely normal and that his ultimate choice was not my fault.

  If I can ever help even one person cope—as Hillary’s helped me—it will be worth every effort I have to make to get there.

  However, the greatest overall life lesson I’ve learned over the last four years is that, yes, I can do this. I can be a survivor and the best damn mom to the person who matters the most in my world.

  My daughter.

  I fold Shawn’s letter carefully and put it back in my purse. One of the cranky people has finally spotted the bus coming.

  Chapter 4

  Braunwyn

  “I checked my phone and I think I’m on the right route, but does this take me near Glendale and Cross?” I ask the driver before getting on the bus. After the driver confirms it is indeed the right one, I grab a seat at the back, steel my nerves, and go over answers to the possible questions that Grams and I have been practicing for the interview.

  God, I need this break. A little bit of extra money would allow for a bit more freedom. Freedom to help Gram, freedom to take Emme to the movies or McDonald’s once in a while, freedom to breathe a bit lighter for once. I switch the song on my iPod to System of a Down’s “B.Y.O.B.” and try to work up my confidence for the interview. It’s the perfect song as it gets my blood pumping. The words are like an anthem that gets me fired up. I know it’s a darker song, but Serj Tankian’s voice is a force to be reckoned with, exactly what I want to be during my interview at Pub Fiction…a force.

  I acknowledge the little dip in my stomach I feel at the idea of finally meeting Pub Fiction’s owner, Levi Eddison. When I heard his husky voice message asking if I could come in for an interview, I swear it was like a jolt of electricity pulsed down my spine. His confidence oozed right through the machine.

  I deleted it immediately after having had such a visceral reaction to a man’s voice. A voice that wasn’t Shawn’s. When I called back to confirm, however, I spoke to a girl named Beth, who seemed very nice but lacked the electric feelings Levi had evoked.

  After a twenty-five minutes bus ride, we pull to a stop right in front of Pub Fiction. How perfect is that? The bus stop is right out front. Grams had been worried. “Please tell me you’ll be taking a taxi home when your shift ends late at night, if you get the job, Braun. I won’t be able to sleep with thoughts of you walking several blocks to a bus stop at two a.m.,” she admitted this morning while we were getting ready.

  She’ll be so pleased when I tell her that she doesn’t have to worry, and I won’t have to spend money on cab fare—not that I planned on it anyway, but what she doesn’t know…

  I’ve never been to Pub Fiction before today, and I have to admit it’s a bit intimidating being here now. As I walk in the front door, I note the bar’s modern decor: dark wood flooring and walls painted a deep oxblood red that make it look rich and inviting. I notice a cozy seating area to my right which has black leather couches with a few small glass tables for drinks. I take a deep breath as I head in closer to the main bar area. It smells like leather and lemons—I breathe in deep.

  “Uh, can I help you?” someone asks and I feel my face immediately flush with embarrassment as I’m caught savouring the luscious scent; a scent I wish I could bottle for home.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry, it just smells, I was just…” I trail off, but the beautiful blonde finishes my sentence for me.

  “Enjoying the scent—yeah, nothing beats it, eh? Lemons, leather…and beer,” she smiles, and I appreciate her friendliness.

  “That’
s exactly what I was going to say,” I laugh. “It doesn’t smell like a bar should,” I add, my surprise evident.

  “Yeah, that’s what we all say, but trust me that lovely scent goes away quickly once the doors open to the filthy masses,” she says jokingly. “Hi, I’m Brooke Anderson, by the way,” she extends her hand out to meet mine.

  “I’m Braun, er, well, Braunwyn, but I go by Braun most of the time,” I say, tucking my brown hair behind my ear.

  Brooke looks surprised, and I bet I know why. “To be honest, with a name like ‘Braun’, I really was expecting a guy for this interview.” Brooke says in a low voice and I can tell she’s the one who’s embarrassed now. “But,” she adds, looking me up and down, “you are clearly not.”

  “No. But it’s okay,” I laugh, waving her embarrassment away. “Believe me, it happens all the time. Thinking about it now, I probably should have used my full name on my resume.”

  She nods. “Yeah, that might be a good idea next time,” she smiles and seems relieved that I’m not offended. “Well, Levi isn’t here yet, so why don’t I show you the bar area and then I’ll take you to his office where you can wait?”

  “That sounds perfect, thanks so much,” I answer, and follow her inside to the main bar.

  As we walk in further, I notice six large booths along the wall, which are roped off with what look to be black velvet ropes. I assume these booths are reserved for parties; each booth is illuminated with a dimmed amber spotlight that reminds me of Emme’s night-light. I hide my smile, thinking how I’m so out of my element here—I just compared a bar light to a night-light! The next thing I see is the enormous bar. It’s also sleek and very modern, made out of cherry wood, which matches beautifully with the floor and walls. Brooke continues the tour, telling me about the day-to-day operations, as well as making sure I see each section of the club, then depositing me in Levi’s office until he arrives.

  I could definitely see myself working here. It’s exciting to think that I could be a part of the exciting vibe this slick and beautiful place gives off, become a part of something grown-up and fun on a regular basis, one that has the bonus of paying me to come out of my comfort zone. Now, if I can just get myself hired…

  Please, Shawn, give me the confidence I need to sell myself.

  Chapter 5

  Levi

  Seeing the stylized Pub Fiction moniker still gets me fired up—this place is my dream. I smile as I think back on when I first fell in love with the old building. Inside, the huge steel beams running exposed along parts of the ceiling give it a modernized “industrial loft” look, and outside, the original brick in its rustic state delivers the perfect juxtaposition. These are the touches that made my vision a reality, creating the perfect atmosphere for an incredible time in a beautifully sleek and modern entertaining mecca.

  I opened Pub Fiction almost three years ago, and it’s been a labour of love. One I love to hate, but most of the time I just fucking love it. On top of paying my bills, giving my family a bit of security, and being a spot to easily meet women, it’s also been a great way to give back to the community.

  I’m big on giving back. I grew up in a household where we always attended fundraisers, volunteered and participated in charitable events. When I opened Pub Fiction with support from my mom, we had decided we would help where we could. We host a ton of fundraisers and allow many organizations to use our space as their event venue. I don’t charge much because we make money off the drinks and the select food items we sell. Gotta support the hands that feed me and all that too, you know. So, yeah, I do what I can when I can.

  As for women, I’m not the relationship type, to begin with. If you ask me, it’s just easier for everyone involved. I’m addicted to my job and quite honestly I’ve never met a woman who I’ve wanted to slow down for. I’m not interested in finding Mrs. Right, when I can simply have Miss Tonight over and over again.

  Pub Fiction is my life, it needs me, and I need it. Besides, I want to be available for my baby whenever she does need me, which is still a lot of the time; a pub is a fussy mistress. There’s always something to be done when you own your own business. The last thing I need is some chick giving me a hard time because she feels second best, or that I don’t make enough time for her. Maybe in a few more years I will feel different or maybe when the right girl comes along, as they say. I need the day to come where I can trust leaving Pub Fiction in the helping hands of someone else. I do have one person in mind, and more and more lately I’ve been wrapping my head around the idea of letting go of the reins a bit more. I’m hoping Luke will be my right hand one day, but until that time comes, I take on all the major roles and responsibilities.

  Don’t get me wrong, all that responsibility does come with some perks, like an endless supply of pussy and with me subscribing to the “fuck buddy” system, it’s a perfect match, a system where I can come and go when I please. I’m not one for emotions, or feelings. It’s just easier to avoid any emotion. I’m simply looking to fuck. It’s just easier to enjoy not having feelings other than the feeling of getting off. It’s not that I don’t respect women, I just have my own set of priorities and I always let them be known before I start anything with anyone. Now I’m sure I can offer my dear old dad a “thanks”, in part, for my blasé outlook. That cocksucker bailed on my mom years back. Daddy issues aside, living in a university town doesn’t exactly keep a lot of people here long term, as you’d imagine, so, yeah, so far love ’em and leave ’em seems to be working for everyone involved. Why change what works?

  After parking my car, I check the time. I still have about twenty minutes before the hell of interviews begins. With my younger brother, Ryker, now owning his own sports medicine clinic, I’m pulling double-duty as bartender three or more nights a week, as well as owner; so right now my focus is to get the new staff hired before the school year starts again next week. The beginning of September is always a stressful month trying to get everybody hired, trained and ready for one hell of a busy year.

  Heading into the club, I know I’m in for a long day. Interviews always suck and I have them scheduled all day. The biggest downside of owning a bar in a university town is the high turnover rate. Every April when exams finish, I lose two to three staff members and even if I’m lucky I can usually only manage to keep a few through the summer. This year, though, I’ve taken an extra big hit with losing Ryker, Kat and Claire, on top of Naomi having to take a few months off to help out with her family’s construction company.

  Thankfully, I still have Brooke, Luke and Beth and a few others as my main frontline staff. My goal today is to fill the two open waitress positions plus that of a busboy. I’ll work on the bartending position next, unless something happens to fall into place on its own today. Wouldn’t that be the shit, to get it all done today? Did I mention I hate interviews? The one I have in mind for the busboy is the least experienced of the resumes I received. Some fourth-year student named Braun. His address is local, and not student housing, this I know ’cause he’s not far from me, not far at all actually. I’m hoping he is in fact local and that he’ll stick around longer than the year if I give him the chance. Maybe over time he can do more than bus. He’s my first interview so at least I’ll know right away if he’s worth taking a risk on.

  The only reason I even looked at his resume was that he really sold himself in his cover letter. I always read the cover letter first; it gives me a solid insight into a person’s personality and whether I should bother reading any further. I mean if you can’t put forth an effort on paper to sell yourself enthusiastically then what type of person will you be with my customers?

  Opening the pub door, I’m immediately assaulted with the scent of my livelihood: leather and lemons with that hint of stale beer mixed in to remind you it’s a bar. Fuck, I really do love this place. The smell of this place is a running joke here. We’re all always wishing the smell Marisa and her team of cleaners from MVP Cleaning Services uses would stay once the doors open, to
o bad it’s never the case. Admittedly, though, I also love the smell of the spilled drinks, sweat, and women that permeate the air here nightly.

  “It’s about time you decided to stroll in, Levi,” Brooke taunts as I approach the main bar.

  “Yeah, yeah, I ended up taking that redhead home last night.” She raises her brows so I go on. “You know the one with the big—”

  “Enough.” Brooke raises her hand “Dude, you know I’m a girl, right? Like I know Ryker’s gone but, uh, I cannot be his locker room man-talk replacement anymore. You need to hire some more dudes for that!”

  I let out a loud chuckle at her response. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I need to remember I offend thee,” I add with a little bow and smile.

  “Whatever. You’re here now and so is that chick, Braun, your nine o’clock interview. I told her to head on back to the office and wait for you.”

  “Shit, I thought my first was at 9:30. Dammit, I am late. Thanks for greeting him, and sorry about that, I was indisposed. I’ll make it up to you,” I grin, as I make my way down the back hallway toward my office, until the realization hits and I stop in my tracks. What the fuck?

  “Brooke, did you say ‘she’?” I pause confused. “I was sure his name was Braun—’Braun Daniels.’” Oddly, the question causes my voice to waver, and I clear my throat. I hate being caught off guard like this; it pisses me off, always has.