Chapter 22

I should have taken the week off, because all I can think about is all the things I wanna do at my house. My arms are like noodles still and my abs are sore as hell; it's like I did the sit-up test from high school gym class.

Exhaustion weighs heavily over my shoulders as I step behind the familiar space of the bar. Despite being tired, there"s an undeniable warmth that fills me when I get to work each shift. This job—it"s more than just a means to pay bills; I love bartending. I never wanted to go to college or really knew what I wanted to be when I ‘grew up'. But here, within these four walls, I found something I love.

There is only one downfall to working at the Iced Rose and that's my coworker. Trina is the worst, and sometimes I envision shoving her face into the glass washer and drowning her.

When I got here a bit ago, she greeted me with her normal iciness. She also usually can't wait to get out of here, but today she bellied up to the bar, ordering drinks like she had nowhere better to be.

"I'm ready to pay my tab," she shouts, even though I'm standing a mere foot away from her.

"Okay, let me tally it up for you." I smile.

"Weren't you keeping track in your head?" she sneers and I raise a brow at her because who the fuck does that? One, we don't normally do tabs, since this is a cash bar only, but since she fucks the owner, she gets special privileges.

"It's thirty dollars even." I ignore her.

She slides a twenty and a ten across the bar, smirking at me. "Keep the change."

"Thanks." I smile.

"Can't wait to hear how the rest of your night goes." She licks her lips as she looks at me wickedly.

What does she know that I don"t? And why does she seem so smug about it?

My mind swirls with questions, but before I can think too long about it, Kevin saunters out of the back from his office and Trina smiles. Sliding off of her stool, she slinks up to him and wraps an arm around him.

"You ready to take me home, baby?" she coos, and I gag internally at the thought of them together.

Kevin doesn't answer, just smiles a toothy grin and leads her out of the bar. Before the door closes, he turns and yells at me. "The Busch Light keg is empty! Can you tap the new one?"

"Yeah," I call back.

Not sure why tits for brains couldn't, but I'm sure it was either too much work for her or she doesn't know how. Either way, it's not a big deal. It only takes a short time and I'm sure someone will be in and want a draft.

Thankfully, the evening rush hasn"t hit yet, granting me the time to head to the cooler and swap them out.

Disconnecting the tap from the keg, I pull it out of the cooler chest, setting it on the floor.

"Anyone need anything before I go to the cooler?" I call to the few patrons who are still in here.

No one says anything, so I take that as my cue to get it done. Carrying the empty keg to the back, I drop it by the back door and grab the new one from the walk-in. It's heavy as hell, so I put it on the little roller cart we use. It looks like one of those little square things you rolled on in elementary school… the ones we all ran our fingers over on.

I shudder at the memory but start to push the keg out behind the bar.

The television plays softly in the background, and I can only pray business picks up a bit, so it's not me and whatever shitty movie is on later. Boredom is the worst at this bar. When no one is in here and all the cleaning is done, I just sit and watch the TV, counting down the seconds till I can close.

Positioning the tap over the keg"s valve, I press down firmly to pierce through the seal, twisting to lock the tap into place. Now, I just need to get this heavy bastard into the cooler and I'll be done.

Grunting as I pick it up and slide it into the cooler, I see-saw it back and forth until it's in the perfect position and shut the door. Grabbing a glass, I pull the tap lever, pouring some beer to release the pressure and minimize foam.

I'm just dropping the cup in the sink, happy with my work, when the bell above the door dings.

And there he is—Atlas, with that sexy as hell grin plastered across his face. Rip trails behind him, brooding and mysterious.

As Atlas comes toward the bar, I can't help but feel annoyed and curious about how the hell they found out where I work. There's got to be several hundred bars in the Detroit area, so how did they find this hole in the wall?

Irritation wafts over me as I find myself face to face with the unexpected visitors. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, I confront them.

"What are you doing here?" I snap, my tone sharp and accusatory.

"You"re a hard woman to find, but this time we had a little help," Atlas explains, taking a stool at the bar and propping his chin in his hands.

"I missed you," he adds. "Plus, I owe you an apology."

"So you decided to stalk me through the au—sale." I catch myself not wanting to fuck my NDA. "You come down here over a week later and apologize? Where was the ‘I"m sorry' the next day? Or hell, I don"t know, Atlas, when your asshole of a dad was telling me what a whore I am or that I"m the same as the woman who birthed me? You sat there and said nothing. Because you thought you knew things about me. You thought you knew me. But you haven"t known me in a very long time, Atlas." My chest is heaving. I"m so mad and it feels good to tell him how it is.

"You need help, sweetheart?" Moon calls from his spot at the gambling machines. "Those two bothering you? I"ll throw their asses out."

"No, Moonie. Thank you though. Always my knight in shining armor." I smile at the older man with wispy blond hair who"s a regular. He"s a giant flirt and harmless, but I have no doubt he"d try to throw these two out if I asked.

"I"m sorry, Sloane," Atlas starts. "I fucked up. I was so excited to see you again after everything. The weekend was even better than I imagined. I didn"t want it to end, and it seemed like you couldn"t wait for it to be over. I felt second best to the money. That money was more important than us. And I know it sounds crazy since it"s been years and we just reconnected, but I never stopped loving you and you said as much, too. I was hurt. I should have said something when he was being a prick and I"m sorry I didn"t. I"ll knock his ass out right now, Dad or not, if you let me make it up to you."

I contemplate his words as I grab them each a glass, mixing them a cocktail at the station in front of their stools and setting them on the bar. "Those are on me."

I turn to Rip. He's been silent the whole time so far. I cross my arms once more and lean a hip against the cooler.

"And you, why are you here? You could have let your son come alone, but you didn"t. Come to see the shithole I work at? Rub the salt a little deeper in the wound that I"m just like Ali?"

His response is delayed as he takes a sip of his drink and then blows out a breath. His eyes soften as his pupils dilate—a rare glimpse of vulnerability beneath his hardened exterior.

"No, I came because, like my son, I owe you an apology," he admits. "I know sorry doesn"t mean shit because the words will stick with you, but I am sorry. I regret saying everything I did, comparing you to her. I"m just still so mad at her and what she did. How she not only made a sham of our marriage, but she took you and then made it so we couldn"t even make sure you were okay with her. I"m a bastard, Sloane. That"s all I can say. But my son is in love with you, and I love him more than life itself, so if I need to humble myself and say sorry, I will."

Atlas" eyes plead with me. "Please, baby, I"ll do anything. Just let me make it up to you," he pushes.

His puppy dog eyes soften my resolve, tugging at my heartstrings despite my better judgment.

"We asked about post-event communication and there are no rules," he continues. "I"ll take you on dates, I"ll woo you, I"ll buy you a car, fuck, I"ll build you a house. Just give me a chance. No strings or rules or money attached. Just us."

A mischievous idea takes root in my mind, a small wicked smile curling at the corners of my lips. "There is something you can do to help me. We can do it together, so I"m not taking advantage, but it would be a great help."

"Name it," he responds eagerly, his eyes alight with hope and anticipation.