Chapter 30

We've received the liquor license, and now I am legally in control of everything. I got a little pizza oven and the Budweiser distributor knew a pizza guy, so we are all set.

I have little signs on the bar and on the few tables boasting that you can now order pizza. It"s twelve inches, there are a variety of kinds to choose from, and it's only nine bucks.

The official grand re-opening will be next month when the few upgrades are complete. We're going to paint the walls, redo the floors with LVT, and put a foot rail at the base of the bar.

I've replaced the tables and barstools, and I'm stoked about how it will look when it's all done. I opted for plush, all-black leather stools with backs on them and rich brown tables.

So far, the regulars love the upgrades, and I'm just hoping that when I make my big name changing announcement, they'll take it in stride. In the end, this is my place, so I'll do whatever I need to make it successful, but I'd like to keep the people who made me love this job along the way.

I've decided to rename the bar and I'm pumped about it. The Iced Rose is just boring and well, it doesn't vibe with the new vision I have of a crowded bar with bingo and DJ nights. The new name is fun and a play on serving beer and dealing with drunks, I'm going to plaster that baby everywhere.

Ripley is supposed to come by at six to pick me up for dinner and I'm excited about our first solo date. He wouldn't tell me where we were going, just said to wear something nice, and he'd pick me up from the bar.

Moon gave me some shit about changing in the bar bathroom, but it's not the craziest or weirdest thing that's happened in there, so he can shut it. One of the past bartenders, Hannah, took a pregnancy test in that bathroom; thankfully negative. And once I caught two random bitches doing crack in there.

He even sang the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song as he watched me do my mascara and lip gloss while sitting at the bar.

"You better be careful, sweetheart. You'll give one of these old guys a heart attack looking that good," he calls as I slip my feet into a pair of heeled boots and shove my tennis shoes into my bag.

I roll my eyes while shaking my head. "Like none of ya have seen a pretty lady?"

"Not in a long time, baby. You better be careful or Duttin might have some competition." He wags his brows at me and I laugh.

"You couldn't handle me, Moon!"

The guys sitting with him roar with laughter and Moon tosses me a wink.

"I gotta get out of here, Sloane. You've kept me here for too long. Plus, there's about to be no one to serve me."

"True." I smile. "I got myself a hot date and until I find another bartender, the hours are weird. I have an interview with someone tomorrow and from the resume she dropped off, she"s promising."

"I hope so. You need some help." He and his buddies drop their empties on the bar and shuffle toward the door. "See you tomorrow, Sloane!"

"See ya!" I call, turning the open sign off, and head behind the bar to see what I need to stock.

I make my way to the cooler. The low hum of the refrigeration unit fills the air as I reach for a case of Bud Light, the familiar clinking of bottles echoing in the otherwise empty space. Next, I run to the back room shelves to get a fresh bottle of Tito's.

Setting the vodka on top of the case of beer and balancing them in my arms as I head toward the counter. Quickly, I put everything in its place before taking a quick mental note of what pops I need to refill.

With the pop cooler filled, I move on to the next chore: filling the mop bucket. The sound of water splashing into the bucket is oddly soothing as I fill it to the brim. I grab the mop and plunge it into the water, soaking the head before wringing it out and pushing the bucket back onto the main floor.

As I start mopping, I lose myself in the repetitive motion, the scent of Mr. Clean mingling with the faint aroma of alcohol. But my moment of peace shatters when the door swings open, and I curse under my breath for forgetting to lock it.

"We"re closed!" I call, my tone laced in frustration. "Sorry, I forgot to lock the door," I add, hoping whoever it is will take the hint and leave.

But instead of footsteps retreating, I hear a voice, and my heart sinks as I recognize it. "What the fu—" I begin, but before I can finish, pain explodes in my temple, and the world goes black.

When I come to, everything is a blur, the taste of blood lingering on my lips. I struggle to sit up, my head pounding with each movement. And as my vision clears, I see her standing over me, a bottle of Jameson clutched in her hand.

"Trina," I manage to choke out, disbelief and anger warring within me.

But there are no answers, only silence as she stares down at me with cold eyes.

God damn me and my foolish mistakes.

"What do you want?" I rasp, my head pulsing like a drum.

She laughs a sadistic little laugh. "This place was supposed to be mine. Kevin was mine! You took it from me. My job, my money, my man."

"I bought the bar, Trina. Kevin ending your arrangement is not on me. That's between the two of you."

"No!" She kicks me in the thigh and I wince. "You just had to buy this fucking place so that he had a reason to end it. I was so close to locking it down. Where did you get the money, anyway?"

What does she mean she was close to locking it down? You know what… I don't care. What I do care about is getting away from this fucking lunatic.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I hold a hand to my head.

"Kevin!" she shrieks.

I squeeze my eyes shut as her high-pitched squawking rings in my ears.

"What about Kevin?" I ask.

"You know what you did, Sloane. Don't play innocent now. You slut. You think you can come in here with your curves and ass and take everything I've worked for?"

"So, what are you going to do, Trina? I think you gave me a concussion. You need to call an ambulance. I don't feel so good," I tell her as my stomach does a round of backflips.

"No."

"No? Then just go. I won't say a word and I can call someone myself," I try.

"Nope."

"Then what are we doing, Trina? I need medical attention." I can feel the pressure building behind my eyes as I try not to cry.

"You wanted this place so bad. You wanted to take everything from me. Now I'm going to take everything from you."

I panic, worried she has somehow gotten her hands on or hurt Rip or Atlas. We've only been back in each other's orbit for a short time and it's been fucking bumpy, but I'm happy. Happier than I've ever been and I really want to see where this goes.

Trina cackles. "The panic in your eyes is cute. You're going to go down with the ship, captain."

What the fuck is she talking about? I don't get time to ask before that goddamn Jameson bottle smashes against my head once more.

This time when I blink open my eyes, I'm sweating like a whore in church and it smells like gasoline.

What the fuck is that crackling noise?

I push myself up slowly, trying to make sense of my surroundings, only to find the bar engulfed in flames.

No, this can"t be happening. She didn"t... She couldn"t have…

Panic grips me as I struggle to stand, my body protesting. Flames with a vicious intensity block the front exit. I turn to head toward the back, but the sight that greets me there is equally horrifying—a blazing inferno engulfs the backroom, the heat unbearable even from a distance.

"Help!" I scream, the sound lost amidst the crackling of flames.

It"s 5:30. Rip should be here any minute, since he's always early, but time is a luxury I don"t have.

Remembering my phone, I drop to my knees and crawl as best as I can behind the bar. The heat is brutal, threatening to suffocate me with each breath. I reach for my phone with trembling hands, my fingers fumbling as I dial 911.

"911, what"s your emergency?" the dispatcher"s voice buzzes through the line.

"I"m trapped inside a burning building," I manage to gasp out, my voice strained with panic. "I don"t have long.""

"Where are you?" he asks.

"The Iced Rose Bar. 3838 Pleasant Street. Please hurry! The fire blocked the front and back," I sob.

"I have fire and rescue on the way, ma'am. Can you stay on the line until they arrive?"

If this is how it"s going to end, I need to say goodbye. I need to tell Atlas and Rip how much they mean to me and how grateful I am that they came back into my life.

"No. Sorry. I need to call my family. But this wasn't an accident. Trina Bullardo assaulted me with a bottle of Jameson and when I woke up, the place was on fire. She did this," I tell dispatch before hanging up.

I dial Rip"s number first, so he can help Atlas deal with this, as tears stream down my face. "Hey, Sloane." His voice comes through, filled with concern. "I"m only like five minutes away. Something is on fire over by you. There"s black smoke, and a firetruck with two squads just flew past me. Can you see anything from the front of the bar?"

"It"s me, Rip," I manage to choke out, the lump in my throat threatening to suffocate me. "The bar is on fire, and I'm inside."

I hear the engine of Rip"s truck roar to life, and a small glimmer of false hope flickers within me. "Sloane, baby, listen to me." His voice comes through urgently. "You need to get out of there. I"m on my way."

"I can"t," I rasp, desperation in my voice. "The fire is blocking the exits. Rip, listen to me. I love you. You"re a giant asshole, but I love you. I thought it was in a family way, since we met under different circumstances, but now I know that was just the path we needed to take to get here. The way I feel now is nothing like a girl and her stepdad. You are one-half of my heart. Atlas isn"t going to be okay, Rip. You need to help him through this."

"Don"t talk like that, Sloane. You"re going to be okay!" he shouts.

I cough as smoke fills my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"I don"t think I am, but that"s okay. I just want you to be okay and make sure Atlas is happy. But don"t let him get with Jenna. I don"t care how struck with grief he is. Do you hear me, Ripley? I will come back and haunt your ass!"

I hit Atlas" contact next, praying he"ll answer. To my relief, he picks up almost immediately. "Hey, baby. I was just thinking about you. I miss you," he says, his voice filled with happiness, and I can picture his smile.

"Atlas, I"m in trouble," I blurt out, my voice trembling. "The bar is on fire, and I"m trapped inside."

"I"m on my way!" he yells, his urgency unmistakable even through the phone.

"Listen to me," I continue, the intensity in my voice matching his. "I"ve loved you since I was fourteen and I"m so damn sorry that Ali made us lose seven years. I wish we had more time, handsome, but I don"t think we do."

I strain to hear his response over the sirens blaring in the distance and the roar of the fire.

"Promise me, Atlas, that you won"t be miserable and pine after a ghost. Find love, have babies, and take care of your dad. He"s already done this once, and he"s gonna be strong for you, but he"ll need you, too."

The flames creep closer, licking at the top of the bar, and I know I don"t have much time left. With a heavy heart, I hang up, not wanting Atlas to hear me die if this is how I"m going to go.

Praying and begging God to spare me, I grab a rag from the shelf under the bar and dip it into the sink filled with glass washing water. The smell of bleach fills my nostrils, but I"d rather risk a little reaction to the diluted bleach water on the rag than die from the smoke.

Coughing and choking, I lie down on the floor and cover my face with the rag, trying to shield myself from the thick smoke. Closing my eyes to protect them from the smoke, I struggle to breathe until, finally, the world goes black, and the sound of the fire ceases to exist.