6. Frankie

The Grotto isn't chasingluxury. The air is thick with the scent of blood and sweat, mingling with the sharp tang of spilled beer. Stains that tell tales of countless nights mar the floor and tabletops alike, yet its allure isn't in its cleanliness, but in its raw, unapologetic reality. Here, the beer is cheap and the rules are even cheaper—not to mention the owner, Officer Hart's twin sister Andrea, owns the place. She secured the job for me with ease, and Andy didn't check my ID when I arrived in Morrow Bay at eighteen.

It was a win-win situation all around.

Plus, on hectic nights, I double as a bouncer. I relish it because it allows me to employ the only secret I possess, the one I conceal from the world.

The Grotto is situated near the bay, a hub for incoming and outgoing ships. The sound of waves crashing nearby is a constant, soothing backdrop, almost drowning out the cacophony inside. Most patrons are fishermen or people who manage the docks. Morrow Bay might not be a bustling port, but it's enough to keep Andy in business, and as she would tell anyone, she loves two things in this life—beer and money.

"Fuck me in the ass," Andy mutters as she approaches me, her bright eyes scanning beyond me, her wild, curly red hair seemingly challenging the very air I breathe. She is among the few who still swear by Aqua Net. The smell of her hairspray is nearly as potent as the alcohol fumes. "We have a rush in ten. College students."

I finish tapping the beer and raise an eyebrow. "Ninety percent of your clientele are college kids, Andy." The smell of fresh beer foam rises in the air, mixing with the musty ambiance of the bar.

"Yeah, well, this one is my niece," she grumbles. "She always expects a damn family discount on my already discounted beer."

"I know this might come as a shock to you, but ‘no' is a complete sentence," I say, placing the second beer beside the first and starting on the third. My fingers are sticky with beer residue, a familiar and oddly comforting sensation.

Andy snorts and places her hands on her ample hips. "You want to tell her no?"

"Give me double time, and I will." With the last beer finished and set on the tray, I give her a look, waiting for her answer, which I know will be no.

"No,"she says. "I've got this."

"And you just proved you can say no. Congratulations," I retort.

"Smart-ass," she replies, swatting me with her towel. "Go." The towel snaps sharply, its crack echoing over the murmur of conversations.

Humming under my breath as she greets her niece, I take my beers to the end of the bar where a group of regulars, all men in their forties and each trying to win Andy's favor, sit. I'm pretty sure the one on the end is her friend with benefits. I serve him first, knowing he tips the best.

"Hey, Frankie," one of them calls to me, which isn't even necessary since I'm right in front of him. His voice is slurred, slightly lost in the din.

"Fog Lager," I reply because he always orders the same thing, "Caster's Stout, and two Krakens." I serve each, intent on helping Andy with the college rush. At least she's free to deal with her niece.

"You go to that school on the island, right?" Fog Lager asks. The cool draft from the door opening and closing mingles with the warmth of the bar, creating a fleeting, chilly gust.

"Yep." Sighing, I keep myself busy by wiping down the permanently sticky counter. The rag comes away brown and damp.

"Is it as spooky as they say?"

"Who are they?" The lights overhead dim, and the twinkle lights come on, signaling it's past ten. The change in lighting casts eerie shadows across the patrons' faces.

Only two more hours.

"You know," he insists.

I blink at him. "No, I really don't."

He rolls his eyes at me. I clench my jaw, reminding myself that I need this job and can only attack people when Andy says I can.

"It's full of weirdos," Stout pipes up, slurring his words. I make a mental note not to serve him any more.

"Yeah, well, we're all weirdos, Tom," Andy chimes in, stepping up next to me. "Frankie, I need you at the back bar."

"Fuck, it's that busy?"I look past her, noting the influx of university students. One has a rugby ball, tossing it to someone, while a few cheerleaders in their uniforms giggle at him. "Athletics move-in day." I groan, realizing I had forgotten the fall schedule over the summer. The athletes and out-of-staters arrive on the same day. That explains why Tori was here today.

The back bar usually remains closed except on busy nights. The Grotto is nestled between a bait shop and a diner that never closes. The buildings aren't just old but centuries old. They are long and narrow yet expansive. The ceiling overhead is at least twenty feet high, and there are two entrances to the Grotto—the back door and the front door. The bar is split in two, with the front bar typically used during the week, and the back, which is reserved for busy nights.

Already annoyed by the presence of so many of my peers, I toss my towel in the bin and make my way to the barn doors that separate the sections then open them up. It's like an entirely different bar back here. While the front has large windows that let in sunlight, the back is dark and full of shadows. A row of old-school arcade games lines one wall, and a cozy set of couches sits just beyond the bathrooms. It's perfect for a bunch of college kids. The separation also means Andy doesn't lose her regulars to a bunch of rowdy university kids.

"To the back!" one of them shouts, making me move my feet a little faster.

Taking a deep breath, I step behind the counter just as the first jock lines up. The work is mindless. Take the order. Pour. Serve. Repeat. It allows me to disassociate and keep moving, which goes great until a familiar face steps up next.

Fuck me."Leo," I greet, giving him what I hope is a genuine smile and not a grimace as he and another guy step up to the counter. "What can I get you?" I ask, wiping my hands on a towel.

"What's good?" He leans on the sticky counter.

Brave man.

I pause for a beat, a playful smirk forming on my lips. "Well, everything's good, but I'd recommend you try the cappuccino. It's like a hug in a mug on a day like today. Or are you bold enough for our espresso beer? It might just ‘espresso-ly' lift your spirits!"

Leo doesn't just smile, he does so with his entire face. "A hug in a mug sounds tempting. I need something that packs a little less of a caffeine punch. Something that'll help me forget how sticky this counter is."

"I hear the Kraken is a local favorite," I say, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, my long, dark hair spilling over my shoulder. "Crisp and light."

"I'll take it." He smiles at me, his dimples popping out.

I nod, making a mental note before turning to his friend. "And you?"

The man standing beside Leo is a vision of darkness, with flawless brown skin, onyx eyes, and features that make him look like an Arabian prince. "Rye," he says. One word. That's it, and his voice has my toes curling.

"Reef Rye and a Kraken." I turn around, grabbing two glasses.

"So you work here?" Leo asks.

I chuckle. "Nope," I say over my shoulder because it's a dumb question.

"Oof," Leo grunts. "Dumb question."

"Your small talk is lacking." I begin to fill their glasses as the laughter behind them rises to an obnoxious pitch.

Leaning into my role with a playful smirk, I fill the glasses with practiced ease. "I actually live here, behind the counter. The rent's cheap, and the view isn't bad," I say, nodding toward Leo with a teasing glint in my eye.

Leo's laughter bubbles up, warm and infectious. "Guess that makes me the nosy neighbor then. Do you host many parties in your... spacious abode?" His eyes sparkle with mirth, and even Matteo's stern visage seems to soften at the corners, a testament to Leo's charm.

"Only for those who appreciate the fine art of pouring beer. Consider this your exclusive invitation," I reply, sliding the drinks across the counter with a flourish. I catch Leo's gaze and hold it, a silent challenge.

Matteo, observing our exchange, raises an eyebrow but says nothing, his silence a stoic backdrop to our lively conversation. His untouched drink seems almost like an afterthought.

"Ah, so there's an art to it?" Leo leans in, his curiosity piqued. "Teach me your ways, oh wise bartender."

I smirk, enjoying the banter. It feels like this playful interaction has been missing from my life. "First lesson—never underestimate the power of a good drink to make even the most stoic of men smile," I say, casting a sidelong glance at Matteo, who, despite his reserved nature, allows a hint of a smile to play across his lips.

Leo, emboldened by our interaction, inches closer, his demeanor radiating warmth. "And what about making a beautiful bartender laugh? What's the secret to that?"

"Well, you're off to a good start, but I'm a tough crowd. It'll take more than charm and good looks to impress me," I reply, tossing a towel over my shoulder. "Ten."

"Dollars?" Leo whistles. "Damn, that's going to break the bank."

"Don't forget to tip your bartender." I wink as he slides me a twenty.

"Keep the change." Leo winks back at me, making me blush.

"You are so sweet." Chloe slides up to Leo, pressing a palm to his bicep before she squeezes it once and then turns to me. "Tipping the help. It's so thoughtful of you."

"Fuck off, Chloe." I shake my head, regretting not foreseeing her early influence on Leo. I try not to let disappointment seep into my voice, but it's there, lingering like a sour note in a well-composed melody. Her hand is possessive on Leo's arm, a clear signal that she's marking her territory. The air grows heavier with her dominance, and she might as well pee on him.

Amanda sidles up next to Chloe, her gaze sliding over Matteo with a predatory gleam that flickers like a shadow. "And you, such a strong, silent type. I bet you're just full of surprises," she purrs, ignoring me as if I'm beneath her notice like an old newspaper fluttering on a windy street.

I steel myself against their barbs, focusing on Leo and Matteo. Matteo's expression is unreadable, his stoicism a fortress of cold, unyielding marble. Leo, however, looks uncomfortable, his easy smile faltering under Chloe's grip as if it's slowly being strangled.

"Actually, Frankie's more than just the help," Leo begins, attempting to defuse the tension that crackles in the air like static before a storm.

Chloe's laugh slices through Leo's words, as sharp and cold as a winter blade. She turns to me, her smile all teeth and no warmth, like a porcelain mask in a twisted play. "Oh, we're well aware. The legendary bartender, aren't you, Frankie? It must be utterly... fulfilling to dedicate your life to the art of beer." Her voice drips with sarcasm so thick it's almost tangible, coating the words with a venomous glaze.

Amanda leans in, her tone feigning innocence and as sweet as poisoned honey. "We're just dying to know, Frankie, what's your secret? Crafting the perfect martini, or perhaps it's the nuanced skill of serving rowdy students?"

Their laughter, bitter and mocking, fills the space between us, like acid trying to corrode the respect I've painstakingly earned here. I feel a surge of anger but swallow it down. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.

Leo looks between us, his brow furrowed in concern, a silent storm brewing in his eyes. Matteo's silence hangs heavily in the air, but he glances at me, the look as quick as a shadow passing under the moonlight. There's a fleeting moment of sympathy before it's obscured again. Chloe and Amanda seem too self-absorbed to notice, wrapped up in their own gaudy display of superiority.

"Actually," I start, my voice calm despite the storm raging inside, "my specialty is dealing with difficult customers. You know, the kind who think they are the center of the universe but are really just... sad."

Chloe's smile falters, and Amanda's laughter dies in her throat like a candle snuffed out in the dark. They exchange a glance, unspoken words passing between them. They expected to rattle me and to claim their territory without a fight.

Leo's dimples reappear, a silent thank you for not escalating things further. Matteo offers a slight nod, a gesture so small it might have been missed by anyone not paying attention.

"Oh my gosh, there you are!" Tori pushes her way through the crowd like a ship parting waves. "Come on, Aunt Andy is letting me take over the second floor." She turns to me. "Friends only."

"Then go." I shoo them off, a dismissal as sharp as a chef's knife. "I have patrons to serve."

They step back, allowing the next person through. I take his drink order and fill it, glancing over at the five of them every now and again as they head for the old elevator, like watching shadows retreat into the night.

"Hey, don't you go to Shadow Locke?" The guy draws my attention back to him. He is the last in my long line, all the students served and sipping their drinks contentedly. "You do." He snaps his fingers, a spark of recognition in his eyes. "You were in my calculus class last year."

I focus on him, drawing a blank. I have no idea who this guy is or how he knows me. He looks like just another nameless face in a crowd, another drop in an ocean of faces. I've tried to keep my head down. It's worked for two years, and now, all of a sudden, people are paying attention to me.

I hate it.

"Do you remember me?" he asks hopefully.

I don't. "Yeah, you sat like what, two?—"

"Three desks away." He smiles hopefully as I ring him up.

"Tab or cash?" I flutter my eyelashes at him, a tactic I'm told will get me better tips—that and pigtails I suffer wearing while behind the bar.

"Go out with me," he says.

"Five dollars," I reply through a clenched smile.

He leans on the bar. "I'll pay." He raps his knuckles on the bar, a move likely inspired by one of those alpha men videos. "After you agree to go out with me."

"No," I reply, dropping the flirty bartender fa?ade. "Pay up."

"Come on, baby." He leans on the counter, mimicking Leo's earlier move.

I glance at the elevator. They are still waiting. Leo's eyes track me, while Matteo's gaze tracks the man, his expression unreadable.

Stop looking at me.

"It's five dollars, asshole," I snap.

"You can't just fucking say yes, you cold bitch?" he seethes, leaning over the bar. He towers over me, but I don't flinch.

I've been called worse.

"Five dollars," I repeat for what feels like the third time, my voice firm yet tinged with exasperation.

He tosses his drink on me. Laughter erupts all around, save for a few wide-eyed people who turn away. Smart. I feel the sticky liquid soaking through my shirt, a cold and unpleasant sensation that clings to my skin.

Still, I don't break. Andy will forgive me.

With a surge of adrenaline, I leap onto the counter, my movements fueled by sudden, wild energy. My Doc Martens hit the sticky bar with a resounding crack, echoing through the suddenly tense air. In one fluid motion, I grab the obnoxious guy's head and bring it down hard onto the bar. The crunch of his nose is oddly satisfying. A dark thrill courses through me, a guilty pleasure I try not to revel in.

"Anyone want to inform this piece of shit what happens if you don't pay?" I ask, my voice echoing in the now quiet crowd.

No one speaks up.

As he staggers back, blood streaming from his face, the silence in the bar is absolute, heavy and expectant. "You'll regret this," he hisses, wiping blood from his lip with a shaky hand.

I won't.

Balancing precariously on the edge of the counter, I kick him in the chest. My heart races as I watch as he tumbles backward, only to fall on his ass, then I jump off the bar, landing in a crouch at his feet, the impact sending a jolt through my body.

My heart races, not from fear, but from the realization of what I just did in front of everyone. I crossed a line there's no coming back from. The shadows at my feet stir in anticipation, as if they are part of this dark dance.

"You have no idea what you've unleashed," I whisper more to myself than to him. As the reality of the moment sinks in, I wonder not if, but when, I'll pay for what I just did. The bar's silence feels like the calm before a storm, and for the first time, I'm not sure I can control what comes next.

Knowing there is a crowd, I'm careful—well, as careful as I can be. Grabbing his ankles, I call on that part of me I keep hidden, the one without an ounce of self-control, and let it rush forward.

For a moment, the twinkle lights flicker.

Luckily, most people who are regulars know the drill by now and don't say a word as I grab him by the ankle and drag him toward the back door.

As I weave through the crowded bar, a familiar prickling sensation tickles the back of my neck, whispering of the part of me I keep veiled in shadows. Reading the room isn't just a skill for me—it's deeper, more innate, like I'm tuning into a frequency only I can hear. Sometimes, my mere presence seems to stir the air, making the lights flicker or the temperature drop. Nobody ever notices these subtle shifts but me. It's my secret, a piece of me that's both a blessing and a burden.

To anyone else watching, it looks like I'm taking out the trash, but to me, I can feel the shadows that whisper of home and protection. They leak out of me, pooling under the guy I'm dragging through the bar.

My shadows do the heavy lifting.

As I pass the elevator, I catch Leo snapping his jaw shut, and I almost miss the crooked smirk on Matteo's face.

I don't know what I am. Honestly, I don't even care. Not anymore.

I am nothing—a forgotten, unwanted creature born out of loneliness and abandonment. My only companions are the shadows I conjure from my mind. They are the only things I can rely on, the only things that give me a sense of belonging and purpose.

Without them, I am truly alone.