Chapter 3

DYLAN

T hings have been running like clockwork at the tavern today, and I know I owe a lot of that to Mackenzie. She's efficient, to say the least, always taking the initiative whenever a new task arises. We breezed through the onslaught of lunch time customers, without any complaints this time, and now we're in that in-between lull.

The calm before the happy hour storm.

Not that I need to be concerned with that today. I clock off in exactly thirteen minutes. One of the things I love about this job is that I don't have to take it home with me. There are no urgent emails to tend to during dinner time, no after-hour phone calls.

I slide a couple of clean glasses into the cabinet behind the bar, looking up in time to see Jesse stroll in through the tavern's bulky doors, raking his shoulder length hair back from his face.

I'd been sharing the managerial tasks with Corey since I started here, but Jesse was hired as a third bar manager when I'd expressed to Steve that I wanted to step back a little from my role to focus on other commitments. I'd been afraid to raise the subject, but Steve had been nothing but supportive and had hired Jesse within a week.

I doubt he could have found a better co-manager to run this place. Jesse is never late to a shift, and he knows his shit. He's a hell of a lot easier to work with than Henley had been, but knowing what I know now about Henley, I can't say I blame him for his tardiness and unlikeable attitude. The guy had a plane load of baggage. I realise now that he was just trying to survive, to get through his days without drowning.

In hindsight, I regret how I treated him. He didn't deserve the way I'd blatantly dismissed his behaviour, simply labelling him an asshole. Normally, I'd apply more effort in getting to know a person, to find out what was going on inside their head.

But I wasn't myself. I was preoccupied with my own drama at the time. I had a lot riding on this gig at the tavern. I still do. I can't take any chances with anyone messing it up for me.

"Hey, Dylan." Jesse greets me from the other side of the bar, a backpack slung over his shoulder, his nose ring glinting under the overhead lights. "Did we get that order this morning?"

"Sure did," I answer. "Mackenzie has already unloaded it and updated the inventory."

Mackenzie's head snaps up at the mention of her name.

"Could hardly leave it to you two slackers. The job would never get done," she chides as she slides another drink across the bar to Jade.

I know I can always count on Mackenzie's sarcasm to amuse me in some way. I get the impression she likes to keep me on my toes. Though the stunt she pulled this morning with that aggressive customer had been unethical, I have to give her props. The girl has guts.

"You are a force of nature," I tell her, an unexpected grin playing on my mouth.

"Yeah. I've heard that before," she says smugly and then turns to Jade. "Seriously. You have no idea how painful it can be to work with this one." She throws her thumb over her shoulder in my direction as Jade's eyes find mine.

My smirk spreads wider when Jade's left eyebrow arches in question. I give a subtle shake of my head, signalling her to stay silent. What Mackenzie doesn't know is that Jade knows exactly what it's like to have me as a co-worker, but I'm not ready to reveal that side of me just yet.

I turn back to Jesse to fill him in on the details of today's shift, something we do at every handover. "So, as I said, that order has been received and sorted. Bad news is the seafood delivery we were supposed to get is delayed so we'll have to cut the salmon from tonight's menu. Shouldn't be too much of an upset though. And I had to hire an electrician to fix that light that kept flickering." I turn to the back of the tavern to where said electrician stands, a tall ladder leaning up against the side wall. "But he shouldn't be too much longer and …. Oh my god."

I'm only mildly embarrassed by the gasp that escapes me and the way it demands the room's attention.

Jade's eyebrows furrow, Mackenzie's rise and Jesse offers a "You okay, bro?"

"Yeah, sure," I say with a wave of my hand. "No big deal. Mackenzie just walked underneath a freaking ladder is all."

Mackenzie glides toward me, a tray of empty glasses in hand. "And?"

"And? Are you kidding me?" I exclaim. "Well apart from the fact that that is a serious workplace health and safety issue, it's also extremely bad luck, Mackenzie!"

I'm met with the blank stares of all three of them, and probably countless others in earshot. I only notice Mackenzie's though, her grey irises rimmed with navy blue as they bore into mine. There's a cynicism in them that no one should bear. I'm instantly transported back to the bonfire at Liv and EJ's wedding when I'd made the mistake of telling her that bad luck followed her around.

"I mean…" I begin.

"You mean I'm a walking, talking jinx," she says matter-of-factly, her expression void of emotion as she shoves the tray of empty glasses upon the bar.

Shit. How the hell am I going to get myself out of this one?

"Come on," I say. "That's not what I… I just don't want you to get hurt is all."

"Whatever," she says, the iciness in her tone defrosting somewhat. "It's fine. I'm fine. But some of us don't have the privilege of believing in luck."

I drop my gaze to the ground, knowing I've really put my foot in it this time. I can understand why she might not believe in luck. I know things about her. About her past. I know she hasn't had what one might call a typically fortunate life.

And those that know me might assume that I've been blessed with all the luck that life could possibly offer. But appearances are deceiving. Sometimes we think we know someone when we've barely even scratched the surface.

"Just be careful, okay?"

When I bring my gaze back to hers, I expect to find annoyance, but she stares back at me with amusement. "Sure, boss. Time for you to get out of here, isn't it?" She flicks her pointer finger at the clock behind us.

"Yeah." Relief washes over me. I'd never take joy in hurting anyone's feelings but for some reason the idea of offending Mackenzie kills me. Maybe it's the fact that she's been through enough. Or maybe she's starting to get under my skin. "I'll see you guys tomorrow afternoon."

"And I'll see you tomorrow morning," Jade pipes up.

"Right," I say. My eyes involuntarily find Mackenzie's again. I see the slight confusion in them, but she doesn't ask questions. I turn again then remember today is a big day for my friend. "Hey, aren't you meeting up with Jaclyn tonight?"

"Yeah. I'm meeting her parents." Jade winces.

"I thought that was tonight," I say. "You've got nothing to worry about. Her parents will love you."

"I hope you're right. I'm nervous as hell." She lifts her third Jack and Coke up to her lips just as Mackenzie's grip tightens around the glass pulling it back down to the bar.

"Maybe that's enough of these then," she says. "I'm cutting you off. For real this time."

Jade pouts and crosses her arms over her chest. "I take back what I said before, Dylan. I'm not sure I like this one anymore."

I huff out a laugh as Mackenzie shrugs her shoulders. "You'll thank me tomorrow."

"She's right," I agree, glancing back at Mackenzie one last time.

She may have only been here for three short weeks, but in that time, she's infused herself into this place, filled it with her sarcastic, yet spirited energy.

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as our eyes lock, before I turn and exit through the heavy tavern doors and out onto the street.

I round the corner, moving down the alley that leads to the carpark, clutching the keys to the old white 1998 Toyota RAV4 in my palm. I throw myself into the driver's seat, slamming my head back against the worn cloth headrest.

A silent prayer forms within my already overwhelmed mind that it will start this time. It should after all the money I had to put into repairing it last month. I flip the key in the ignition and feel the satisfying spread of relief through my chest as the engine rumbles to life.

"Yes!" I give an audible cheer, throwing a fist into the air and slamming it victoriously down on the steering wheel.

This piece-of-shit, hunk of metal may not be the best thing money can buy. But it's mine , and for that reason alone, I love it.

I cruise down the main boulevard, or more accurately, putt along, towards the winding road that leads across town to Cliff Haven beach. It takes less than five minutes before I'm parked out the front of the tiny, wooden shack I call home.

I take the stairs two at a time, the wood splintering under my weight as I bound up to the faded blue front door. I turn the key in the lock and jiggle the handle, something I've learned has to be done in just the right way to gain entry, then swing the front door wide open. I'm about to step inside when I'm almost knocked off my feet from behind by a solid mass of black and tan fur.

The friendly, yet clumsy brute that's made himself a home with me barges past, galloping his way over to the sofa where he proceeds to jump on it, making himself comfortable. His tongue protrudes as he pants heavily, his eyes wide with pride as a string of drool descends to the sofa cushion.

"Nice to see you too, Chance," I say with a shake of my head. "You crazy mutt."

I found Chance on my second day in Cliff Haven. Or maybe he found me. He'd turned up on my front doorstep after a storm one morning, his coat matted in mud and sand. Pamela, our local vet assumed him to be a kelpie- border collie mix. She helped me search high and low for his owner, but to no avail.

I'd thought he looked like he needed a friend, but in hindsight, maybe I did. Which is why I decided to take him in and share my home with him. A choice I sometimes regret when I find him sprawled over the couch or huddled up under my duvet when I return home from work. There are no fences around the beach house. He's free to come and go as he pleases, yet he always finds his way back here.

Besides the stench of seaweed that's obviously coming from Chance, there's another pungent odour that fills the tiny beach cottage that wasn't here this morning. A musty sort of dampness. I round the kitchen bench, the worn-out floors creaking under my toes, and discover the problem. A large puddle of water has pooled in the kitchen. Droplets trickle out one by one from the cabinet below the sink.

I groan, glancing down at my watch. Even if I report this to the landlord, there's no way they'll be able to get a plumber out until tomorrow morning. I'd learnt that lesson a month ago when the bathroom sink sprung a leak.

It won't be the first DIY job I've done since moving in six months ago. Home repairs had never been my forte, but when your budget is low and professional help is scarce, you'd be surprised how well you can cope with a few dollars' worth of hardware supplies and about eight different YouTube video tutorials.

I throw open the cabinet doors and crawl underneath to inspect the damage and as I do, a flood of water sprays me directly in the face as the pipe gives way completely. I guess this one is going to take a lot more skill and patience to repair.

I let out a frustrated growl and then a sloppy tongue glides up my cheek, a wet nose nuzzling my ear. "Chance!" I shout. "What are you doing, boy? Stop!"

I turn and try to direct him away from me but the water still shooting out from the broken pipe makes it almost impossible. Surrendering, I scratch the spot behind his ears as he flops onto the floor, flipping onto his back into the puddle, tail wagging madly.

Despite the kitchen filling with water and knowing I'm likely going to be spending all night googling how to solve this problem, a laugh erupts from my chest. No one could wipe my smile away if they tried. Because this place is mine.

This mess is mine.

This is the life I chose.

And I wouldn't change it for the world.