Page 11 of Icy Pour

“Like what?” he asks, walking back around with our drinks. He sets mine in front of me and I grab his wrist.

He darts his gaze between my hand and my eyes. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he looks as if he’s okay with whatever I’m about to say. But will he be okay with me saying it? How do I speak my truth without losing everything again?

My breaths are short as I confess, “It wasn’t just any club.”

“What do you mean?”

My heart pounds like the beat of a drum. His wrist is still beneath mine. His eyes are wide, never flinching.

“There’s a bar like it here. Over on Wells Street. Have you ever heard of This Is It?”

He shifts in his seat. “I’ve heard of it.”

“You know it’s not a regular bar.”

He nods, his fingers twitching against mine. “I heard their business has been down lately because of the…the virus going around.”

I go rigid, every muscle bracing for him to pull back. But when he doesn’t, a slow exhale leaves my lungs. “In the Deep South, in the heart of the Bible Belt, hell even here in Milwaukee, something as simple as a police report can be traumatizing to someone”—I look deep into my drink once more—“someone just trying to live the way they want.”

My breath catches in my throat as he pulls his hand out from mine. Fear overcomes me like foam falling from the beer faucet into the drain. Did I ruin all this? Is he going to kick me out? Fire me? Beat me up himself?

I’m about to stand and leave when a warm hand slides over mine. The same electric feeling I get every time our hands touch flickers through me.

“Johnny.”

I pop my gaze back to his at the way he speaks my name. The well of emotions on his face is both intoxicating and unreadable.

“I’m…I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Me too,” I murmur, breaking the tension thicker than fog. He squeezes my hand before pulling it back, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what the hell it means.

“No one should be afraid to live their life. No one.”

I nod, my nose burning. “After I recovered, I didn’t want to be there anymore. I had no family, only a few friends, and there were lots of factory jobs up here, so…here I am.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” His voice is barely a whisper, but the way it hits my chest, he might as well have screamed it through a megaphone.

He’s glad I’m here.

My leg stills. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

My pulse races as my palm sweats on the bar top. I want to lean in. I want to kiss the man that just spoke the simplest thing to me. My body shifts the slightest bit as I debate making a move that could change everything.

“Welp! It’s getting late. Better call it a night,” he says as he stands and heads toward the door to let me out.

My heart deflates behind my rib cage.

“Oh. Yeah,” I say, grabbing my jacket and heading toward the door. “See ya in the morning, boss.”

“You don’t have to call me boss you know,” Walt says as he holds the door open, waiting to lock up.

“True. But…” I pause briefly as I stand before him in the doorway. “I think I’ll stick with it.”

He chuckles as I walk past him onto the sidewalk. “Goodnight, Johnny.”

“Goodnight.”

CHAPTER 8