MICAH
Who the fuckis this guy? Who is this motherfucker with his lips on Peyton?
And why does seeing her kiss another guy make my vision red?
I grip the bar, knuckles white as pain shoots up my forearm. A spear lances me in the chest. Spreads fire through my middle. But I take hold of the pain and squeeze it tight in my palm. Shape it into a weapon. Hot and heavy swirls of green in my fist.
Call me a hypocrite, I don’t give a fuck. But Peyton won’t be sucking face with some prick. Not in front of me, anyway. Yes, I own my whorish ways. Yes, society doesn’t degrade manwhores the same as women. Only so much I can do about that. And yes, my inner supreme asshole is about to make an appearance.
Whether it is jealousy or the fact she won’t cave to my advances or that I can’t figure out why she hates me so much, the charade has gone on long enough. Doesn’t matter if I have flirted with the same woman all night. I won’t condone Peyton and some fuckboy.
“Peyton,” I yell down the bar. She continues to kiss mister tall, dark and possessive, ignoring me. But I am not having it. “Peyton,” I yell louder. “Time to quit playing with your fuck toy and do your job.”
Several sets of eyes land on me and I bite my inside cheek. Adam sidles up to my right. “Boss, might want to go over and talk to her,” he suggests with a quiet hiss. Adam means well and I don’t want to dole my skewed emotions out on him.
I shoulder slap him in thanks and nod. “Sorry for the outburst.” Kaylynn, working the far end of the bar, forces a smile my way. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I give her a sad smile and mouth sorry.
My eyes shoot down to the end where Peyton lingers. Thank god she no longer has her tongue shoved down some guy’s throat. Though, every other second, she makes eyes at him. Smiles so big I swear her face may split in two. Has she smiled this much before? Can’t think of a time when she glowed like this.
Has she smiled at me before? I sift through night after night. Replay shift after shift. Not a single night flashes through my mind where Peyton smiled. Not at me, anyway.
Sure, she smiles and laughs and teases other men in the bar. But never once has she done that with me as the recipient. With me, she spits vitriol and abhorrence and repulsion.
More than once, Peyton has suggested I dig deep for answers. Indicated we share history during some point in our lives. I have yet to peg down when we met or when I knew her. It has me second-guessing her and the possibility she has me confused with someone else.
The spear beneath my ribs thrusts deeper. Tightens as it twists and digs. Burns as I consider the prospect of what I may have done to Peyton in the past. Something wretched enough to warrant her immediate hate.
But how can I apologize for missing moments? How can I redeem myself when I don’t know what I have done?
I stop three stools down from Peyton and fill a drink order. Then I swallow my pride. Something I haven’t done in years.
“Peyton…” I say, loud enough to be heard, but softer than usual.
Eyes focused on the drink she pours, she ignores my call. But I don’t budge. After she serves and thanks the customer, she spins to face me and plants her hands on her hips.
“What, Micah? What is it you need that can’t wait?” She waves a hand down the bar. “You have eyes. And I have work to do.”
Why can we never have civil conversations? Just now, I planned to apologize. But her bitterness dissolves the apology on my tongue like acid.
“You’re right. Wanted to offer an olive branch, but nah.” Her eyes widen and I wonder if she regrets not hearing what I had to say. Oh well. “Get back to work. And quit fucking around.”
I turn my back to her. “The day you apologize, the day you offer me kindness…” My feet are tree roots anchored to the earth below. I don’t look back, but can’t move until she finishes speaking. “That day will mark history.” Now I peer over my shoulder and furrow my brow. “The day Micah Reed says something nice about me. That’s a day I’ll never forget.”
What am I missing? Wish I fucking knew. Unfortunately, now is not the time to relive the last thirty-two years of my life.
Peyton goes back to work and I exit the bar to do rounds in the club.
I walk the perimeter of Roar. Check in with the servers and bouncers as per usual. Hang out by the door with Ted and catch up on his life. He and his wife recently welcomed their second child. When there is a lull in the line, he takes his phone from his pocket and shows me pictures.
“Here she is,” Ted all but squeals with delight. “Baby Rose.”
Image after image, he scrolls through with a heart-stopping smile. Pictures of a pink bundle in a bassinet. Pictures of their three-year-old son, Theo, holding his baby sister with pure awe on his face. Ted with baby Rose. His wife cradling her. And so many family photos.
Ted stares down at the screen as if nothing but those three people exist. And part of me wonders what that feeling is like. Aside from Shelly, my parents and extended family are all I know. But familial love doesn’t compare to love that smacks you in the chest and doesn’t let go. Love so powerful, you lose all sense of morality. You don’t know which way is up or down—and it doesn’t matter.
Once upon a time, I loved Rochelle. The sentiment never passed either of our lips—thank god—but the emotion settled comfortably in my chest. My thoughts sparsely drifted to the image of wedding bells, but I wanted more with her than a notarized document bonding us. I wanted to experience life and the world beside her. Unfortunate for me, she just wanted a younger fuckboy.
“She’s beautiful, Ted.” I lay a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “You did good. Congrats to you and yours.”
I continue my leisure rounds and park myself in a corner. One song after another plays as I people watch. When I glance across the club and spot Peyton laughing with the guy again, I groan.
What irritates me most with Peyton is the not knowing. The invisible truth that hangs in the atmosphere between us. That she won’t help me find the missing puzzle piece and snap it in place.
People dislike each other all the time. But her anger with me is rooted deep. Stuck in place and unwilling to budge.