Raze (Riven 3)

In the light of day, out of the horrible green shirt, he was beautiful.

I looked away, but even with my eyes fixed on my large, rough hands splayed on the bar, I could see him. I imagined tugging that elastic slowly from his hair and watching it tumble around his face. Pushing it behind one of his small ears and tracing his jaw. Sliding my hand to the back of his neck and tightening my fingers, pulling back his head and baring the smooth skin of his neck to my mouth—

I pressed my palm against my stomach until it hurt.

He slid onto a stool across from me and rested his elbows on the bar, knee jiggling.

“So, I don’t mean to be rude, but how do you know Theo Decker?”

I could understand his surprise; I didn’t seem much like the kind of guy who’d know a rock star.

“His partner is an old friend.”

Felix nodded and didn’t press for more.

“And this is your place?”

I nodded.

“It’s nice,” he said politely. When I didn’t say anything else, he added, “Do you like running a bar?”

I frowned. Did I like it? I didn’t think about that. I did what I did. I stuck to my routines. I helped the people who needed me.

Felix traced fidgety patterns on the bar top with his fingertip.

“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” he said. “I’m just, uh, nervous about the meeting, I guess. Trying not to think about it.”

He glanced out the window.

I could fill the time for him. Help him not be nervous.

“Been doing it a while,” I said. “It’s all right.”

“Must be pretty good people watching?”

I nodded. “Helps me keep my fashion up to date.”

Felix glanced at my jeans and plain black T-shirt and laughed, taking

me by surprise. The sound was rich and round, like caramel, and when he stretched his arms out, I could almost imagine he was reaching across the bar toward me.

“So, why’d you choose it?”

I hadn’t chosen it. My sponsor Reggie had owned this place. Reggie had been an alcoholic and into speed, and he’d kept the bar even after he’d stopped using. Everyone who knew his situation had told him to get rid of the bar if he wanted to stay sober, but he kept it. He said he felt most aware that he was making a choice when he was making it every day. When the temptation was right there and he could feel himself make a different decision. He’d run the bar for ten years drunk and high, then for twenty sober as a judge.

When he was ready to retire, he’d been my sponsor for two years and we’d become good friends. I’d worked as a bouncer for years, so I was familiar with the general workings of a bar. Reggie had said he saw in me the same quality in himself that had made him keep the bar. The need for constant self-assurance.

I pointed out to him that alcohol had never been my real addiction and he shrugged and said, “Addiction is a mentality, not a directionality.”

It was one of his signature sayings, and I didn’t argue with him because it didn’t matter. My lease had been nearly up and the bar came with the apartment above it, and Reggie was happy to let me pay him in installments. Besides, I had no idea what else I could be doing. Being big and intimidating looking wasn’t good for much that was legal; my football days were a distant memory. And I didn’t want Reggie’s beloved bar to end up in the hands of some rich flippers who’d turn it into someplace that served herbaceous cocktails and tiny triangles of grilled cheese that cost fourteen dollars and drove up the prices of the whole block.

When Reggie died two years ago, his will had forgiven all debt between us. He’d been a good man. More like a father than a sponsor. More like a father than my real father had ever been, and I hadn’t realized it until he was gone.

“It kinda chose me,” I mumbled.

Felix opened his mouth—no doubt to ask yet another question—but before he could, the door opened and Theo breezed in.

He wore his usual outfit of worn black jeans, a faded band T-shirt, and sunglasses, and his hair had grown since I saw him last. It fell past his shoulders like dark feathers.

He hooked the sunglasses into his back pocket and smiled.

“Hey, Huey.” I moved from behind the bar to greet him, and he inched toward me like he couldn’t tell if I’d want to hug or not. He did it every time. I let him give me a quick hug and ushered him toward the bar.

“Don’t sit on those,” I said.

“Huh?”

I pointed to the sunglasses he’d just put in his pocket. I’d seen him crush two pairs in this same way.