Grace for Drowning

It was only fifteen minutes before I was in the bathroom, calmly opening the cupboard under the sink and fishing out the bottle I'd stashed there. When I got the job at Charlie's, I poured every drop of alcohol in the house straight down the drain. Every drop that is, except for a single bottle of Smirnoff.

I cracked the top and took a long slug.

Chapter Four

Logan

I landed a long series of punches on the bag in front of me, letting it feel the full weight of my frustration. The leather cracked, a rapid-fire percussion, and my coach, Tony, who was bracing it, rocked backward with the force.

"Jesus, what's gotten into you?"

I shrugged. "Dunno. Just one of those days, I guess."

He nodded. "Well, keep it up. You punch like that next time you're in the ring, there ain't nobody gonna stand in your way."

"Ain't nobody gonna stand in my way anyway," I replied, mimicking his southern drawl.

"That's the spirit," he said. It was the sort of comment that should have been accompanied by a smile, but not from this man. Tony didn't smile.

Despite my reply, I did know what had me so fired up. Grace was drinking again. I'd spent enough time with Jack and Jim to know the signs. The red eyes, the pale face, the glazed expression; it was textbook.

I shouldn't have cared, she was nobody to me, but ever since that night out on the street, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. She was so goddamn beautiful, and the pain on her face had been so sharp, so raw. I could see terrible things etched on her future. I'd tried to help in some small way, but it was a ridiculous idea. One comment from a random stranger stacked up against whatever storm had hit her life. It just blew away in the wind.

That should have been the end of it. Vegas is a transient town — a temporary sinner's paradise — and even if she was local, the odds of seeing her again were astronomical, but then, out of the blue, she showed up behind the bar. She looked better in that first week. Not healed, but healing. I really thought I'd been wrong, and she'd made it past the trough, but it had been temporary. The deadness had returned to her eyes now. I don't know why that twisted me up so much, but it did.

I struck the bag again, a lethal blur of fists and elbows that would have sent a real person straight to the emergency room. Every blow eased the tension in my stomach a little more. I love the sensation at the moment of impact, that perfect transfer of energy that flows up from the soles of my feet, through my muscles and out into the world. It's kind of fucked up, but that's basically my therapy. Everything builds up inside me until I have no choice but to let it out through my arms and legs. I need that adrenaline now, that focus. It keeps me sane.

I had no idea about Grace's situation, and I had no right to interfere with her life — fuck knows I hated when people tried to do the same for me — but the thing was, I knew about seeking refuge at the bottom of a bottle. I'd been there myself, more times than I cared to count, and each time I only just managed to drag myself up again before I drowned. I also knew people who hadn't been so lucky, people I'd tried, and failed, to help, and the thought of her joining that number made me sick to my stomach.

I don't believe in God, but karma? The jury's still out on that one. I've been involved in some fucked up stuff in my time, stuff that there's no excuse for. I don't know how to moralize it. I'm not smart enough for that. Everything is a gray area these days. Maybe this life now is me being punished, or maybe it's just how the cards fall. I've got no idea. But either way, this was a chance to put something right, to help someone who couldn't help herself. It might not make up for my past failures, but it was worth a shot.

"High kicks," Tony said, shifting his grip on the bag.

I slipped into the zone.

*****

She never came into wor

k tanked. If she was anything like me, that didn't come until bed time, but I could tell she was starting well before her shifts. Soon enough, I figured out it was also continuing at work. Nobody leaves an eight hour stint looking as buzzed as when they arrived unless they've given themselves a little lift in the interim. That was a big problem. Charlie didn't spend a whole lot of time in the bar anymore — he had bigger fish to fry now — but he was bound to notice eventually and, when he did, Grace could kiss the place goodbye. I didn't know much about her, but I knew her job was important. You didn't get work tending bar when you were as depressed as she was unless you had no choice in the matter, and that meant she had everything to lose. Getting fired now would be the worst kind of trigger, the kind that could send her over the edge.

The following day, I traded with Louis to work the entire night inside. I hate being in that place for too long, especially on Friday nights. The people, the noise; too many threats, too many variables. It always feels like the walls are closing in around me. But it was the only way I'd catch her.

Even had I not been concerned, I would have found myself watching her. There was something so alluring about her; tiny, but with curves that seemed to go on forever. And that little pixie haircut, Christ, it made her look so fucking hot. I hadn't had this sort of reaction to a woman in a long time, not since my ex-fiancé.

For a while, when that relationship ended, I spent a ton of time fucking anything I could get my hands on. I was angry and hurt and it was the only outlet I could find to get any kind of rush, but ultimately it just made things worse. However you slice it, sex leads to attachment, and for a guy with the kind of baggage I've got, that's a really really bad idea. I don't do emotional conflict well, and things got ugly more times than I care to count. For that reason, I don't go down that road anymore, and for that reason especially, I couldn't even think about pursuing Grace, whatever her body did to me. I could offer support and try to help, but anything more was beyond me. Putting two people with our issues together was a fucking powder keg. I wanted to help her, not damage her more.

As usual, I caught her glancing at me several times when she thought I wasn't looking. Army training goes a long way when it comes to surveillance. You miss something out in the field, you're as good as dead. I still couldn't tell what that look meant. Was she suspicious of me? Curious? Afraid? They were probably all legitimate reactions.

She wouldn't be drinking in the bar. Too obvious. But all the staff got a short break every three hours, and I suspected that's where the crime went down. Sure enough, when her time came up, she excused herself and ducked out toward the back door. I went out the front and looped around the building, coming up on the alley from the street. No need to draw attention to her.

She was leaning up against the wall, shoulder slumped, head bowed. There was a glint of something silver in her hand, reflecting the moonlight. I watched as she raised the flask and took a short slug, her face twisting ever so slightly as she swallowed.

"Feeling a little on edge?" I asked.

She jumped. "Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing sneaking up on people like that?"

"Sorry."