Grace for Drowning

"Give me one more shot," I said.

He paused at the door. "What?"

"Let me talk to her once more. Maybe I can bring her round."

"You said she shut you down."

I nodded. "Yeah, but this might change things. She needs this job, Charlie."

"I can't take the risk, kid. If anything happens—"

Even now, with me having forty pounds and several inches on him, he still called me "kid." Not many people could get away with that, but from him it just felt like a sign of affection. "It won't. Look, if she doesn't agree to work with me, you can do whatever you want, but just let me try, okay? I can hel

p her, Charlie. I know what she's going through."

His expression remained blank.

"A year ago, you took a chance on me when you didn't have to," I continued, "and it saved me. She deserves the same chance."

He studied me for what felt like an eternity. He was a hard man in almost every way, but he had a soft spot for me. I prayed it was enough.

"If she drinks so much as a drop before or during one of her shifts, you tell me, understand?"

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Got it."

He moved to leave, but then hesitated. "You sure you know what you're doing here?" He had the sort of weathered face that looked older than its years, a landscape shaped by sun and wind, but still, I could see lines of concern etched there now. He wasn't just talking about Grace's problem anymore.

I shrugged. "No, but I'm doing it anyway."

I found her behind the bar. "Grace, you got a minute?"

A variety of emotions played across her face as she turned to me. Surprise, annoyance, curiosity. "We're kind of getting smashed here," she replied, nodding to the queue of people waiting for drinks. "So no, I don't."

"It's important," I replied.

She looked hesitant, but something in my expression must have gotten through, because she turned to Jonah, the other bartender working tonight, and said, "I need to take five."

Jonah's shot her one of his trademark greasy smiles and nodded. I'd never liked him. He was one of those guys who used this job as an excuse to hit on anything in a skirt and, amazingly, girls seemed to find his whole preppy frat boy shtick appealing, because damn if he wasn't good at it.

Grace followed me out back and into the alley.

"What is it, Logan? I thought we cleared everything up the other day." She sounded tired, defeated, like even the simple act of talking required more energy than her body could muster.

"The situation's changed," I replied. "Charlie knows you're drinking."

That brought some life to her face. Her mouth twisted into a scowl. "I knew it," she spat, jabbing a finger at me. "I knew I couldn't trust you to just let this be!"

"I didn't tell him. He worked it out himself. I caught him just before he was about to come out and fire your ass."

She didn't seem to believe me at first, studying my face for signs of deception, but eventually the anger melted away. She closed her eyes and drew a long, shuddering breath, then turned away from me, her hand darting down toward the pocket of her jeans.

"Don't," I said.

"Why does it matter? You said it yourself, he's going to fire me."

"He was going to fire you. I convinced him to hold that thought."

"How?"