I pulled open the heavy door and made my way through the crowd. When I got up to the bar, the owner brought me a beer before I had a chance to order.
“This one’s on her.” He pointed to the end of the bar.
I looked to where he motioned and met the woman’s eyes. “What’s her name?”
“That’s Rebel.”
3
Rebel
I was just finishing up my break when I saw him walk in. Edge. That’s what the sheriff had called him. Until then, I hadn’t known his name, but I’d seen him in the bar before. Each time, he hadn’t paid any attention to me. Looked right through me, in fact. It wasn’t that surprising; the man was hot as fuck.
I watched the exchange between him and Bobby, wondering if he’d remember me from two nights ago. When my boss pointed to the end of the bar where I was sitting, Edge raised his head and looked straight at me. His eyes were brown; mine were blue. Everybody said they were my mother’s eyes. I didn’t think they were that alike, other than in color. If they were similar to my father’s, I wouldn’t know. I’d never met the man.
I watched him walk my way. Was I ready to have a conversation with the man who’d saved me from being raped by a man I’d intended to kill?
Since my break was over anyway, I slammed down the rest of the whiskey in my glass and stood to go back behind the bar. Before I could, I felt his hand on my arm.
“Thanks for the pint,” he said in his English accent. “Next one’s on me.”
“You’re welcome.” I clinked my empty glass to his, wishing I had any idea what to say to this man.
He held out his hand. “I’m Edge. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
When I introduced myself as Lucy, he looked at me funny.
“Not Rebel?”
My grandfather first called me the nickname I’d had since I was a hot-headed eleven-year-old hell-bent on making my mama’s life as hard as possible.
“Come on, little Rebel,” he’d said, cuffing me behind the neck with his thick hand and leading me into the house. “Let’s go see if your grandmother has dinner ready.”
He’d picked up my suitcase that night like it was nothing that I showed up unannounced with all my belongings.
“Yeah, Rebel,” I muttered, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey Bobby set in front of me. When he winked before walking away, I sat back down on the barstool.
“Nickname?”
I nodded. “From childhood.”
“My name’s Keon, but I go by Edge.”
As he brought his glass to his mouth, I checked out his ink. On the inside of his forearm, there was a tattoo with two names inside a heart: Annaliese and Arlo. Under them was a date, June 11, 2008.
I don’t know if he caught me looking or if it was a habit, but he covered his tattoo with his hand and then leaned forward so his mouth was close to my ear. “You kissed me, Rebel.”
I looked everywhere but at him.
“Lucy?”
“What?” I asked, still not looking at him.
“I liked it.”
That got me to turn my head.
He took another drink of his beer and ran his eyes down the length of me. “That isn’t all I like.”