Chapter Six

Eva

It’s 9pm on my first Friday off training and it’s  —there is no other way to put this— a mother fucking CATASTROPHE . 

First, I was late, having got held up on my way from class. I’ve broken three glasses, spilled more drinks than I’ve saved, and now The Underground is packed. I have eight tables who keep downing their drinks as fast as they order them and they’re getting less and less patient with every round. One boorish guy on a date with some woman half his age straight up hates me at this point. My food is taking forever, and of course, Jamie is being the general worst. 

But the true tragedy of my night...I haven’t had any coffee since noon.

Noon!

“Grab the drinks already! I have nowhere to put the other orders.” Jamie barks from the service bar. 

“Sorry!” I scramble to load the drinks onto the tray as quickly as I possibly can. Boorish dude’s martini sloshes over the rim, losing half of the cocktail in the process and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into frustrated tears.

“Goddamnit!” Jamie sets to work on remaking the martini, officially at the end of his rope with me. 

The feeling is so mutual, buddy.

I scurry off to my table, winding my way through the crowd. I swear smoke pours from his nostrils the second Boorish realizes his drink is missing.

“Sir, I’m so sorry, your martini will be right up.” It takes superhuman strength I never realized I possessed to hold the professional smile on my face.

Nope, he’s not having it.

“Jesus, you’re a trash waitress.” He grits through angry eyes as I set down his pretty young date’s bay breeze. 

“I apologize—"

“Don’t fucking apologize just get me my damn drink!” He pounds the table for emphasis, making his date jump in her seat. “You dumb little—”

  A wall of warmth hits my back. 

“Got your drink sir.” Jamie’s voice carries over my head, sending goose bumps breaking out across my skin. As polite as his words are there’s a dangerously violent edge to his tone.  

Like even worse than usual.

“Finally,” Boorish grumbles with a long, suffering sigh. 

“Of course. Sorry for the wait.” His chest presses closer to my back. “But watch your fucking mouth with our staff.” As usual he doesn’t wait for an answer before heading back to his station. Once behind the bar he keeps his gaze zeroed on us. Just daring the guy to say more.

What in the living hell was that?

“Can—um. Can I get you anything else?” I ask with a shaky voice. 

Boorish’s face is flushed purple. “No. just the check.” The next word looks almost painful. “Please.”

“Hey new girl!” A pretty blonde with thick rimmed glasses tugs my haggard ponytail  to get my attention as I’m passing the bar and trying my best not to cry. When I stop, she smiles and squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t worry, it gets easier. I promise.”

The dark beauty beside her leans back and flashes me a wry grin. “You’re doing great, kid.”

I nod with wobbly lips and dash off to my next task. They were lying through their teeth. But it was really nice to hear anyway.

Two hours later, I finally manage to sneak away long enough to hide outside. Sitting on a crate, I lean my head against the warm brick wall, paying no mind to my strands of hair that catch on the rough mortar.

It’s so blessedly quiet.

My phone goes off in my pocket and I smile when I see the text.

Luke: Let’s do it.

  And just like that, my night is looking up. He’s going to take the money to buy into the Underground.

I’m typing a response consisting solely of exclamation points when the back door opens and Jamie steps out sparking up a smoke. Our eyes lock in silence as he grinds his jaw before giving me his back with an implied “fuck off”.

That’s fine by me. I return to my text. I only care about Luke and the fact that he took my offer. He gets to have a piece of something he works so hard for, something he loves, and at least some of my grandmother's money is going to someone good.

Jamie doesn’t exist right now.

Then I remember his reaction to that customer earlier. 

I almost ignore it, content to just bury the experience and never think of it again. Then I remember the crazy big tip he left. Twenty dollars on a forty-dollar bill. A forty dollar bill that I managed to mess up every step of the way.

My eyes slink over to Jamie, sneaking a covert peek as I gather my strength for what I’m sure will be a deeply unpleasant interaction. “Hey, about that table—" 

“Just shut up,” he mutters.

Absolute. Asshole.

“No really,” I press on, barely resisting the urge to flip him off. “Thank you. Listen, he left me a twenty that I definitely didn’t earn...” I reach into my apron retrieving the bill and try to hand it to him.

Jamie looks at the money in my hand like it’s poison then grounds out a vicious laugh. The sound is sharp and bitter, scraping against the remaining ruins of my nerves. 

“Are you that desperate that you’ll fucking pay me to be nice to you?” 

Any other moment in time I’d be mortified. 

Humiliated.

I would choke on embarrassment.

But tonight… the joke is on him. I'm way too exhausted to feel anything at all. 

So… ha, motherfucker. 

“Oh please.” My mouth kicks up into a small tired smile as I keep my hand out. “Like you could be bought anyway.”

He doesn’t respond. But then I didn’t think he would. 

Standing, I set the twenty down on the crate. If he wants to take it he can, if not, it’ll be someone else’s lucky day. I grab the door handle to go back inside but pause at the burn of his eyes drilling holes into the back of my head. 

Oh good, there’s more.

I whirl around, ready to face whatever he’s got to say. But he remains silent; staring me down with unbridled hostility. I should go back inside. No good can come from me staying out here right now, but I keep my feet planted and force myself to really look at him.  I study Jamie where he stands under the dim light of the alleyway, half of his face hidden in the smoke from his cigarette as it twists through the night. 

He’s so formidable. 

But so alone. 

I think back to Ryan’s comment about no one knowing him and I can’t help but feel a little sad.  It’s such a shame, he’s surrounded by people who love him and he doesn’t have to be alone. I can’t understand someone who chooses isolation over a family and I’m about to say as much but change my mind.

He wouldn’t want to hear it and definitely not from me. 

 I look into his sea blue eyes, meeting his bitter gaze head on with resignation as I try to absorb the truth in this moment. I’m never going to win him over. It’s time to come to terms with that.

“Believe it or not, I don’t need you to like me.” I lift an accepting shoulder to punctuate the claim. “But don’t think for a second you’re going to scare me away. I came here to build a life for myself and I can’t help it if that life is near yours.”

I doubt my words had any impact based on the way he tilts his head back ever so slightly after he takes a drag, opening his mouth to let the smoke pour out, all the while silently looking down the length of his nose at me. It’s a withering gaze, one that last week would have sent me scampering away. 

But not tonight. I’m done with his little power game.

Done hiding.

I’m. Done.

I stare steadily back at him until the last of the smoke clears. Showing the truth to my words. I head back in as pride fills my chest. I may not be a great server but at least I’m learning to stick up for myself.

I no sooner make it back to my tables when the band that played most of the night wraps up. A few minutes later the stage is clear and I turn, hearing Rich the other bar tender’s gravelly voice carry across the room over the microphone. 

“Ok everyone, put your hands together for our very own Jamie Delahunt!”

Say what?

I swing my eyes back to the stage and sure enough, Jamie sits at the microphone with a stunning acoustic guitar. He fiddles a bit with the tuning of the beautiful instrument. I can’t make out the details but there’s an undoubtedly intricate design running down the neck and frame of the richly stained wood. When he seems satisfied, he strums a couple quick chords then looks up into the crowd and … smiles. 

Lord help me. 

That thing could be weaponized.

I’ve never seen the man smile genuinely before and it’s brilliant. His eyes crinkle at the corners and his whole face takes on this youthful quality thanks to his dimples...because of course he has dimples. So there he is, covered from ears to knuckles in tattoos and this heart stopping boyish smile on his face, as he begins to play the opening chord to a song.

“This is a cover of Moments Passed.”

What happens next changes me. 

Jamie Delahunt proceeds to open his mouth and sing with the most heart wrenching beauty I think I’ve ever heard. His voice is an exquisite combination of rasp, soul, and heart. If his speaking voice is distant thunder, his singing is the storm overhead. The sound makes its way into my blood. He sings this song that is so lilting and sad, but with a melody that pulls at my muscles like a marionette begging me to dance.

My body sways as his voice picks up for the chorus. His eyes land on mine and some unnamed emotion, something deep down sparks to life. His expression is wide open as the music flows through his lips, through his fingers, through his damn skin.  In this moment he’s so honest and raw that I can’t look away.

It’s like a part of me has been cracked open releasing this need to create and my body is calling me to dance in a way I’ve never felt before. He plays a few more covers, each one with the same beauty and poignancy as the one before. But my heart stays with that first song. 

I need to dance. 

As soon as my shift is over I look it up and download it. I’m rushing towards the red staircase leading up to the bodega not even bothering to count my tips. I just want to get my shoes on and push my furniture out of the way so I can dance. My exhaustion from before is long gone, my energy renewed with the need to express myself. I’m almost at the stairs when that thunderous voice I’m beginning to recognize so well stops me.

“You’re not walking back alone.” 

I look over my shoulder and he’s still busy washing up glasses.

“Um...” I glance at the time, it’s well after midnight and he’ll probably be here for at least another half hour. That’s about twenty-nine minutes longer than I can wait. “Don’t worry about it. It’s only a block,”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“That’s great. I’m really glad for you.” I toss back, distractedly hurrying up the red stairwell.

“Eva!” His warning chases me through the bodega but I ignore it. No way am I waiting a second longer to get home and get this possible dance out of my system. Who knows, I might even be able to string together four whole steps this time. 

I’m at the corner of the street when the clank of the store door slamming open stops me in my tracks.. 

“What is wrong with you?” Jamie grabs my arm, spinning me to face him. His voice is like a whip; it's so sharp. “You can’t walk around at this time by yourself. You might as well have a target on your back!”

What the hell?

“It’s so close,” I point with extra wide eyes down the street. “I can see Townsend House from here.” 

I try to pry my arm out of his grip. If I thought derisive Jamie was intense it has nothing on this actively angry version of him. His face is twisted with it, nostrils flared, and there’s a vein throbbing in his temple. 

He gives me a tiny shake. “I don’t give a shit!” 

Something hot is brewing in my gut. Something that sends my blood pressure skyrocketing.

My patience for Jamie Delahunt has officially run out. 

“You—um, you need to let me go.” Damn it, that came out weaker than it was supposed to. It was supposed to match his caveman energy.

At least it didn’t come out like a question.

His eyes shoot down to where his inked fingers are wrapped firmly around my bare arm. 

Then there’s a flicker… there one second, gone the next.

An expression so haunted and full of pain, that for a single heartbeat, I lose my grip on my own anger. Then he drops my arm like it’s on fire, taking two steps back as his eyes fall closed. 

What happened to him?

“Start walking,” he growls, once his impassive mask is back in place.

“Gladly?”

Damnit. I spare myself the task of a redo-retort and whip around on my heel to march down the block.

He can’t even let me have that though as he falls into step beside me. We walk in a combustible silence. What is his problem? I might be sheltered but I’m not dumb. I understand it’s less than ideal for a woman to walk late at night on her own. I know what I’m doing though, Roosevelt Square is a pretty safe neighborhood, the distance is minimal, the street is well lit… 

Also, why the fuck does he even care? 

Jamie makes no secret of his opinion of me. Why would he freak out at the idea of me walking one stupid block at night? Even now, anger is rolling off of him with such potency I can practically smell it. 

Well guess what, Delahunt? I’m a grown woman. I can walk home whenever I want. 

Next time I’m totally going to say that out loud.

After the longest two minute journey in history we arrive at Townsend House. I stomp up the stone steps and give the black door a hard yank.

It hits him in the face.

“Oh look at that, we’re even now,” I snicker with glee. I hope it leaves a mark.

Jamie breathes hard through his nose, but doesn’t seem affected by the impact beyond annoyance. “Don’t try this shit again.” 
Without waiting for a response, he heads back to the bar like a bat out of hell. 

Good riddance, jackass.

The second I get my door locked behind me I shake off the past few minutes and rush to my dance bag grabbing my tape and pointe shoes. Even after pushing my furniture aside there still isn’t a lot of space, but it will have to do. I don’t bother changing out of my uniform as I lace up my beaten to hell pointe shoes, before switching on my portable speaker, and release the sultry chords of Dermot Kennedy’s song through my makeshift studio. I’ll need to get this on vinyl so I can play it on Oscar next time.

Then, I finally ... finally rise on to my toes and begin to move. I don’t care that I’m covered in old alcohol and french fry grease. I don’t care that I spent my entire night locked in a series of battles without any coffee to console me. I’m perfectly content with the hour.  

Because for the first time in my life. I’m creating a dance of my own.  

This is mine.

I simply move, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like I haven’t spent years banging my head against the wall any time I attempted to string more than two steps together. Everything flows right out and I’m just along for the ride as my body builds my first ever original routine. I fall in love with it. Pouring my heart and soul into every leap, every pirouette, every single bend. The only detail that keeps it from falling short of perfection is that Jamie’s voice isn’t the one singing as I move.

Jamie with his sharp edges and haunted eyes.

Jamie with his shitty temper. Yelling at me. Intimidating me…

Protecting me.