Johnny

He felt her before she walked in.

Layla always announced herself without saying a word. The sharp scent of designer perfume, the heavy echo of heels on the warped bar floor, the tension that crept into his shoulders like a reflex he couldn’t shake. She had a presence, sure. But tonight? It didn’t hit the same.

Because he was already watching her.

Alli.

She moved behind the bar with that kind of soft focus he couldn’t stop looking at. That innocent, effortless grace that pissed him off almost as much as it pulled him in. Barely legal. Barely aware of the kind of men who looked at her like he did.

He wasn’t the kind of guy sweet girls were supposed to be near.

And yet, there she was. Pouring drinks with shaky hands and pretending not to feel his eyes on her.

She was too young. Too damn clean. And if he had a shred of decency left, he’d stop coming here just to see if she’d smile at him.

But Johnny had long since stopped pretending to be decent.

The stool beneath him creaked as he leaned forward, wrapping one hand around his glass, the other hanging limp over his knee. His knuckles were still bruised from two nights ago—a fight outside some bar he didn’t remember the name of, over something he couldn’t recall. Just a burst of rage, a blur of fists, and the silence that always came after.

He chased silence like other people chased peace.

And Alli? She was peace.

That’s why it scared the hell out of him.

He didn’t want to touch her. Didn’t want to ruin her.

But fuck if he didn’t want to try.

“Alli,” he said, as she walked past.

She stopped. Slowly turned. “Johnny.”

Her voice was sugar-coated hesitation. Sweet, but wary. Smart girl.

“You working hard or hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding,” she lied.

He smiled. Just a ghost of one. “You’re a shit liar, Alli.”

She didn’t argue. Just looked at him like she was trying to figure out if he was worth the trouble.

And then came the sound that always snapped him back to the worst parts of himself—Layla.

He heard her heels before he saw her. The click-click-click of entitlement. Of chaos wrapped in curves and confidence. She slid onto the stool beside him like she still owned real estate in his bed, her fingers already trailing over his arm like a claim.

“Start without me?” she purred, pretending like he hadn’t been avoiding her calls all week.

“You weren’t invited.”

He didn’t even look at her.

Didn’t need to. He already knew the look on her face—tight smile, eyes scanning the room for witnesses, ego bleeding beneath red lipstick.

Layla was fire, yes. But the kind that burned without warning. The kind that made you forget your own name and wake up with nothing but ashes and a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“You think she even knows who you are?” Layla whispered, voice turning sharp as broken glass.

Johnny stiffened.

“You think that little girl behind the bar can handle what comes with you? You think she can stomach the nights you disappear? The fights? The mess? You think she won’t run the second she sees the real you?”

He clenched his jaw.

“Does she even know about the things you’ve done?” Layla pushed. “Because I do, Johnny. I was there when your hands were shaking. I cleaned you up more times than I can count.”

She leaned closer, her breath hot against his cheek. “I made you whole.”

He turned then. Looked at her for the first time all night.

“I was never whole,” he said.

Layla’s smile faltered.

“I was never yours,” he added. “You just showed up when I was broken enough to settle.”

She flinched.

Good.

He stood without another word, grabbed his drink, and walked away. Not because he didn’t care—but because caring had never gotten him anywhere. And staying near Layla only ever pulled him backward.

He moved down the bar to where Alli stood, pretending not to watch. She poured him another drink like it was just routine, but her hands shook slightly.

“Rough night?” he asked.

She glanced up. Her eyes were too soft for a place like this. Too trusting.

“You could say that,” she murmured.

He studied her. The curve of her mouth. The way she bit her lip when she was thinking. The faint freckle near her collarbone, barely visible beneath her shirt. And he wondered what the hell she saw when she looked at him.

Because all he saw when he looked at her was a hundred reasons to walk away—and not one he could cling to that would make him stay gone.

“You ever wonder why people come here?” he asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

Alli looked confused. “To drink?”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “No. They come here to disappear.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just looked at him for a long second.

“Is that why you come here?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because yeah. It was exactly why.

This bar. This stool. This cheap whiskey. It was all part of his disappearing act.

But Alli? She was the one thing that made him feel seen. The one thing that made the chaos quiet.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Because once a man like him gets a taste of something pure, he either ruins it—or loses it.

And Johnny didn’t know which fate he feared more.