Liquid Courage

Lenny’s Pov

The karaoke bar was exactly the kind of place you went to when you wanted to forget that your life had gone up in flames.

Sticky floors, neon lights that flickered every few minutes, and a lot of strangers who were all too wrapped up in their own misery to notice yours.

Perfect.

"Another one," I said, sliding my glass across the bar counter.

The bartender, a heavyset guy with a sleeve tattoo and kind eyes, looked at me for a second. "That's your fourth."

"I can count." I smiled tightly. "Another one, please."

He poured it without another word.

I tossed it back and let the burn chase away the image of Rico and that woman in my kitchen. The kitchen I had paid for, the apartment I had basically funded with five years of my life.

I set the glass down harder than I meant to.

"Okay," I muttered to myself. "Okay. You are not going to cry in a karaoke bar. That is not who you are."

I was absolutely going to cry in a karaoke bar.

The MC up front was waving his arm around, begging for volunteers.

"Come on, people! Who's next? Don't be shy!"

I do not know what possessed me. Maybe it was the four shots, or the fact that I had nowhere to sleep tonight, because I had checked into the cheapest motel I could find and the walls were so thin I could hear the couple next door arguing about a parking ticket. Maybe it was just the look on Rico's face when he told me there was nothing left of my savings.

I raised my hand.

"There she is!" The MC pointed at me as I'd just won something. "Get up here, sweetheart!"

I got up there.

The song list was laminated and dog-eared. I picked something slow and mournful and handed the slip back to the MC.

The opening notes played and I gripped the mic.

"This one goes out to every man who ever lied to my face," I said into the mic.

A few people in the back cheered.

I started singing.

I was not good. I was aware I was not good but I was loud and I meant every word. When the chorus hit I closed my eyes and just let it rip right out of my chest. I sang about waiting, hoping, and watching years disappear like smoke.

I sang about loving someone so hard you forgot to love yourself. My voice cracked twice and I kept going anyway.

When I finished, the applause was sporadic but genuine.

I handed the mic back and turned around too fast and the room tilted.

"Whoa." I grabbed the edge of the stage.

"Easy." The MC grabbed my elbow briefly. "You good?"

"Completely fine," I said, stepping down carefully.

I made it back to the bar and ordered water this time because the room was doing something strange and I was fairly certain my legs had decided to stage a protest.

I sat there for a while, just watching other people get up and butcher songs and laugh at themselves, and something about it made my chest ache in a good way. They were all just out here being messy and not apologizing for it.

I stood up and the room lurched sideways again.

"Okay," I said quietly. "That was a mistake."

I pressed a hand to my mouth and moved fast, weaving through tables and barstools, a group of women in matching sashes celebrating something loud and colorful. I hit the edge of the bar floor near the wall and almost made it to the hallway leading to the bathroom.

Almost.

My shoulder collided with someone solid. My stomach had already made its decision before I had the chance to form an apology.

I threw up on his shirt.

The silence that followed lasted approximately two seconds.

"I am so sorry," I said, horrified, stepping back. My heel caught the leg of a barstool and I grabbed his arm without thinking to stop myself from going down.

He let me.

He didn't recoil. He didn't make a sound. He just stood there, one hand steadying my elbow, and looked down at me with an expression that was impossible to read. Just steady, like whatever had just happened was a minor inconvenience at most.

He was tall. Dark hair, sharp jaw, and eyes that caught the neon glow and threw it back differently. There was something about the way he stood that made the noise of the bar feel like it was on the other side of a window.

"I'm sorry," I said again. "I'll pay for your shirt. I have…" I reached for my bag and the room tilted dramatically. "I have money, some money."

"You should sit down," he said. His voice was low and calm.

"I'm fine." My legs said otherwise.

"You're not." He guided me toward the wall and I let him because my body had essentially stopped consulting me on major decisions.

I slid down until I was sitting with my back against the wall and my knees folded up and I put my face in my hands.

"This is the worst day of my life," I said into my palms.

He crouched down in front of me, and even like that he was still composed, his forearms resting on his knees, watching me with that same unreadable calm.

"You sang well," he said.

I looked up. "I sang terribly."

"You sang as you meant it." He tilted his head slightly. 

I stared at him. "I just threw up on you."

"I noticed."

"You're not angry."

"No."

"I'm having a very bad day," I told him, because I felt like that deserved to be on the record.

"I can tell."

I looked at him again. "Who are you?"

He stood up, and when he did he shrugged off the jacket he'd been holding and draped it around my shoulders.

"Someone who's going to make sure you get home safe."

"I don't need…"

The rest of that sentence dissolved into nothing because the lights went soft and the sound pulled away from me like a tide going out and everything just went quietly dark.