Chapter 3: Blue Birds

The air reeked of sweat and sex.

The sounds—raw, primal—twisted Emily's stomach.

"You animals!"

Emily's voice cracked as she screamed.

Her knees buckled. She collapsed to the floor.

Only then did they notice her.

Ian stopped and turned, chest heaving, his face flushed and damp with sweat.

"Of course." He didn't even bother to look ashamed. "Just like you to ruin everything."

Ian pulled on his pants and walked to the nightstand, retrieving a manila envelope.

"I've been waiting to give you this."

He tossed it at Emily's feet.

She didn't move.

"Pick it up," he said coldly.

Emily's hands trembled as she opened it.

Divorce papers.

His signature already there, dated yesterday.

Yesterday.

Immediately after Grandma Hilda died.

He'd been planning this.

"Sign it," Ian said, "or when I own the company I'll make sure your father goes to jail for the money you still owe me."

Emily gasped. "You said you'd forgiven that debt."

"I lied." He smiled. "I have it all documented. Every cent you 'invested' in my business was actually paying back the loan. With interest, you still owe me half a million dollars."

He stepped closer.

"Sign, or you will lose everything."

Emily looked at the papers, her vision blurring with tears.

She had no choice.

With shaking hands, she signed.

Jane laughed from the bed. "He's so done with you."

The words hit like a fist.

Emily's chest constricted.

She stumbled to her feet and ran.

---

Emily burst out of the building, hyperventilating.

Tears streamed down her face—hot, stinging.

Her vision blurred as she fumbled for her phone.

She dialed Rosa, her best friend who worked across town.

"Hey, girl! What's the gist?"

Emily tried to speak, but only sobs came out.

"Em? Where are you?"

"Ian—" Emily choked. "He's—Jane—I walked in—"

"Say no more." Rosa's tone shifted instantly. "You remember Blue Birds? The bar on Clues Avenue?"

Emily nodded, even though Rosa couldn't see her.

"Go there. Ask for Martinez—he's the bartender. Tell him you're with me. I'm leaving work now. Thirty minutes, okay?"

"Okay," Emily whispered.

"You're going to be fine, babe. Just get there."

Emily hung up and hailed a cab.

At least Rosa was coming.

She didn't know who else to call. She couldn't go to her parents with this.

Never.

---

When Emily walked into Blue Birds, the dim lighting and ambience felt like a refuge.

She approached the bar.

"Martinez?"

The bartender—a stocky man with kind eyes—nodded. "You must be Emily."

He gestured to a stool at the end of the bar.

Emily sank onto it, her body giving in to exhaustion.

Martinez set a glass of water in front of her. "Start with this."

Before her fingers could touch the glass, she heard a voice—low, familiar.

"Well, well."

Emily looked up.

It was him.

The landlord. The man who thought she was a drunk.

Her stomach dropped.

He slid onto the stool beside her, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Funny seeing you here." He gestured at her water. "What's this? Vodka?"

Emily's jaw tightened. She wasn't in the mood.

"Water."

His smile faded. "Hey, I'm sorry. Bad joke."

His shoulders dropped slightly. "I didn't mean any judgment. Is everything okay?"

Of course it wasn't.

But no way was she telling her story to a complete stranger—her landlord.

Hell no.

"Yes, I'm fine," Emily said dismissively. "Just waiting for someone."

Her phone chimed.

A text from Rosa: [Em I'm sorry, I can't make it today. My boss won't let me go. See you tomorrow. Eat something.]

Great.

She slumped forward, burying her face in her palm.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

His voice was gentle, though the deep timbre still sounded like a command.

"I got divorced today."

The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

She immediately regretted it.

"Ah." He paused. "That explains the drinking."

Emily's head jerked up, eyes flashing.

He raised both hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Just kidding. Don't shoot."

Despite everything, a laugh bubbled up in her throat.

Just then, Martinez appeared, sliding a plate of fries and grilled chicken in front of Emily.

She blinked. "I didn't—"

"Rosa says eat," Martinez said with a shrug.

Emily exhaled, resigned.

Martinez looked at the man beside her. "Can I take your order, sir?"

"I'll have a beer. And one for the lady."

"I don't—" Emily started.

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

The weight of it—solid, grounding—made her breath catch.

"Trust me. You do." His tone was firm but warm.

Emily really looked at him then.

Confident blue eyes. A smile that seemed to know exactly what it was doing.

He was still in the navy suit from this morning, minus the jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, exposing a hint of chest hair.

"I really don't drink," Emily said quietly. "At least, I haven't in a while."

"You'll need to for what you're about to tell me."

He extended his hand. "I'm Scott."

Emily hesitated, then took it.

His grip was warm. Steady.

"Emily."

Martinez returned with two beers, popping the caps.

Scott grabbed his and raised it. "Here's to broken promises and heartaches."

He took a long swig—too long.

The carbonation fizzed over, spilling down his chin.

Emily's hand flew to her mouth, but she couldn't stop the laughter that burst out.

Scott laughed too, wiping his face with a handkerchief.

"Are you going to make me drink alone?"

She hadn't had a drink in months.

She definitely hadn't laughed this hard in months.

And here was this stranger, making her do both.

She took a swig—too fast.

The bottle hit her lips, foamed up, spilling all over her already-stained dress.

She put it down quickly, her lips stinging.

She held them, laughing silently.

Scott let out a quiet laugh too.

"Instant karma," he said between chuckles.

Some of the liquid dampened her chest. The wet dress clung to her skin, outlining the curve of her cleavage.

Scott's gaze dropped—before snapping back to her eyes.

Something flickered in them.

His knee brushed her thigh as he turned to face her.

She flinched.

He reached for the handkerchief again and gently dabbed her lips.

His touch sent shivers down Emily's spine.

He looked at her. "Assume I'm who you were waiting for. Talk to me."

How could she deny that tone?

Emily explained her situation briefly, leaving out personal details.

Scott's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face.

"I know a thing or two about family problems." He paused. "I lost someone recently. I'm here because—"

He stopped. Shook his head.

"Doesn't matter. The point is, sometimes you need a stranger. Someone who doesn't know the whole ugly story."

Scott signaled Martinez. "Two shots of whiskey."

He turned to her, smiling. "No spilling this time."

Emily laughed again.

Why not?

Rosa wasn't coming. Might as well get drunk.

She took the shot.

It burned going down, blurring her vision briefly.

Lightheaded, she swayed slightly.

Scott placed a hand on her waist.

"You okay?"

She looked up.

Their eyes locked.

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them—his hand on her waist, her breath catching, the question in his eyes.

A strange, sweet sensation bloomed in Emily's stomach.

Want, maybe.

Or the intoxicating pull of attention.

Or maybe just the whiskey.

She wanted this. Wanted to forget Ian, forget the humiliation, forget everything and feel something different.

She leaned in and kissed him.

He met her lips without rush.

Soft. Slow.

Short but passionate.

Then Emily pulled back suddenly.

"That was a mistake."

She slid off the stool and marched out of the bar.