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LEIA

The      light   above me     flickered      and    I         glanced          toward        the     ceiling,         squinting at it          like    I         could diagnose      the     issue  from  a          mere  irritated       gaze   and willpower       alone.          But    we     were  lucky  the     lights were  still          on      at       all,     with the       stack  of       red          bills    clamoring    for     my     attention     on          my     desk,  and    I         sighed          as       I leaned          over   the     table  to       swipe my     rag     over          the     worn  wood.

“Quiet   tonight,       cher.” Harry Allard’s        soft          voice  broke the     silence,        and    I stiffened,          pausing        my     movement  for     just    a          fraction       of       a        moment.

I   shrugged,    trying to       appear         casual.          “Guess         that’s what  I         get     for     having ancestors     who   missed         the     memo          on          the     direction      Baton Rouge          would          expand in.” We     weren’t        exactly         on          the     tourist         trail   of       town, and    The          Pour  House          stayed quiet          more nights          than   not.    Passing        trade had    all      but          been  reduced       to       an      army  of frogs          and    too     many mosquitoes.

Pierre,    Harry’s         brother,       chuckled.     “The          chicken        wings were  good  tonight, though.”          He      patted         his      slightly         rounded          belly, a        smile of       contentment          softening his         craggy          features.

Pierre     wore  his      ex-police     years in       the          lines   and    wrinkles       of       his      face   like    a badge          of       honor,          but     he      was    soft          when it        came to       me—both    brothers          were, the uncles   I’d      never had—and    Pierre          probably      contributed the     majority      of          my     profits on    nights when I         served          wings.

I   nodded,       already        automatically        doing          the     mental         calculations to       work  out when those would          be      on      the     menu again.          Takings        had    probably      been  good enough          to       allow more food   to       be      on      offer          tomorrow.   It        was    always         a        tussle          over paying a        bill     and    trying to       earn          more money.        Speculating to       accumulate…          But the        only   thing  I         fucking        seemed          to       accumulate was    more of       Dad’s          gambling debt.

“One  day,”  I         said,   “life   will    be      better,          and    I’ll      have  the     money         to       pay    all          the bills       when they   need  paying,        right?”          I         grinned        in       the     direction      of          the     brothers, their      once  blond hair    now          shining         more gray   under my     dim    lights.

They       were  my     most  loyal  regular          customers.  Always         in       the     same corner          like a pair    of       personal      bodyguards.          That   they   were  both  ex-police     definitely          helped keep          trouble        away from  my          place, too.    Their  tattoos        were  as          intimidating as       their quiet   presence      for          the     wrong          people,        that   was    for          sure.

Well,      maybe         they   couldn’t       keep  the          kind   of       trouble        that   answered    to          the name     of       Dad   at       bay,   but     not          many others          tried  anything.

Harry     nodded.       “Hope          so,      cher.” He          cleared        his      throat          and    shifted         in          the booth,   his      bulky frame not     quite  as          much muscle         now   as       it        must  have          been  in       his youth.    “How are     things going          with…all      that?”

He          gestured      rather          than   get     specific          with   his      words,         which gave  me     the option          to       not     really answer        his          question,     but     what  the     hell?  Avoiding          the     answer didn’t        make my     problems          with   cashflow      any    less    real.

Things    weren’t        good, and    both  Harry and    Pierre already        knew that.

“The       same. I’m     surrounded by      threats         of          foreclosure  and    demands     for money,  and    I          don’t see     any    of       that   changing     soon.”          I         hesitated     as       I         grabbed       a          pair of          dirty  glasses         from  the     end    of          the     bar.    “Well,          I         guess until   I’m          not     surrounded by      foreclosure  letters          and    everything   is        just    gone  instead,          right? That   would          be      a change.”

As much as       the     constant      threat          of          losing both  the     bar     and    my     home loomed over   me     right  now,  actually       losing them both          was    going to       be      so       much worse. Pierre          made a        sympathetic          noise, but     I          tuned him    out     as       I         took   the     glasses          to       the sink       before          returning     to          wiping         the     surfaces.      I         couldn’t          afford          to       start  feeling sorry          for          myself          or       to       accept          responsibility          for     soothing      anyone        else’s sadness.

I   just    had    to       get     by      day    to       day          with   a        heart that   fractured     a        little          more each time    I         remembered         I          was    on      the     verge of       losing everything—so       much family history        and    the     last          connection  I         had    to       Mom. She’d worked          so       hard   on      building the bar     before          she     died,  and    she     wouldn’t      even          recognize     it        now.

I’d failed her     legacy          somewhere along the          line,   and    I         wouldn’t      even  get     a chance         to       make that   right  if        the     bank          took   everything   away. I         paused         my          long sweeps          of       the     counter,       ignoring          the     patches        where          the     varnish          lifted and    the scarred  wood dipped         and          warped,       and    I         glanced        across          the     room.

This        was    my     kingdom.     I         reigned          here.  The    jewel-colored        bottles         on          the shelves  behind         me     were  among          my     greatest       treasures,    and    the     stale          beer   odor that     lingered       here   like    perfume          at       all      hours of       the     day    and    night          simply          smelled like home.