Worcester Nights - The Boxed Set (2 page)

I peeled off my sneakers and slumped down onto the bed. My life seemed stuck, bogged down, as if somewhere along the way I’d stepped into deep mud and hadn’t even realized it.

There had to be some way for me to escape.

Chapter 2

T
he overhead bell tinkled as I pushed my way into the bar, the orange flow of sunset already tracing across the scattered tables. Good God, it was only 4:30 p.m. and already darkness was coming. As much as I looked forward to a white Christmas, there were some aspects of a New England winter which I could do without.

A sturdy, middle-aged woman, built like a Mack truck and outfitted in a nicely tailored sapphire blue dress, was working efficiently behind the bar, slicing up limes. She looked up and nodded in approval.

“You’re always right on time. I value that.”

I smiled and moved around to join her, hanging my Holy Cross hoodie on the hook at the far end. Aside from my textbooks, it was my one memento from the four years of time I’d invested in that place.

I picked up the rag and wiped down the bar. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. O’Malley.”

“Ah, lass, call me Bridgit,” she insisted, as she always did. I found it hard to comply. Her presence was such a force, her movements so full of bull-like strength, that I thought of her as apart from the rest of us mere mortals.

“You should stay around for the night,” I suggested. “I’d like the company.” I brought my eyes down to the bar before me, pretending to focus on scrubbing out a spot. It was much more than the company; I felt intensely guilty about being a silent partner to her husband’s continual cheating. It was as if I was now complicit in his activities, expected to lie to his wife for him, when all I wanted to do was turn the cheating bastard over to her fury.

But when Eileen had taken her sabbatical from this job and asked me to cover for her while she was gone, she made me vow not to disturb the balance of the bar. She wanted to come back to a quiet work environment. So, as much as it tore into my heart every day, I went along with it.

Mrs. O’Malley shook her head with gusto. “Sorry, lass, far too much to do. Tonight’s the baby shower for my niece. As soon as Jimmy pries himself out of that office of his, we’ll get going. Just what does he do in there all day long?”

I bit my lip and focused tenaciously on the swirl of wood before me.

There was a movement from the back room, and Jimmy strode out, wiping his hands. He nodded to his wife. “Ready to go?”

“Of course,” she responded, finishing up with the limes. “The present’s in the car.”

Jimmy turned to me. “You know how to lock up, Katie. Make sure you call for the taxi when you are ready to head home. I know you don’t live far, but don’t walk there. You know this neighborhood. Those Cubans are fockin’ bastards who can’t be trusted around a woman.”

I internally noted the disconnect of him making a statement like that, but wisely held my tongue.

Mrs. O’Malley came out from around the bar and nodded in agreement with her husband. “And that halfway house across the street – the Jefferson Hotel – you can’t trust any man who’s staying there.”

I’d already heard this lecture numerous times. “I’ll be fine,” I assured them. “Besides, Joey’s here to protect me.”

The lanky man’s eyes semi-focused for a moment as he heard his name. He turned from the TV, giving a thumb’s up.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, but his wife hooked his arm and gave him a tug. “The lass’ll be fine. We need to get going.” A tinkle of the door’s overhead bell and they were walking around the corner to wherever they’d found street parking.

I sighed, looking over the quiet crowd. It was Saturday night, supposedly the most happening night of the week. But we had only our six regulars – two lethargically battling it out over pool, four at the tables. The TV was running coverage of the celebrations for the Red Sox.

First I made sure we had plenty of limes, lemons, cherries, and other detritus that made a bar run smoothly. Next, I ensured every wood surface in the place gleamed. I handled the occasional drink order. The clock next to the TV ticked slowly, methodically, and it seemed to get louder as the evening dragged along. This was my life. This was my youth, my energy, all vanishing, never to be retrieved again. If Eileen didn’t return soon, I would become trapped here, lost forever, and the ticking clock would mark the passage as my hair turned grey and my bones brittle.

At one in the morning I allowed myself the pleasure of a task that involved at least a little mental activity. I turned and did an inventory of the liquor. This could keep me busy for at least a half hour, if I examined each bottle carefully and gave thought to where it had come from.

I smiled as I reached the top shelf. Jimmy must’ve had a rough day – the Redbreast was nearly empty. We were also running low on Glenmorangie and Jack Daniel’s. The men in here tended to go for the harder stuff. Maybe the run-down atmosphere of Worcester did it to them. Once a mill town, it had struggled to re-invent itself with twelve colleges and a few large medical centers. That might have been great for the dance clubs, but for the middle-aged men seeking basic jobs, there just wasn’t that much out there.

I felt for them. My own future seemed fairly bleak.

I caught Joey’s attention. “I’m just going in back for a sec.”

His nod seemed almost a sleepwalker’s motion. “Sure thing, Kate.”

I wasn’t quite sure if he was fond of an apathy-inducing drug or if he had mental issues. He was friendly enough, and well meaning, but there was a gap between his brain and the rest of the world.

The TV blared a rich rendition of “Sweet Caroline” as I moved into the storeroom. It was haphazardly piled with boxes and bags, with no rhyme or reason to the layout. It was always something of a treasure hunt to dig through here, and I felt a rich sense of triumph when I was able to locate all three bottles I was seeking. I tucked the Redbreast under my arm, took the other two bottles one in each hand, and returned back to the main room.

I had only taken my second step across the wood floor before a strange sensation tickled between my shoulder blades. I drew to a stop by the corner of the bar, depositing my three bottles on it, before sweeping my eyes across the room.

The pool players were finishing up their game, looking as if they might call it a night. The four staring at the TV could, for all purposes, have fallen asleep. And there –

Time crystallized, and the world around us faded.

There was a stranger in the back corner. His chair balanced, tilted, against the far wall. His moss-green eyes held mine with a look far beyond any intensity I had ever experienced.

I lived between breaths as I soaked him in. He appeared in his late twenties, well built, with loose, dark brown hair which just skimmed his shoulders. A shadow of a beard caressed his face. His black t-shirt hugged his body, emphasizing his six-pack stomach and firm biceps. His jeans did the same for his muscular legs. A soccer player, maybe, with a build that was both lean and strong.

Emotion swirled in his eyes as he drew his gaze down me. A distant part of me wondered that I was not nervous, not filled with all the usual butterflies and lustings that came during this stage of the mating dance. But this was different than anything I had ever felt before. I was mesmerized, captivated, and wholly connected with the man before me. Rather than feeling hesitant, I arched my shoulders, meeting his gaze, feeling viscerally the movement of his eyes down my dark blue long-sleeve, lingering on my slender waist. He traced the gentle curve of the jeans on my hips, slid down my lean legs, and drew to a stop at my mid-heel leather boots.

I wanted his eyes back on my own. I craved that connection, that stunning blast of electricity, that had awakened something dormant within me. I raised my fingers and ran my hand through my long, dark hair, pushing it back from my face.

The barest hint of a smile danced at the edge of his sensual lips. And then he drew easily to his feet.

A bolt of lightning zagged through me, and my skin crackled with energy. My heart pounded against my ribs.

I wanted him with every cell in my body.

Yes. Yes.

The two pool players put their cues in the rack and moved in front of him, waving at me as they headed out the door. “See ya tomorrow.”

That seemed to shake the other four out of their TV stupor and they stumbled to their feet, leaving their glasses where they lay. Joey gave a distracted nod. “Guess it’s about time for us, too.”

I barely heard them. My sole focus was on this one man, on how I had been waiting my entire life for this one moment.

He was here.

The thought sent a fresh flare of longing through me.

Thank God there were no other men in my life right now. It had been eight long months since I’d broken up with Derek, that bastard, and I’d come to accept my nun-like status as I dealt with the pressures of finals. It was as if the universe had held me open, waiting, prepared for this one moment.

Joey shook himself, as if he were just coming awake, and he looked over at the stranger. “Hey, you, the bar’s closing up now. Time to head out.”

The man paused as if he’d barely heard the order. He held my gaze, a hint of a question in his eyes.

I could feel every pulse of my blood through my body. The tsunami of desire threatened to drown me, capsize me, wash away all reason. The sane spark of me, deep within the roiling waters, pleaded with me to take it slow, to at least take a breath before losing myself totally within whatever whirlwind was around us.

His smile spread in knowing understanding. He nodded at me and turned to the door. The four regulars made way for him, waiting until he was down the street before waving at me and heading out. The room echoed with the silence.

It took me a moment before I stepped over to the door, turned the bolt, and flipped the sign from “Open” to “Closed.”

I found myself going over to the corner he had been sitting in. I eased myself down into the seat. It was still warm from his presence. I breathed in the aroma of musk and pine. A powerful ache soaked through me, roiling in my chest, sinking to much, much lower.

My thoughts went to
The Godfather
by Mario Puzo. In the novel, Michael Corleone had been hit by
Colpo di Fulmine
- The Thunderbolt. “
This was an overwhelming desire for possession, this was an inerasable printing of the girl’s face on his brain and he knew she would haunt his memory every day of his life if he did not possess her. His life had become simplified, focused on one point, everything else was unworthy of even a moment’s attention.”

I had laughed when reading that, thinking the description outrageous. Nobody felt a connection like that any more. That was a fantasy from fairy tales, from Snow White glimpsing her Prince by the edge of a wishing well.

Now I knew better. Now I realized that – for the rarest of individuals, perhaps just once in a lifetime – that bolt of electricity could sear your soul in a way which would change you forever.

I closed my eyes and let out my breath, drowning in a need I’d barely known I had submerged within me.

Chapter 3

I
glanced at the door for the fiftieth time, desire honing me like a glowing metal rod ready for the anvil. He had to come back. Whoever he was, he had to return to me.

My mother’s cautionary voice tickled in my ear. Was he one of those recently-released felons that appeared at the Jefferson Hotel, struggled to keep their head above water for a few weeks, and then sank into the mire of their own history?

I fervently hoped not. Because, the way I felt right now, I wasn’t sure I would care.

The door’s bell chimed and I spun with a pounding heart. My shoulders sagged. It was a waif-like teen, perhaps five-seven, with blonde pigtails and a peach skin-hugging dress which barely reached below her thong.

A dark cloud grew within me. Thunder rumbled as Jimmy sauntered out from the back hall, took her by the arm, and vanished again with her.

I knew I’d promised Eileen, but this was getting to be too much. I vowed to text her again tomorrow to find out when she’d be coming home.

Joey turned from his perch by the door to wave his empty glass at me. “Another Bushmills, Kate.”

I snagged the bottle, noting it was closing in on empty. The amount the crew could drink in a day was just mind-boggling. It was probably the only reason Jimmy could keep the bar going – although it baffled me that the place broke even. I moved to Joey’s side and poured out his glass. The last drips shook out.

I nudged my head. “I’m going back for another one. Watch the bar for me, would ya?”

“Sure, sure,” he agreed absently, his eyes glued to the set. His hand took the whiskey to his mouth as if set on auto pilot.

I dropped the bottle into the recycling bin – a concession Jimmy had made to me when I complained about the waste of throwing all this glass away. I shouldered my way into the stock room, then began digging around for the Bushmills. If yesterday’s trip here had been a treasure hunt, this time it was more like trying to locate Atlantis. I was sure I had opened up every single box in the room before finally locating a bottle stuffed behind the back radiator.