Enforcing Fate

Part 1

Meryl

He's dead. The words roll about in my head as I swirl the amber whiskey in my glass around and around, staring at it sloshing. The casino I'm at in the heart of Chicago is busy tonight. The lights are low but the sounds of the slots are deafening.

It's a bold place. A large open space for people to try to win against the riptides of luck.Apparently, I don't have any so I wouldn't even bother to stick a dime into any of the slot machines. Brightly lit and colorful, they stand along the walls like sentinels. So I choose to sit comfortably with the cool granite on my forearm and the black leather of the bar stool against my back.

I've chosen to do my drinking here even though I don't gamble because I need the noise. It helps to drown out the usual and unwelcome roar that goes on nonstop in my head. Still, I'm a little surprised at myself for choosing to spend my evenings in a place like this. It is probably because amongst the slot machines, tables, and waitresses weaving in and out of the thick crowds, the casino is absolutely gorgeous—a regal gothic style with a hint of modern elements that add to the ambience. It's comfortable in an enigmatic way. The first night I walked in and parked myself at the expansive bar,contentment surfaced for the first time in what seemed like forever.

I tip my drink to my lips, gulp the rest of it down, and slide the glass across the bar for a refill. The guy tending is someone I haven't seen before.I've been spending my nights here since I moved to Chicago right after it happened. I couldn't face our home, our stuff, or even our car when it was finally over. I sold or gave it all away and left as fast as a747 could take me. His death didn't leave me destitute, but it left me alone.

My phone dings with a text from a friend I hardly ever saw when he was alive. The message reads:

How are you?

I click the delete button. I'm not ready to talk. I can't hear it again. You're so young. You'll meet someone else. It's too bad you never had kids.

The calls from aunts I haven't spoken to in ten years really tick me off. I wasn't worth a call when I was married, so why am I worth a call now that I am a thirty-four-year-old widow?

This new bartender who has never waited on me before is scrounging under the bar, not really appearing to know what he's doing. His dark brown hair is on the long side and hangs in his eyes. I watch him shove it out of the way, seeming miffed.

"Excuse me." I tap my finger on the shiny granite. "I'll have another when you get a chance."He is busy, engrossed in pouring and figuring out how to use the tap, and highly agitated. I watch him.It makes me stifle a giggle. Clearly, this is not what he is cut out for.

He doesn't look at me when he says, "It's coming. Give me a minute."

Oh, he's ruffled. Instead of being bothered by his attitude, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, attempting not to laugh at him.

"Are you new?" I can't stop myself from asking.

"No, I'm not new," he barks, low, aggravated."I've worked here practically my whole life." He snaps up to his full height, tall, with a whiskey bottle in one hand and a clean glass in the other.

His mannerisms are so cute, it's amusing.

"Okay." I keep my laugh as contained as I can but a puff of air bursts from me. I seal my lips shut.It isn't nice to laugh at him.

He's staring, so I turn to see what's behind me. People are going back and forth to slot machines and roulette tables near the bar, smiling with a hopeful, greedy glint in their eyes. I twist back around and my drink is directly in front of me.

"Thank you," I toss out, scooping up the cool glass and clasping it in my hand. Instead of going back to his prep area or helping others around me, he is standing before me. His dark eyes boring into me.

"I have a running tab," I tell him, assuming he is waiting for me to pay him. Awkwardly, he grabs a rag from below and wipes down the area. He is concentrating on his own movements intensely like he wants to stay right here but is seemingly embarrassed to look at me.

"So," I start. "You have worked here practically your whole life, huh? I guess not as a bartender,though?"

"Security," he states firmly, intent on making the area in front of me sparkle.

"I would say that is definitely the opposite of tending bar." I lift my glass again.

"Alex!" a dark-haired guy calls to him. His head shoots toward the voice. "Bobby's here." He stops.

"I'm good!" he calls back, absorbed in his task.

The guy who called out to him throws his hand sin the air, his face twisted in confusion.

"I think he is letting you know that you are all set," I offer, taking a swig of my drink before turning my attention back to the two men. "Bobby is a regular bartender here." The one who should be serving drinks instead. I down the last drops of my whiskey and reach into my purse for my credit card.

"It's on the house," he says quietly, still intent on wiping the counter. My brow furrows in confusion.I don't know what to do. This has never happened to me before. I dip my fingers into my wallet and put a twenty on the bar. Alex, I assume that is his name, pushes it back toward me. "I said it is on the house." His voice is commanding with a touch of darkness, and his gaze tips down to me. It is the kind of voice that exudes danger. He is the total opposite of the fumbling cute guy from a few minutes ago. His demeanor has transformed.

Flustered, I squeak out a very low thank you,shoving the twenty back in my bag and zipping for the casino exit.