Hannah
I don't know why I went to Alexandria's, I really don't. Okay, so that's a half truth. I'd woken up more hungover than I'd expected– welcome to being thirty– and took my book to go find food. Walking around my neighborhood, a morning chai and breakfast burrito slowly brought me back to life. My feet had a mind of their own as I wandered aimlessly down various streets, until I just happened to find myself outside of Daryl's bar. I didn't even know if he'd be working today, but felt compelled to check. And no sooner than walking in, a metaphorical spotlight shone on his stupidly attractive face– deep in thought, muscles rippling with every wipe of the counter.
I was starting to lose my nerve, so I had to face the wall to keep from nervously watching him. What am I going to say? I didn't have the chance to ruminate for too long before he was dropping a menu in my hands and looking at me like I was insane. Maybe I was. Can I claim I'm still drunk, even though it's been twelve hours since my last drink?
Imagine my surprise when one cocktail later, he took a seat next to me and I actually managed to make him smile, lighting up his rugged features and making him glow. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship– one where I secretly pine and feel guilty about it while he tolerates my presence. What could go wrong?
I decided to stop while I was ahead, opting to leave after two incredibly strong drinks before I could say something stupid like, 'You know you're hot, right? What's it like to be so hot?' Slipping my sunglasses over my eyes as I hit the sidewalk, I fish my phone out of my bag to shoot a text to Rachel.
Me: You alive?
Rachel: Barely. Remind me to alternate with water next time.
Me: I tried, but beer was easier to come by. How late did you and Adam end up staying out?
Rachel: I remember 3:30 AM and nothing after that.
Me: If you decide to venture out, I'll have a coffee waiting for you :)
Rachel: Sounds hard, but I'll let you know. Currently glued to my bed.
Swiping out of our conversation, I text Adam to extend the same offer. The bubbles briefly pop up, indicating he's typing, before they disappear for good. Not atypical for him. I roll my eyes and throw my phone back into my bag. Guess he's still mad about me leaving last night.
One extremely buttery croissant later and fatigue hits me hard. Tomorrow is my first shift of three in a row and my stomach clenches with dread at the thought of multiple twelve hour days coming my way. At least that means I'll have a fair amount of free time coming up after. I pretend not to notice the flickers of disappointment I feel at the thought of being too busy to stop by Alexandria's for another drink. If I avoid the thoughts when I'm alone, maybe they'll go away. Pushing it down as I feel another sharp pang of guilt for my inexplicable behavior in the past day, I raise my phone to my ear as I wait for my call to connect.
"Hey, Han! How's it going?" My sister's voice cuts through the line, much more chipper than I feel. I hear barking in the background, followed by a scuffle. "Murphy, no!"
I giggle, imagining the chaos on the other end– no doubt involving the fat, yellow labrador who has a penchant for always getting his way.
"Everything okay over there, Sophia? It sounds like Murph's being a good boy."
"Oh yeah, your real good boy just stole my sandwich from off the counter. I used my good bread too!"
"Murphy says, 'thank you so much, mom! I was getting real tired of kibble!' Tell him that Aunt Hannah says hi and I'm proud of his ambition."
Despite his naughty nature, I love that old dog. One look at his cute, sweet face and you forget why you're even supposed to be mad at him.
"Are you drunk? It's 3:30 on a Sunday," she chastises, although it's tinged with amusement instead of judgement.
"Oh, I just popped into a cute hole in the wall bar to have a drink and read a bit. They're hitting a little hard," I giggle, conveniently leaving out the mysteriously sexy bartender who made me a special custom drink and didn't charge me for it.
"I keep telling you to find a less boozy favorite drink. Old fashioneds are like 95% liquor."
"I like what I like! Plus, Murphy is the one who ate your lunch! Remember?" I direct Sophia back to safer territory instead of my weekend choices.
"Yeah, well, I guess this gives me an excuse to order in some Thai food," Sophia grumbles. I hear the tell-tale sign of a drawer opening and closing, then papers rifling. "This is exactly why I keep a catalogue of all my menus."
"Murphy should be getting a cut from these restaurants! I hope you tell them that when you order."
"Oh yeah, I'll be sure to let them know," she muses, distracted by plotting her new lunch game plan. "Did you call for a reason or just to chat?"
I bite my lip and shuffle my feet, suddenly feeling exposed on this public sidewalk where anyone can hear me. Maybe I should've waited until I was home to make this call… although, there's not really anything to tell, right?
"No, I just wanted to chat. Is Mark around too or are you having a solo day?"
Mark is Sophia's husband and high school sweetheart. They're that annoying couple who is so helplessly happy that they're kind of nauseating to hang out with. When Mark became my official brother-in-law, it felt like nothing had changed– I couldn't remember a time he hadn't been around. Sophia and Mark helped me get ready for my prom, dropped me off at college, and cheered when I graduated from nursing school. They've celebrated the patients I've saved at work and comforted me as I cried about the ones I lost.
"No, just me today."
"Everything okay?"
"Oh, totally. He had a work trip and I think I'm starting my period or something, so I'm just emotional today." Her tone brightens and I hear her heftily pat Murphy. "Which means it's the perfect day to watch some trash tv with Murphy on the couch. Wanna come over?"
I smile, extremely tempted by the thought of vegging out with my two favorite people (yes, I consider Murphy a person). The perfect hangover cure, besides the metaphorical hair of the dog I've already partaken in.
"You have no idea how much I want to say yes, but I work the next three days and should probably hit my laundry. Rain check?"
"Absolutely. Any time– you know that."
Indeed, I did. If there's one thing I can count on, it's Sophia's fixed presence in my life. My older sister is driven with an unwavering loyalty for those she loves. It's always been my secret weapon, allowing me to be brave in every other area of my life because I know she'll always be there to help me pick up the pieces.
"I'll give you another call later in the week? Oh, and tell Murphy I love him!"
"You better," she easily replies. "And I will. He says he loves you too."
Sliding the phone into my back pocket, a heavy weight slowly spreads through my chest– and not from the liquor. I'm just not ready for all the questions and answers I don't have. Failing to mention the past twenty-four hours was because they meant totally nothing… definitely not because they felt monumental for reasons I couldn't yet explain.
—-
Three days later, I'm knee deep in a crazy shift with a full patient load and an even more packed waiting room. An emergency department is hectic any time of year, but winter is a whole different kind of beast. Respiratory viruses and pneumonia galore– it all means high acuity patients who need a variety of treatments. Everyone is high-risk since breathing is kind of important for staying alive. Wiping my brow as I exit a patient's room, I juggle the handful of specimens that need to be sent to the lab and take a seat next to Rachel as I badge into the computer. Our nurse's station is busy and frankly, I'm lucky to find a seat at all.
"Hey! I feel like I've hardly seen you all shift. You need help with anything?" I mindlessly offer, charting simultaneously and reading off the scrap of paper I scrawled my vital signs on.
"Just putting out fires– this is the first time I've sat down in hours," she groans, slouching into her chair.
"Ugh, I know what you mean," I reply, checking my patient's charts for new orders. "Did you see the waiting room already has forty people in it? Don't expect it to slow down anytime soon."
"Please, make it stop. I knew I should've gone into marketing or something equally lucrative where I could work from home."
"Maybe it'll be a good second career," I muse. "You look like you've recovered from your hangover nicely."
Her blonde hair is thrown up into a high ponytail and the mint green scrubs she's wearing makes her face look extra glowy. She looks more prepared for a pilates class than to be providing barf bags to patients and potentially giving CPR.
"I barely made it out alive– drinking as an adult isn't for the weak. Since when does a hangover take multiple days to pass?" Rachel lamented, taking a quick second to chug from her water bottle. "Remember when we'd go out in college on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, AND still be able to hit our 8 AM clinical on Monday?"
"Those days are long gone, my friend," I snort. "Two glasses of wine on an empty stomach puts my head in the toilet for the rest of the night."
"This hell shift is my first of three. Thank god for coffee and the slice of cheesecake I have waiting for me in the breakroom fridge." Rachel raises her arms over her head and stretches, then picks up her stethoscope and stands. "I'm heading into an MI workup– I may hit the call bell if I manage to forget something."
"That's what I'm here for," I say, giving her a salute, "Plus, I have to throw an IV in the kid in room twelve– I might need some help holding him down for that when they get back from their x-ray."
"If you're not here when I get out, I'll meet you in there. Hey, are we still on for that spin class on Sunday?"
"You know it. I'll hate myself during, so let's also plan for brunch after."
"That's a given," she retorts with a smile before shouldering through her patient's door.
I smile to myself, feeling lucky that I get to work with my best friend. Rachel and I met during college. Fate had assigned us to neighboring dorms in a mixed building– meaning it was just good luck that I found another nursing major. Within two weeks, we were thick as thieves and operating at a comfort level that indicated we'd known each other our whole lives. After four years of crazy long clinical days, difficult lectures, and science labs involving dissecting the same stinky rat for a full semester, we had a bond that felt more like blood than water. We'd even lived together from sophomore to senior year, and for a few years after graduation.
We were an unlikely pair– Rachel was my polar opposite. She was quirky and extroverted, whereas I felt more comfortable blending into the background. She never met a party she didn't want to stay at and I had to convince myself to go out most nights– or be dragged out by her. While she was somewhat of a serial monogamist, I hadn't even dated or had a boyfriend until I was twenty-five. However, none of that mattered. The glue that kept us together was our shared humor, an appreciation for the way we made the other grow, and our love for yapping about anything and everything. It also helped that I got her a job in my department after her first manager turned out to be a nightmare. That was five years ago and it's been much more fun for me at work since.
The phone dings next to me and flashes, indicating the call bell was hit in the room Rachel just entered. I hold it up to my ear with my shoulder as I keep typing.
"What'd you forget?" I tease.
"Who forgets an EKG machine for an MI patient?!" Rachel huffs through the garbly speaker.
"I've got you– give me thirty seconds."
—-
Daryl
Gripping my pen, I scan our stock shelves for our inventory and revel in the quiet. It's late afternoon on a Wednesday, which gives me some time for the maintenance duties required to keep us open and running before the weekend rush. Sighing and rubbing the back of my neck, my mind wanders. Since we moved, it felt like I lived at the bar. More days had been spent here than at home, which Jack certainly appreciated. He'd been the workaholic when I was hired, but lately it seems like we've traded.
I'd never been much good at making friends, preferring to spend time alone and occasionally tolerating being bossed around by Merle. Back home, the only acquaintances I had were the people I dealt to or who dealt to Merle. The only upside of the move was that none of that shit was an option anymore, meaning my money actually went to the bank instead of being blown on a bender. I wasn't Mr. Moneybags now, but at least I knew our electricity or water wouldn't be turned off anytime soon. However, not having many options other than being at work was starting to feel like a prison. At least in Georgia, I could hunt, fish, or camp. All of that was a day's trip away from LA, which seemed easier to make time for in theory than in practice.
Truth was, life feels pretty aimless. All this working and saving, but for what exactly? What's the goal? More following Merle around without rhyme or reason when he decides he's tired of LA? My whole life, I've operated like my circumstances were temporary, never quite settling down enough to have anything I'd miss. Certainly, no one would miss me. I could be plucked up with an hour's notice and functionally nothing would change. Is this really how I wanted to continue living? And if I'm so scared of being trapped, why did it feel so meaningless to be free?
My existential questioning was broken by the squeal of a barstool sliding across the floor, indicating someone new had come in. Flicking the light of the storage room off, I scribbled in our final counts as I took my place back behind the counter.
"Well, well, well– nice digs, baby brother."
Cold dread weighed heavy on my shoulders at Merle's voice, his wolfish grin taunting me as he sat at the bar.
"What're you doin' here?"
I attempt to look unfazed and nonchalant as I ask. I've managed to hide where I work for this long, I almost thought I'd be able to maintain that forever. Continuing to stay employed is pretty dependent on keeping Merle as far away as possible, if history is anything to go by.
"That's not a very warm welcome," he scolds, "Where's this customer service I keep hearin' about?"
"'m serious, what are you doin' here?"
Annoyance briefly flashes before being camouflaged by his typical asshole buoyancy. I swear, he only acts like this to piss me off– and I hate even despite knowing that, it still works.
"Ah, ran into some trouble with the foreman on site. Had a real hard on for powertrips, wanted me to act like his bitch. Didn't much like when my bark matched my bite though."
In Merle speak, this means he got fired for being a dick. Again.
He continued, "Anyway, I saw ya walk in here one time while I was drivin' home and figured I'd file that away for later. So how about a drink on the house for my shit day?"
There it was. The real reason he came. They say addiction runs in families, but Merle must've gotten the cumulation of our lineage's shitty genes. He hasn't met anything he didn't want to smoke, snort, gulp, or fuck. If someone did the math on just how much money he'd spent acquiring his vices, or getting in trouble for them, they'd have a damn heart attack from shock.
"Ya get one and not the good stuff," I grumble, pulling a lowball glass and dropping in a finger's worth of whiskey before sliding it over.
"I'll let you know when I've had enough."
I roll my eyes, occupying myself with stacking glasses instead of arguing with Merle. I could say that getting fired came down to his own inability to keep his mouth shut and do what he's told, but it would be falling on deaf ears. Not to mention, it would likely piss him off which would get him drinking like a fish out of spite– making it my problem to drag him out of here, wasted and unruly.
"Ready for a refill, Darlina," Merle goads, tapping his glass on the wooden counter obnoxiously.
"You're payin' for this one," I warn, pouring him another. As I do, a flurry of movement at the door makes my gaze flick up– meeting warm, hazel eyes as I do. No, this can't be happening, I internally groan. I give the tiniest of nods– which I hope is imperceptible to Merle– as she heads to the table that I'll forever associate with her, but his smug smirk tells me I'm not that lucky.
"Ah, looks like the reason you've been livin' here lately just walked in," he drawls with a tone that tells me he's five seconds from walking over there to embarrass me under the guise of trying to wingman.
"I'll keep these comin' if you don't say a word to her."
The last thing I need is him making snide innuendos that will have her running for the hills. All my life, I've been judged for Merle's choices– as if we're not completely different people. Despite being the younger sibling, everyone has always looked at me like I'm his keeper and could rein him in. If I could've, I would've. It was usually easier to let him tire himself out, but today that would be the worst case scenario.
He makes a big show of zipping his lips, while I eye him warily. Sober Merle makes promises drunk Merle can't keep. It's the best I can ask for right now though. I muster up as much casual energy as I can to slowly saunter over to Hannah.
"The hospital is a few miles south."
She's still in her baby blue scrubs, hair tied up in a loose bun– looking more tired than the last time I saw her, but no less beautiful.
"Hilarious," she deadpans, but amusement dances in her eyes. "I had the worst three days in a row– you can't fathom how many sick people exist in this city right now. And somehow that makes it acceptable to scream at me about how long it takes to see a doctor?"
She huffs and I can't help from wanting to smile at how animated she is, even after a rough shift. It's quickly replaced by unease as I realize I like hearing about her day, probably too much.
"The usual, then?" Maybe going into bartender mode will push these feelings far, far away.
"Not today, I drove. Just need to wind down for a minute before I bring this bad energy into my apartment. I'll make it easy on you and get a beer. Preferably, something craft with a low ABV?"
Nodding, I head back to the taps to assess what we have on rotation this month that will fit the bill. Tilting a cold pint glass and pouring, I catch Merle's smirk in the reflection of the mirror that sits on the back wall. Even with my back turned, he still manages to find a way to give me shit.
"She's real pretty– and a nurse?" He whistles, "Straight out of a porno fantasy, huh?"
I bristle, not liking the way he's talking about her but knowing it'll only get worse if I scold him. Maybe ignoring him will make it stop.
"You hit that yet? Give her some good ol' Dixon lovin'?" My hand unconsciously squeezes around the glass, knuckles turning white as I grit my teeth. "Ya know, if you don't use it you may lose it..."
"She's just a regular here. Whatever you think you see, you don't. Ain't nothin' happened and nothin's gonna happen."
Merle chuckles, seeing past the forced indifference to my thinly veiled fury simmering under the surface.
"Sure, baby bro. That's why she was just ranting and raving about her day, and you were standin' there in a daze, eatin' it up. You don't fool me… but your secret is safe for now. Time for another refill though." I sigh but comply, knowing the rate that he's pounding them will mean trouble for me later.
Heading back over to Hannah, I unintentionally slam her glass down on the table harder than I mean to and wince. She eyes me curiously but ignores it.
"Sorry to word vomit about my day. How was yours? What does Daryl Dixon do when he's not at work?" She takes a sip of her beer and gives me an approving smile. "I love this brewery, good choice."
Why does pleasing her, even in such simple ways, send such a thrill through me? The higher I fly, the harder I'll inevitably fall– making me desperately wish I didn't care what she thought of me or my selections.
"Angel Dust puts out good stuff. Their rep comes through occasionally and gives us early access to some of their brews," I shift and cross my arms, too aware of Merle's eyes analyzing us from a few feet away. "And not much, I'm here a lot. Sometimes I'll work on my bike."
"Like… a bicycle? You don't really strike me as a cyclist."
I can't help the chuckle that escapes at the thought and shake my head.
"Nah, motorcycle." Her eyebrows raise in surprise and I catch a glimpse of white teeth as she pulls on her bottom lip with an expression that shoots heat to my groin. "What?"
She startles out of whatever deep thought she's having and fumbles for her glass, a pink hue dusting her cheeks.
"No, nothing– I just should've guessed. It matches your whole vibe."
"And what vibe would that be?"
I unconsciously lean in, eyes locked on hers, as I wait for the answer– creating an almost tunnel vision effect between us where everyone and everything else disappears. She takes another sip to buy time as the gears in her head audibly turn. On the surface, we're engaged in routine small talk but there's an electricity that sparks in the air between us. The tension is borderline suffocating, forcing the temperature up in the room and making the back of my neck sticky with sweat. I'm pretty sure the ceiling could cave in and I'd hardly notice.
"Oh, you know…" she gestures with her hands, trying to find the words. "Gruff, self-assured bartender who wears leather jackets and walks around protecting women from creeps. It makes sense you'd do a hot guy activity like riding a motorcycle."
Did she just admit she thinks I'm hot? Or just that I do a 'hot guy activity?' I bite my lip and squint, trying to formulate a neutral reply in what feels like a sea of landmines for embarrassment.
"You ever been?"
"Me? No, never. I've seen the outcomes from a ton of bad falls though." Her eyes become unfocused with memories as she grimaces. "They kind of scare me but it seems so exhilarating. I don't want to be scared of them."
"I could always take you out." My loaded statement hangs in the air as I stutter to continue, "On the bike, I mean. If you want."
Why did I even offer? Humiliation blooms in my chest from the impending rejection, prickling over my skin and sending my thoughts to a dark place. The girls I've gotten weren't like her, with good careers and witty remarks. I'm shooting above my weight and regretting it instantly. Merle being around to witness the interaction only adds insult to injury. This will be all he talks about for at least the next year.
"I'd like that," she smiles, effectively snapping me out of my spiral. "I can't promise not to be a baby, but I take my own fear as a personal challenge to conquer. Just promise you won't get me killed or skinned or degloved."
"Degloved?"
Will she be wearing gloves? Is this a weird euphemism for sex?
"You know what, it's probably better you don't know. Don't google it!" She commands, grimacing, and I put up my hands, nodding in agreement. "Anyway, I should probably head out before I'm dead on my feet."
"You gonna be okay to drive?" My brow creases in worry and I eye the clock. We still have hours to go before closing and another hour before our other bartender, Glenn, arrives. Otherwise, I'd offer to take her home.
"Oh, I'll be fine. I understand your concern based on my history, but I promise I do manage to make it home mostly in one piece the large majority of the time."
Hannah seems to find this funnier than I do, but I nod mutely. She survived this far without having me to look out for her, so why should it be any different now? How was it only a week ago that I didn't even know she existed?
"If you need anything, you know where to find me," I instruct, watching her rifle through her bag– presumably for her wallet. "It's on the house."
She shoots me a pointed look.
"You can't keep doing this. This isn't why I come here, you know."
Why do you come here then? It's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't force the words out of my mouth. There's too many wrong answers and only a single right one, but I'm not confident enough to gamble that I'll hear the reason I want.
"Call it a thank you for keepin' all those sick people out of my bar."
She giggles, the sound hammering my thinning resolve to keep my walls up into a million pieces, and grabs her keys.
"Until next time, Daryl."
If I thought her giggle leveled me, I can't even convey what her saying my name does to me every time I hear it. It makes me feel like I've never existed until she decided I did. I watch her go before grabbing her discarded glass– a bubble of irritation rising as I find the ten dollar bill she'd slyly left me under her coaster. Far too much, even without considering that it's currently happy hour.
Merle is expectantly waiting for me and I take a deep breath to prepare for the barbs coming my way. As if it's not hard enough to navigate what the hell this all means, I have to be watched by my brother. His silence is even more oppressive than his pointed remarks.
"What?" I gruffly demand, wanting to get this over with. He gives a tight lipped smirk with a raise of his eyebrows, chin in his palm.
"I didn't say nothin'."
"Didn't have to– you're thinkin' loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Just spit it out."
"Just admire your confidence is all. You really think a girl like that would want to go out with you? Trailer trash Dixon from middle of nowhere Georgia?"
His words don't sound much different than my well worn internal monologue, but it still manages to sharply cut the hope I'd been foolishly carrying into ribbons. I don't answer him, moving to address the unserved customer at the end of the bar instead. Robotically making their order with my mind a million miles away, Merle's criticisms loudly repeat in my head and make me feel like a scared kid again– shame filled and too beaten down to think anything better could ever happen to me. I was stupid to ever let my delusions run away from me. This was my life and I'm lucky to not be in some shit-hole trailer park with a needle in my arm.
I pull two fresh glasses from the stack and pour two doubles, sliding one to Merle and taking the other in my fist. Swallowing it all with a wince, relief floods me as the familiar haze reduces the noise in my head to a comfortable hum. We slam our empties down in tandem, basking in the silence of shared understanding of how little we're worth.
"I knew you'd see it my way, Darlina."
I'm hitting an insecure patch with my writing so feel free to let me know if you're enjoying this or even just tolerating it (but still reading) :) Constructive criticism is also totally welcome. Thanks!