Rhea Thurman has always been goal-driven despite the tragedies of her past. Her obsession with criminal law leads her to the most prestigious internship in the city, working under up-and-coming lawyer, Davina Jenkins.
But Rhea never prepared to meet...
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I shift in my sleep. A loud buzzing fills my ears before I'm coherent enough to realise it's my ringtone.
With a groan, I reach for my phone. I lift it towards my ear, my eyes still shut as I drag my thumb across the bottom to answer the call.
"Hello?' I croak, my voice sleepy.
"Rhea? I didn't think you'd answer."
Dean.
I sit up straight in bed, my bare thigh suddenly pulling free from the duvet. It hangs over the edge of the bed, caught by the chill in my room.
"Why have you been calling me?" I mumble, my heart racing. "I thought you understood that I'm not — I don't want to talk to you."
"I know, Rhea," he breathes, clearly unsure about how to proceed.
"Please stop calling then," I respond, my voice suddenly thick with emotion. "Please."
"Ree, I just—"
"Goodbye, Dean."
I hear his voice as I pull it away from my ear, ending the call and the connection on his end.
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"You're completely dead on your feet."
I blink, turning towards Beckett as he watches me, concerned. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"You sound like Maia," I mumble.
The bar opened an hour ago, and it's already packed. Friday nights are one of the busiest for us. It doesn't help that I'm tired after Dean's phone call kept me up all night.
"Take a break," Beckett nods, bringing me from my thoughts. He wipes a hand across his black t-shirt.
"I'll be fine," I sigh, moving towards him to fix the bandana he's wearing that keeps back his brown locks.
His blue eyes fix on mine, searching them. "You're not fine. Spill."
"Becks—"
"Rhea," he mimics. "I've known you long enough now to see when you aren't yourself."
My heart swarms, knowing that he truly cares. I let few people into my life these days; too afraid of who may hurt me. But people like Beckett often make me question that belief.
"It's just my brother," I whisper. "He's been calling me."
A man calls out and I turn to him quickly to take his order. I grab him a beer as Beckett serves the guy next to him.
"What does he want?" Beckett asks, watching me from his periphery.
"I didn't really give him the time to find out," I mutter.
"Fair enough," Beckett nods, flipping over a glass and grabbing the tap effortlessly. Seeing him work like that just shows how much experience he's had as a bartender.
"Do you think I'm being fair, though?" I bite my lip, working as I talk.
I have to raise my voice as the number of patrons grows. The loud music playing from the speakers doesn't help my case either.
"I think he hurt you and you still need time to process that. He can't be the judge on how long you need. That's for you to decide."
"Even if it's been five years?" I question.
"Even then," he smiles, softly.
I smile at Beckett as a man approaches the counter. "Can we get a few menus?"
"Yeah sure—" I meet the man's expression, a familiarity settling in the pit of my stomach.
His cold stare unnerves me as I hand over a few menus. He'd been here before... with Braxton.
He walks off and Beckett continues on serving, unaware of the uneasiness I'm suddenly feeling.
I watch the man's retreating form, the way he walks almost as though he's in a slow motion montage in a film. He's built like a brick; all hard edges and long, muscular limps. Besides his face, I don't see a single inch of skin that isn't covered in ink.
"Did you want me to serve them?" Beckett asks, suddenly aware of the place my gaze is landing.
"No, it's alright. You man the bar," I smile, grabbing a notepad and pen. "I'll take the orders."
It takes me a moment to get to their table, bypassing numerous drunks as they crowd around the open floor. Some are singing along to the music; others are shouting to be heard.
"What can I get you, guys?"
I don't let their gazes intimidate me as all five men turn to stare. Working in this job has taught me a lot about the type of customers I get. Not everyone is going to respect me and as much as it sucked, there isn't a lot I can do about it as a bartender.
"Were you after a round to start off?" I ask when no one answers me.
The bald man raises a finger towards me, shaking it in recognition. He can't be more than twenty-five, but he could pass as older with the hard gaze he offers me. "You're the girl who knows Brax."
My heart patters in my chest, not liking the direction the conversation is heading in. "Not really," I clear my throat. "Were you after some beers?"
He stares at me a moment longer; eyes assessing. Something about him utterly stills me. "Will you be ordering anything?" I ask, suddenly impatient, needing an excuse to get back to the bar.
He continues to stare at me, eyes moving down my body. "I'll come back later then," I state, moving away from the table.
Suddenly, another man grabs my arms, halting my steps. "Where are you going? We haven't finished."
Where do you think you're going?
I can feel the panic rising suddenly; an uncontrollable rush of fear that I haven't experienced in years. I feel the man's hold on my arm; it rests there like an anchor, pulling me down into the darkness.
Dreadful memories flash through my mind, and I feel myself slipping. I step away violently, grabbing my forehead.
"Rhea!" Beckett grabs for me, his toned arms folding me against his chest as I collapse against him.
