Whiskey's Second Chance

9: Surviving

Kayla POV

After working the overnight shift all week, I knew I wanted to cover it a few nights a week. The day shift keeps me busy, but the quiet nights allow me to work towards my goals and where I want to go from here. Even though I spend most of the night talking to Whiskey, which I didn't mind one bit.

Every night I worked, Whiskey came in, sat on a barstool, drank coffee, and talked about life with me for hours. Never overstepping my unspoken boundaries and respecting my personal space. He challenged my thinking, bringing a perspective I hadn't explored before, which impressed me. And every time he left, I found myself excited about our next conversation.

"In a perfect life, money isn't an issue. What would be your dream job?" Whiskey asked.

"I enjoy drawing or digital art, actually. When I was younger, I wanted to become a digital art artist, specifically for video games. Although I don't think I'm amazing at it, I'm not the worst either," I laughed, nervous about what Whiskey might think.

Digital artistry is a cutthroat industry and very hard to get into, let alone be successful. I draw when I'm bored or need a different creative outlet, but I haven't done it in a while.

"I think that's a fantastic goal and one you should pursue. If you really want to," Whiskey replied, which surprised me. People usually say "that's nice dear" or "that's an unrealistic goal", but not Whiskey. His brown eyes believed in me 100% and I didn't understand why.

"Yeah, it is. But it's just a dream," I paused. "What's your dream job?"

"I'm living it!" Whiskey thundered, holding his arms out, soaking in everything around him. His bigger than life personality bursted at the seams, but I can't imagine him always wanting to be part of a motorcycle club.

"You've always wanted to be in a motorcycle club?" I asked.

"Well, no. I do work at our bar, but that's just my side gig. But what we do, the purpose I have with the Riders, is all I can ask for. I want to live a life I don't regret. Not leaving me wondering 'what if' or 'I should have' because that's not living; its surviving."

Whiskey's words hung in the air. I leaned against the counter, needing to hold on to something concrete while I processed his words.

A purpose? Not surviving? Everything about my life has been about survival and making it to the next chapter, where things "might" get better for me. But what if he's right? I'm surviving, not living.

"I think it's admirable that you live with that mindset," I said, thinking through what I wanted out of my life.

"The real question isn't what's your dream job. But rather, why aren't you pursuing that dream and living the life you want?" Whiskey asked, his eyes never leaving mine. Burning through the layers of thick skin I gained over the years in an instant. Leaving a chill on my skin.

Raising his coffee to his lips, he finished it in one gulp, placed it back on the counter, and got up. He pulled out some money and placed it on the counter.

"Just some food for thought. Have a good morning, Kayla," he simply, walking out the door. Leaving me shocked and soaking in every word he had said.

After that night, I asked Lily to split my shifts between day and overnight. Sophia, the night server, was ecstatic I could help by taking a few nights for her. It's not that I didn't want to have conversations with the elusive brown eyed Whiskey, but I also need a faster pace every so often.