Tethered Hearts | ✓ | Books 1 & 2

Episode 46| Grudges & Short Tempers

Bryce's P.O.V.

Hastily, I floored the accelerator and pushed my car into motion, leaving the parking garage. I only temporarily came to a halt, waiting for the gates to open. We had a heavy iron gate that encircled the property; it responded automatically with a small button each tenant was given. It was a newer function they recently installed.

Whenever I wanted to exit, the gate parted at a snail's pace in a way that made you want to rip out your hair in impatience.

The rumble and rage of my engine exponentially intensified during this stagnant span of time. I was soon on the boulevard, wistfully departing from my apartment without a doubt on my mind.

Staying any longer would've hindered my speech more than it already was. I wasn't angry at Sophia, at least that was what I said to console my bruised ego.

I should just get used to rejection when it comes to Sophia.

My unhinged temperament was always at odds with how I should respond. I wasn't the prim and proper person she deserved. I didn't care to change my ways to accommodate with hers though.

I couldn't rewire my brain. No one needed to tell me I had a knee jerk reaction to everything and anything circulating my universe. I knew of its existence in my personality. And that in itself, the consciousness to this flaw, should be enough to change it.

I observed my reflection in the review mirror, seeing the corners of my eyes tighten at the thought of every making a change.

The glowing, luminescent neon lights of my Uncle's Bar greeted me as I pulled off Main Street. I was content with the parking spot I found near the far left. Tonight, the lot housed more cars than it had the last time I visited. It was the weekend, which didn't strike me as a surprise.

I came in from the back entrance, using the worker's doors and got in to the bar that way. There was a single hallway connected to the front bar area that I would need to get through. One of the bartenders, probably coming off of a shift, bumped into me.

"Watch where you're g—" They cut themselves off. "Oh, I didn't see you there, Bryce. Sorry."

They flinched and wailed, hitting their back to the wall. I wasn't sure why until I realized how close I was, hovering over them, with both of my hands balled up into fists. I let the tension subside, fading with the anger boiling my blood.

He's not worth it.

I returned to my previous route, walking through the hallway and let the pipsqueak go untouched. It took a lot in me to not slam him into the floor, but I put a cap on that impulse and reserved my energy for more purposeful activities. Like play pool.

There was an indescribable stress reliever linked to playing a game of pool at my Uncle's bar. It wasn't only me who thought this. My father and his brothers did the same thing. That was probably where I got the idea from to begin with.

While striding over to the roll of pool tables, I noticed my Uncle behind the bar and serving drinks, something he infrequently did. He had his fair share of dealing with rowdy crowds, but preferred solitude in his office in the back of the bar.

I slapped a hand down on to the wooden bar, obtaining his attention. "What are you doing out here, old man?"

His gaze hardened. He despised being called 'old man' but I said it anyway to rile him up.

His short beard peppered small strands of white and his sleek platinum blonde hair easily hid the streaks of gray he had. Uncle Roy was a pinch away from touching the age of forty-five. He was almost a decade younger than my mother. Yet, if Uncle Roy stood next to her, you'd profess he was the oldest.

Uncle Roy's middle name was Richard, which explained why he called the bar Ricky's. Everyone at the bar called him Ricky, thinking that was his first name, and he just went with it.

"A worker called in sick, later than what's acceptable. I couldn't get anyone to cover for her. Roger was able to come in to do a few hours, but he's got a flight out to Boston tonight so he had to leave."

"Yeah, I ran into him the hallway." I hopped on to a bar stool. "He's still a dick."

"You hired him." Uncle Roy threw me a slanted smile. "I don't get what you mean about his attitude. He kind of reminds me of you."

"No the hell he doesn't. He's a sloppy bartender compared to what I'm capable of." I had spent a few weekends working behind the bar for the past three years, working less and less as the time went on and shifted more to management.

"I was talking more so on characteristics." Uncle Roy swooped up a dingy towel and wiped the small drops that fell from a drink he mixed. His hands had a shake to them, gripping the cup a tad too hard as he handed it to the customer.

"You okay?" I questioned, transfixed on his unsteady hands.

"I've had a lot on my mind." His cheeks expanded as he puffed up a storm of air, resting a hand on the bar and leaning into it. "You don't want to know."

"Yeah, I do. What's up?"

"I got a call about your dad." He waited on my reaction.

"And?" I pressed on, unfazed at the mention of the devil that happened to share a last name with me. "What was the call about?"

The last news I received about my father was that he was sick and dying, but that was years ago and sadly didn't end up happening. The man lived to go on to breathe another day.

Man, I laughed at my own thought. He wasn't a man. I shouldn't even call him that. Men weren't monsters like him. Men had souls, whereas my father was never granted one. The amount of hate and evil pint up in that tired bastard was not of this world. I question the legitimacy of calling him human – for humans have feelings and remorse; my father possessed neither of those things.

Unless he was a sociopath. But even that was an insult to sociopaths.

"Bryce, he's back in the hospital again." Uncle Roy disclosed with me. "They ended up finding another tumor. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to worry you."

"Worry me?" I scoffed. "I wouldn't have lost an hour of sleep over that man. You wouldn't have worried me if you told me sooner."

Uncle Roy's shoulders sagged, matching the disgruntled noise that came from him in response. "Bryce, he's your father."

"He's also the reason Julia is not alive." I reminded him in case he had forgotten.

I moved to this city to run from my father and escape the reign of his power over me. Los Angeles promised a future that didn't include in my life, or in Julia's. But the taste of freedom didn't last very long.

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