Blood on Their Knuckles, My Name on Their Lips

I was already struggling to keep up with drink orders when Caleb’s voice cut through the noise, sharper and louder than I’d heard him in weeks. It was coming from the back room.

Curious—and more than a little annoyed—I edged closer to the door, straining to hear over the clatter of glasses. Caleb didn’t raise his voice often, but when he did, it usually meant something important—or something infuriating. I wasn’t prepared for what I overheard.

“She’s handling it fine,” Caleb said, his tone defensive.

“She shouldn’t even be here,” came the gruff response from his dad, each word dripping with disdain. “You think bringing a kid into this world is doing her any favors? She doesn’t belong here, Caleb.”

“She’s not a kid,” Caleb shot back, his voice hardening. “She’s tougher than you think.”

“Tougher?” His dad barked out a laugh, the sound bitter and cutting. “She’s soft. And if you keep dragging her into your mess, it’s going to blow up in your face. Mark my words.”

My stomach twisted, the blood rushing to my head. I stepped back from the door, my heart pounding with anger and humiliation. I wasn’t sure who I was angrier at—Caleb’s dad for talking about me like I was some fragile, incompetent charity case, or Caleb for letting him. Even defending me felt wrong when it came in the form of arguments about my worth.

By the time Caleb emerged from the back room a few minutes later, his face tight with frustration, I was already waiting for him by the bar, my arms crossed and my expression set.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded the moment he stepped into earshot.

“What?” he asked, playing dumb, his eyes darting to the customers nearby.

“Your dad,” I snapped, lowering my voice but not softening it. “Talking about me like I’m some burden you dragged into his precious bar.”

Caleb sighed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Emma, it’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like, Caleb?” I shot back, my voice trembling with anger. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds a lot like you’ve been treating me like a charity case.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice rising in frustration. “I got you this job because I wanted to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” I said, my chest tightening with the weight of my emotions. “I’m not your responsibility.”

“You don’t get it,” Caleb said, stepping closer, his tone shifting from frustration to something heavier. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I need you to stop treating me like a problem to be fixed.”

The tension between us hung in the air, sharp and suffocating. Caleb stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Finally, he shook his head, his expression hardening into something colder. “Fine. Do whatever you want, Emma.”

“Maybe I will.”