Chapter 6

The Last Resort was our favorite dive bar, tucked away in a shady corner of the city. It was the kind of place that, by all rights, should have been condemned, but it had an irresistible charm. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air, wafting in from the back room where the cool kids smoked their lives away, and the sticky floor was a testament to the years of spilled beer. But none of that mattered to us. It was our sanctuary.

Callie signaled to the bartender, a scruffy old man who’d seen better days, just like the booth. He brought us our drinks. I’d ordered a hard cider—the local brew that was sweet with a hint of apple. It was the kind of drink that was bestowed with a moment’s hesitation, a second of contemplation, and a final, satisfying sip. Callie always ordered the same thing—a cheap local beer with a label that had seen better days.

We clinked glasses, and Callie said, “To us.”

“To us,” I responded, taking a sip of my cider. It tasted better than ever.

We were surveying the bar when Callie leaned over and said, “This is going to be a night to remember. Prepare for hundreds of notifications and hundreds of shots.”

I giggled, already tipsy on the buzz of release day. I’d been stalking the online retailers, and my book was climbing the charts like a beast. Our drinking game was going to be fun: for every review that popped up, we’d take a shot. It was a crazy idea, but it made sense. After all, we were celebrating the launch of my career. My hard work poured out into molding Haides into the ultimate Byronic hero, had finally paid off. And it felt good.

“You’ve earned it, babe,” Callie said. “You’ve worked your ass off.”

I blushed, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You believed in me when no one did. Thank you.”

Callie waved off the praise, taking a swig of her beer. “Nah, it’s all you, kiddo. I just made sure you didn’t misspell anything.”

We both took a shot, a burning strand of alcohol sliding down our throats. We then paused to take a selfie with our drinks, a little ritual that marked every release—a book and a bar. The two most important things in our lives.

As we sat there, the familiar sounds of the bar drifted over us: the rattle of cutlery, the buzz of conversation, and the clink of glasses. And yet, against that backdrop, I became aware of a silence. A white riot of disquiet crept around the edges of my consciousness, demanding to be noticed.

I glanced down at my phone, the buzz of messages, and the endless stream of praise from my readers. I should have been happy, and yet there was this—this feeling of unease that I couldn’t shake. It was like standing at the edge of something, something you couldn’t quite see, but you knew it was there. And it wasn’t going away. But for now, it was enough to be here, with Callie, in our home away from home. It was enough to be us.

“Oh, you’re so popular.” Callie grinned, gesturing to my phone. “How does it feel? You’re a rock star, Cor.”

I smiled, but there was a hint of anxiety in my voice when I responded, “It’s—it’s nice.”

The shots were flowing, and so were the notifications. It was like a house party on my phone, with an endless string of comments, likes, and shares. I vowed then and there to never let it go to my head. It was all about the writing; I’d always be just a cog in the publishing machine, no matter how popular my books became.

Callie and I took our celebration to a new level, with a round of shots for each positive review that flooded in. It was a heady rush, but I knew I couldn’t allow myself to be seduced by the compliments and positive feedback. This was merely a milestone in my writing career, a momentary high in the journey. I couldn’t lose sight of the end goal: to become a full-time author, to have my books lined up on bookshelves in homes across the country.

I tried to focus on the here and now, the clink of glasses and the taste of the locally brewed alcohol, sweet and strong. I immersed myself in the moment, the feeling of being on the cusp of something great. But underneath the excitement, the intoxication, the hollowness persisted.

Our next round of shots arrived, and we raised our glasses in a toast. “To new beginnings,” I said. “And to us.”

“To us,” Callie echoed. There was a sweetness to her voice, a hint of pride that I hadn’t heard before. It warmed me, but it didn’t quiet the unease that had taken root inside me, like a too-large plant in a too-small pot.

“Are you okay?” Callie asked, her eyes searching mine. “You seem a little…off.”

“Huh?” I looked up from my phone, startled. “No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

She leaned in closer, concern etched on her face. “About what?”

I hesitated, my finger hovering over the power button on my phone. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s just… this. It’s like I’m on the verge of something, but I can’t quite see it.”

Callie didn’t need to ask any more questions. She knew me well enough to understand what I was feeling. “Avoidance charm,” she suggested. “If you can’t see it, it can’t affect you… right?”

I snorted. “That’s one way to look at it, I guess. But it’s not like I’m scared of the future. I just… I don’t know. I feel like I’m missing something, like there’s something I’m not seeing.”

Callie considered this for a moment, then sighed. “You’re reading too much into this, Cora. You’ve worked hard, and you’ve earned every bit of success you’re getting. And you know what? You deserve it. There’s no missing part here. You’re whole and beautiful, and you’d be even more so without your insecurities.”

Her words warmed me, and for a brief moment, I felt better. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.