~Rocky Roll Bar and Club~
The club buzzed with life as patrons laughed, danced, and drank the night away. The dim, golden lights casting a warm glow over the polished bar counter. The sound of soft jazz music filled the room, blending seamlessly with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses.
Behind the counter, Jackson Lloyd, dressed in a sharp black uniform of a bartender, worked quietly. He had a knack for blending into the background, his reserved demeanor making him a reliable but often unnoticed presence.
He moves seamlessly between the polished bar counter and the bustling clientele.
"Another Whiskey. Neat," came a soft yet commanding voice from across the bar.
Jackson looked up to see Stella Stallion, her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her elegant frame draped in a sleek black dress, and her sharp features were accentuated by her signature red lipstick with her posture poised.
Tonight, however, there was something different about her—a flicker of vulnerability that was uncharacteristic of the woman who usually commanded every room she entered.
Without a word, Jackson prepared the drink she'd requested—whiskey neat. He placed it gently in front of her, watching as her long fingers wrapped around the glass. She raised it to her lips and downed it in one smooth motion, then slid the empty glass back across the counter toward him.
Without a word, Jackson prepared the drink, setting it in front of her. She downed it in one go and slid the glass back toward him. "Another," she said, her tone clipped.
She leaned forward on the counter, her eyes meeting his with a hollow intensity. "And don't judge me."
He nodded, preparing the drink. "I wasn't judging you," he said quietly, setting the glass in front of her.
"Another Whiskey and no ice" she repeated, her tone firm yet distant.
Jackson hesitated; he couldn't ignore the growing unease in his chest.
"Ms. Stallion, you've had a few already," he said, his voice tentative. "Maybe you should slow down."
Her eyes narrowed at him. "It's not your job to decide when I stop."
"Don't you think you've had enough for the night?" Jackson asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.
Stella's hand waved dismissively. "Enough is a word for people who care... people who have someone to stop them. I have no one." Her words were slurred, but the pain behind them was sharp and clear.
"You do have your family that cares for you", he replied.
Stella scoffed "Family? I can only say am their cash machine. A bank to maintain their classy life."
He shook his head, unsure of how to respond.
"Do you know what today is?" she asked suddenly, her voice softer now and not waiting for his reply she continued:
"It's the anniversary of my mother's death."
Her hand tightened around the glass. "Not one person in my family remembered. Not my grandfather, not anyone." She let out a bitter laugh.
"She was the only one who ever cared about me. And now... I'm just here, drowning in her absence."
Jackson's chest tightened. He wasn't used to hearing customers pour their hearts out, but something about Stella's vulnerability struck a chord in him. "I'm sorry," he said softly, unsure of what else to offer.
She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. "You don't need to be. It's not your fault."
Stella poured drink after drink down her throat, her movements growing unsteady as her eyes glistened with tears unshed.
Jackson's worry deepened as the minutes passed. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer.
"Ms. Stallion," he began, stepping around the counter to stand beside her. "You need to stop. You're going to hurt yourself."
Finally, she leaned back in her chair, her gaze unfocused. "You're... different, you know that?" she said, her words slurred.
Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
"You're not like the others here. They're all noise and smiles, but you're... quiet. Steady. You remind me of..." She trailed off, her expression clouding.
Jackson didn't know how to respond to that. He didn't feel like anyone important—just a bartender doing his job. But something about her words lingered in his mind.
"You should probably get some air," he suggested gently, noticing how much her posture had slumped. "You're not in any condition to keep drinking."
Stella ignored him, her gaze fixed on the empty glass in front of her. Without warning, she pushed herself to her feet, staggering slightly as she tried to stand tall. Jackson instinctively reached out, his hand grazing her arm to steady her.
At the touch, her body seemed to relax into his, and before he could pull away, she collapsed against him.
Jackson froze, his arms hovering awkwardly in the air. He didn't know where to place his hands, his heart racing as she snaked her arms around his waist.
Gathering every ounce of courage he could muster he held her arms to pull her away from himself "Ms. Stallion, maybe you should sit down."
Her soft breath brushed against his skin, and her next words came as a surprise. "You smell nice."
His mind stuttered, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. He wasn't sure how to respond to something so intimate.
"Ms. Stallion, you need to—"
"Let go," she mumbled, her words slurring as she leaned into him further, burying her face against his chest.
Jackson froze, unsure of how to react. She felt warm against him, and for a moment, the weight of her sadness pressed against him like a physical force. "This is totally wrong, working in the bar to mix drinks but now cuddling a beautiful lady, what will the customers think", he thought.
From across the bar, one of his colleagues, a man named Carl, smirked as he watched the scene unfold. "Looks like you've got your hands full, Jackson.
Carl glanced briefly at the lady in his friend's arms clinging to him like octopus. "Looks like she trusts you. You better take care of her."
Jackson sighed, the weight of responsibility settling over him. Carl's playful grin only made the situation feel more surreal.
For a moment, he paused, looking down at the woman in his arms. She seemed so different from the powerful figure she was rumored to be—a broken soul hiding behind elegance and charm.
Carl nodded at Jackson, moving to take over his station. "Go on. I'll handle things here." Jackson shot him a look, but Carl waved him off giving him a knowing grin.
It was clear that his colleague found amusement in his discomfort. "Go on," Carl added with a wink. "I'll cover for you. You're the one she trusts, right?" "Don't break her trust ."
With no other choice, Jackson gently adjusted Stella in his arms. "I'll take her outside," he said, his voice firmer now. Carefully, Jackson lifted Stella, her head resting against his shoulder as he carried her in a bridal style out of the building.
The crisp night air greeted them as they stepped outside. Jackson shifted her weight slightly, unsure of where to take her.
The street outside was quiet, the sounds of the club fading into the background. The city was alive, but here, in this moment, it felt as though time had frozen around him.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open briefly looked at him for a while as though she wants to identify him before closing again.
She was quiet now, her body relaxed in his embrace, as though she has obtained a confirmation.
For a moment, he stood there, wondering how a woman like her—elegant, powerful, and untouchable—had ended up in his arms, trusting him, a nobody with no past to speak of.
Jackson stood there, unsure of where to go, unsure of what this night meant for him. But with no choice left, he started heading home as his apartment is just several blocks ahead. He had chosen the apartment for its closeness to the club.
As he started walking toward the street, he couldn't shake the feeling that this night would mark the beginning of something he wasn't prepared for.