Pub problems

Kian

The smell of engine oil and rubber filled the air, as it always did when I walked into the garage. It was a mix of the familiar and the stifling—a reminder of everything I was trying to escape. I stood by the entrance for a second, just taking it all in. Joey had a knack for making the place look organized, despite the chaos of cars in various stages of repair.

"You're late," Joey called out from under the hood of a car. He didn't look up but I could tell he was smirking.

"Traffic," I muttered, grabbing a rag to wipe my hands clean.

Joey let out a sarcastic snort. "Right. Traffic at this hour. Just say you were late getting out of bed."

I shot him a half-smile but didn't argue. Joey had always been like that—honest, direct, and a little too quick with the jabs. But that's what made him a good boss. He ran the place like a tight ship, and I respected him for it, even if I hated how often he got on my case.

I went to the far end of the garage, where there was another car waiting for attention. It was a junker, something that didn't look like it was worth fixing, but Joey always found a way to make money from everything. I was used to it by now.

"Anything I can do?" I asked, as I popped the hood of the car and began to inspect it.

Joey rolled out from under his current project, wiping his hands on a rag. "You can start by not blowing up another engine," he shot back with a grin.

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the smile that threatened to crack my face. It wasn't the first time I'd messed up something small, and Joey had no problem holding it over my head. But honestly, I preferred the banter to the silence. It kept things from feeling... too heavy.

After a couple of minutes of me poking around under the hood, Joey approached, looking over my shoulder.

"You're still avoiding me," he said, his voice soft but direct.

I froze for a second. The last few days had been a blur of constant distraction—mostly to do with everything going on at home. And then there was the matter of Mallory.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered, trying to get back to work, but Joey wasn't letting it slide.

"I'm not blind, Kian." He moved to stand beside me, crossing his arms. "You've been acting weird ever since you came back from that party. You're walking around like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders."

I didn't meet his eyes. Joey had always been observant—too observant for my liking. It was like he could see right through me, and that made me uncomfortable.

"Nothing's changed," I said, my voice flat.

Joey raised an eyebrow. "Right. Nothing at all." He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "You know you can talk to me, right? If you're struggling with something, you don't have to bottle it all up."

I kept working, trying to keep my mind off what he was saying. The last thing I needed was a lecture.

"I'm fine, Joey. Just busy. That's all."

He didn't buy it, but he didn't press me any further. Instead, he sighed and patted me on the back. "Alright. Just don't come crying to me when you explode, alright? I've seen enough breakdowns to know when someone's one step away from losing it."

I didn't respond to that. The truth was, I was close to losing it, but I wasn't about to admit it to him. Especially not after everything that had happened.

Joey moved back to his desk, and I focused on the car in front of me, working in silence. The hum of the radio and the sound of tools clanging against metal filled the space.

After a while, Joey called out again, his voice more casual. "You coming out with me after work?"

I hesitated for a second. The last thing I wanted was to be around more people tonight. But I knew what he was really asking. He was offering me an escape. He always did.

"I'll think about it," I said.

Joey gave me a quick look but didn't press the issue. He was good like that—knew when to back off, even if it was only for a while.

I kept working, but my thoughts drifted. My head wasn't in the game. My father's voice, the deal with the kids, and Mallory... Mallory had been haunting me in the quiet moments. The way her smile lingered in my mind when I wasn't even trying to think about her. How she had kissed me and how I still felt it on my lips, like an echo of something I didn't know if I was ready for.

But maybe it didn't matter.

I had enough problems already.

Joey wasn't wrong though. I could feel myself pulling away from everyone, and I knew it. But the weight of it all? It was a heavy burden. Maybe it wasn't the kind of thing you could just talk about with anyone. But at the same time, I felt like I was running out of places to hide.

"Yeah, I'll go with you after," I said, without really thinking. It was the first time I'd committed to anything in days, and I didn't even know why I said it.

Joey gave me a knowing look. "Good. You need it, lad."

Maybe I did. But at that moment, I just felt tired.

The pub was packed as usual, the air thick with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the buzz of conversation. I wasn't exactly in the mood for this—drinking away my problems like they were nothing more than a bad taste in my mouth—but I knew I couldn't turn Joey down. He had a way of convincing me that this was what I needed, even if deep down, I knew it wouldn't make me forget everything.

Joey slapped me on the back as we walked in, his usual grin plastered on his face. "Let's have a pint, yeah? Something to take the edge off."

I nodded but wasn't really paying attention to anything. I kept my head down as we made our way to a table in the back, hoping the dim light would make me less noticeable. But the moment we stepped inside, a few heads turned in our direction, some nodding as they recognized Joey, others offering a quick wave.

We found our spot, and Joey immediately went to order drinks. I sank into the worn-out booth, feeling like an outsider in a place that was supposed to feel familiar. I tried to relax, but every corner of the room seemed to remind me of my dad—the same rough faces, the same dark, heavy atmosphere.

A couple of minutes later, Joey returned with a pint of lager in one hand and a whiskey in the other. "Here. You need something stronger."

I took the whiskey, even though I wasn't sure it was going to help.

"Cheers," Joey said, lifting his pint. I raised mine, clinking it against his, before taking a long gulp.

The burn of the whiskey spread down my throat, but it didn't do much for the unease building in my chest. I was already halfway through the drink when I heard it—the sound of a familiar, gruff voice.

"Well, well, if it isn't Kian Holland."

My heart sank, and for a moment, the room felt like it was closing in on me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. My dad.

There he was, standing at the bar with a few of his old friends, his broad frame filling the doorway. His face was flushed, and the scent of alcohol clung to him, even from where I was sitting.

Joey must have noticed the shift in my expression because he raised an eyebrow. "You okay, Kian?"

I nodded quickly, setting the whiskey down a little harder than I intended. I hated that I was still worried about this—that I couldn't just enjoy a drink without this looming over me.

My dad's voice carried across the room again. "What, you too good for us now, boy? Is this your big escape?"

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying to block it out. It wasn't worth it. He was drunk, and he had a way of making everything feel like a fight.

Joey noticed the way I stiffened and followed my gaze. His expression softened, but he didn't say anything, just gave me a quick nod of understanding.

I knew what I had to do. I wasn't about to sit there and let my dad come over here and start something. Not tonight. Not when I'd finally convinced myself I didn't have to put up with it anymore.

"Joey, I'll be back in a minute," I muttered, pushing myself out of the booth.

Joey didn't stop me. He simply watched as I made my way across the pub, my stomach turning with each step. My dad was already making his way toward me, his smile crooked, his eyes bloodshot.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Kian," he slurred, as he staggered closer, his breath reeking of alcohol.

I forced a smile, trying to keep it civil. "I'm just here with Joey, Da. I'm not here for trouble."

"Yeah, sure. You think you're too good for this place now, huh?" His words were slurred and rough, but I could see the underlying bitterness in his eyes.

I sighed, trying to hold my ground. "Just leave it, alright? I'm not in the mood."

But my dad wasn't listening. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and I could feel the tension mounting in my shoulders.

"What's this? Your fancy life in the garage? Too good to spend time with your old man?"

Before I could respond, Joey appeared beside me, his arm coming around my shoulders in a subtle gesture of protection. He'd heard enough, and I appreciated him stepping in without asking questions.

"Alright, that's enough," Joey said firmly, his voice low but commanding. "Why don't you take a seat, Shane? It's not the time or place for this."

My dad glared at Joey, but he didn't escalate it. He just let out a huff, muttered something under his breath, and stumbled back toward his group of friends. I watched him go, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration.

Joey turned to me. "You alright?"

"Aye," I muttered, still trying to shake the tension out of my limbs. "I just—I don't need this shit right now."

Joey clapped me on the back again, more gently this time. "Come on. Let's get you home, yeah?"

I nodded, and as Joey led me back to the booth, I felt a little bit lighter. For a brief moment, I had been reminded of the mess that was my family—reminded of the shit I couldn't escape. But then Joey was there, as he always was, pulling me back into the world that made sense, where the noise and chaos of my father's life couldn't reach me.

Maybe that's why I was here tonight—because, for the first time in a while, I felt like I had something real. Even if it was just Joey and a drink. It was enough.