Breakfast of (Broken) Champions
2157 Words
Chapter 4: Breakfast of (Broken) Champions
Maya wakes up to sunlight slicing through the duct-taped window and the unmistakable sound of someone swearing very loudly downstairs.
It's Jesse. Of course it's Jesse.
She lies still for a moment, letting the ceiling come into focus. Cracks. A water stain that looks vaguely like a bunny. The single bare bulb from last night, now off. Her body feels heavy in that way that says you really needed that sleep. Her mouth tastes like regret and Chinese food.
The swearing continues. Something about a coffee machine and a personal vendetta.
She should probably go down there. Not because she wants to. But because she's supposed to work today, and Knox doesn't seem like the kind of man who accepts late arrivals.
The bathroom is empty when she gets there. Someone left a fresh towel — not blue, thankfully — on the sink. She splashes water on her face, brushes her teeth with a spare toothbrush she finds in the cabinet (unopened, thank God), and stares at her reflection again. The dark circles are still there, but they're softer. Like they're thinking about leaving.
Her clothes are the same ones from yesterday. Jeans. A black tank top. The denim jacket that's seen better days. She smells like bar smoke and road trip. There's nothing she can do about that now.
Downstairs, the bar looks different in the daytime. Less threatening. More… sad. Sunlight pours through the dusty windows, illuminating every scratch on every table. The pool table looks like a battlefield. The jukebox is silent, which is probably a mercy.
Jesse is behind the bar, wrestling with an ancient coffee maker that's spitting steam like an angry cat. His nose ring catches the light every time he moves, which is constantly.
"You're alive," he says, not looking up. "I had money on you sneaking out at dawn."
"Who took that bet?"
"Ghost. He said you'd stay. He always wins."
Maya slides onto a barstool. The wood is warm from the morning sun. "Where is everyone?"
"Tank's in the shop. Ghost is… somewhere. Ghost is always somewhere." Jesse finally coaxes a stream of black liquid out of the machine and pours her a cup without asking. "Knox is in the office. He wants to see you after you've had caffeine. You look like you need it."
She takes the mug. It's chipped. The coffee is terrible — bitter and burnt and exactly what she needs. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me. Thank the coffee machine. We have a love-hate relationship."
"You were swearing at it."
"That's how I show affection."
Maya drinks. The coffee burns her tongue, but she doesn't care. She's alive. She's here. She didn't run.
The office door opens. Knox fills the frame — leather vest, dark jeans, that same impossible jaw. He's holding a piece of paper and looking at her like he's surprised she's still here too.
"Morning," he says.
"Morning."
"Sleep okay?"
"The bed didn't kill me, so I'm calling it a win."
His mouth does that almost-smile thing. "Good. We've got work to do." He walks over, drops the paper in front of her. It's a list. Handwritten. Messy. Stock the cooler. Wipe down the tables. Learn the register. Don't touch Ghost's towel.
Maya reads the last line out loud. "Don't touch Ghost's towel. Again."
"It bears repeating."
Jesse snorts. "One time, some tourist used it to dry his hands. Ghost followed him to the parking lot and just… stared at him until he left. Didn't say a word. Just stared. The guy literally peed himself."
"Jesse."
"What? She needs to know."
Knox rubs his temples. "The point is, you'll be fine. Jesse will show you the register. Tank will show you where things are. I'll be in and out."
"And Ghost?"
"Ghost will watch. He's good at that."
Maya takes another sip of burnt coffee. "So my job is to stock, clean, learn, and not steal anyone's towel."
"Correct."
"And I get paid for this?"
"Minimum wage. Plus tips. Plus a room upstairs." Knox leans against the bar, close enough that she can smell his laundry detergent. "It's not a glamorous life. But it's a life."
She looks at the list again. Stock. Clean. Learn. Don't touch the towel. It's so small. So ordinary. So completely different from the life she left behind — the engagement parties, the wedding planning, the slow suffocation of being someone's whole world.
"I'll take it," she says.
Knox nods. Pushes off the bar. Heads for the door. Pauses with his hand on the frame. "One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"The guy who owns the building next door? He's got a unit for rent. Cheap. If you end up staying longer than a week, you might want your own space."
Maya's heart does something stupid. A flip. A skip. A thing. "You're already planning for me to stay longer than a week?"
Knox doesn't turn around. But she can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm planning for you to stay until you don't want to anymore."
Then he's gone.
Jesse whistles. "Wow. He's got it bad."
"Got what?"
"The feels, Maya. The big squishy feels. Knox doesn't offer people apartments. He barely offers people a second glance." Jesse leans on the bar, grinning like he's just won something. "You're special. Don't let it go to your head."
"It's not— we're not—"
"Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that." He hands her a rag. "Now start wiping. Those tables won't degrease themselves."
She wipes. She stocks the cooler, learning that the beer goes on the left and the soda on the right and the pickle jar lives in the back because Jesse keeps eating them. She learns the register — a dinosaur of a machine that requires a specific sequence of angry button pushes. She learns that Tank communicates mostly in grunts and that a grunt with a head tilt means good job.
And Ghost watches. From the corner booth. Silent. Pale eyes tracking her every move. He doesn't say a word all morning. But when she reaches for a high shelf and nearly drops a bottle of whiskey, he's there. Hand already steadying it. Then back in his booth like he never moved.
By noon, Maya's arms ache. Her hair is sticking to her forehead. She smells like beer and floor cleaner. And she's smiling.
She's actually smiling.
Jesse notices. Of course he does. "You're smiling. That's gross."
"Shut up."
"No, really. It's unsettling. You're supposed to be miserable and broken. That's the brand."
Maya throws her rag at his face. He catches it. Laughs.
From the booth, Ghost makes a sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a grunt. Something in between. Approval, maybe.
Maya grabs her coffee mug — cold now, still terrible — and drinks anyway.
She doesn't know what's coming. Derek. The rival MC. All the trouble that's headed her way. But right now, at this moment, she's just a girl in a dive bar, learning to live again.
And that's enough.
End of Chapter 4
- Writer
