THE LAST TIME

SMOKE’S POV

The bar had the kind of vibe that makes you feel like you’ve seen it in every bad movie. Dim lights, sticky floors, and that old jukebox playing songs that sounded like ghosts singing from another room. But I wasn’t there for the music or the cheap whiskey. I was hoping to see her again.

Lena.

I’d been thinking about her since she slipped out of my bed that night. No note. No goodbye. Just gone. I don’t chase women, never had to. But something about Lena had me curious. Maybe it was the way she moved at the club, like she was in her own world. Or maybe it was the way she left — like she had somewhere more important to be.

I sat at the bar, eyes scanning the room. People laughing, arguing, drinking — but no Lena. I ordered a whiskey, neat. The burn in my chest was the only warmth I felt all night. She’s not here, Smoke. Get over it.

I stayed longer than I should have, watching faces come and go. Some left with company, some left alone. But I stayed. I wasn’t even sure why.

The bartender glanced my way. “You good, man? Last call.”

“Yeah,” I said, tossing a couple of bills on the bar. “One more.”

While I sipped, I noticed them. Two guys at the corner table. Big, rough-looking types. They weren’t drinking much, just watching me. Not talking, not laughing. Just staring. I’d been in enough situations to know what that meant.

They had a problem.

I acted like I didn’t see them, but I kept them in my peripheral. I don’t like starting problems, but I’m good at finishing them.

When the bartender called for closing, it was just me and them left. I took my time finishing my drink, waiting for them to make a move. They didn’t disappoint.

Both of them stood up at the same time and walked toward me. Big steps, slow, like they wanted me to know they were coming. Cowards always do that. They stopped right in front of me, one of them cracking his knuckles, the other tapping the side of his jacket like he had something inside.

“You ain’t from here,” one of them said, his breath reeking of beer and bad decisions. “This ain’t your city. Time you packed up and left.”

I tilted my head, staring at him like I didn’t hear him right. “You practicing your tough guy lines, or is that supposed to scare me?”

“Smart mouth,” the other one said, stepping closer. His eyes were wild, like he wanted a reason to snap. “Last warning. Leave, or we make you leave.”

I nodded slowly, finishing the last of my whiskey. Then I set the glass down and stood up. They both tensed, like two dogs waiting for a whistle.

“Alright,” I said, calm as ever. “Here’s my answer.”

I grabbed the bottle off the bar, swung it hard, and CRACK — it shattered against the first guy’s head. He went down, clutching his face as blood poured between his fingers.

The other guy moved fast. I saw him reach into his jacket, and I knew what was coming. I dove to the side just as the bang echoed through the bar.

The bartender screamed. Glass shattered.

But he didn’t hit me. He hit the bartender.

“Ahhh!” the bartender clutched his side, blood soaking through his shirt. He fell behind the bar, his eyes wild with panic. “Help me! Somebody help!”

I didn’t waste time. I jumped over the bar, pulling him down flat. “Stay still. Stay still!” I pressed my hands to the wound, feeling the warmth of his blood on my fingers. It wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding fast.

The two guys ran. Cowards always run.

I wanted to chase them, but the bartender’s eyes were on me, scared like a kid lost in a mall. “Hang on, man. You’re gonna be alright.”

I yanked my phone out of my pocket, called 911, and told them about the gunshot. They said an ambulance was on the way, but I didn’t trust it. So I threw him over my shoulder and walked out the front door.

“Stay with me, man,” I muttered as I loaded him into my car. “Don’t you die in my ride, you hear me?”

The Hospital

I kicked open the emergency room doors, yelling louder than I should.

“Help! Somebody help him!”

A nurse in blue scrubs rushed over with a wheelchair. I laid the bartender down as gently as I could, but he still groaned in pain. They rolled him away, and I stayed behind, my hands still stained with his blood.

“Damn,” I muttered, looking at my hands. Could’ve been me.

“Rough night?” a familiar voice said behind me.

I turned, and there she was. Lena. Hair pulled back in a tight bun, scrubs fitting her in all the right places. Her eyes met mine, and I could tell she was just as surprised as I was.

“You a nurse now?” I asked, wiping my hands on my jeans.

“Yeah,” she said, glancing at the blood on my hands. “You a paramedic now?”

We both smirked.

“Nurse by day, stripper by night,” I said, eyes trailing up and down. “Pretty ironic.”

“Don’t start,” she said, crossing her arms but not moving away.

“Never stopped thinking about that night,” I said, stepping closer.

Her eyes narrowed. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were trouble.”

“You’re not wrong.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling. “Don’t get used to it. That night was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

I grinned, hands in my pockets. “You sure about that?”

She didn’t answer, just bit her bottom lip. I saw that look before — same one she had when she was in my bed.

One minute we were talking, the next we were in an empty room. The lights were off, and the only sound was the beeping of some distant monitor. She pulled me by the collar, eyes wild like she had something to prove.

“You sure this is a good idea?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Shut up,” she said, her breath warm against my ear.

I pinned her against the wall, hands on her hips. She pulled at my shirt, nails dragging against my skin. We didn’t say much after that. Didn’t need to. Clothes hit the floor. Hands on skin. Heavy breathing.

It was fast. Raw. The kind of thing that leaves you catching your breath long after it’s over.

Afterward, we stood there, leaning against the wall like we’d just run a marathon. She fixed her scrubs, breathing heavy. I zipped up my jeans, still grinning.

“Last time,” she said, her voice stern but her smile gave her away.

“Sure,” I said, pulling my shirt on.

She turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “I mean it, Smoke.”

I nodded, but I didn’t believe her. Neither did she.

Some mistakes are worth making twice.