Chapter 5: Shady Offers (Ryan POV)

I’m still at the bar when Caleb heads upstairs to crash. He’s beat—I can see it in his slumped shoulders, the way he drags his feet. That fundraiser idea’s got him buzzing, but it’s not enough, and we both know it. I stay downstairs, staring at the notepad. Drink specials, band night, cutting costs—scribbles that don’t add up to fifty grand. My gut’s tight, like a fist’s squeezing it. I can’t let The Static go. Not after everything.

My phone buzzes on the counter. Unknown number. I almost ignore it, but something makes me pick up. “Yeah?” I say, voice low.

“Ryan Delgado?” Smooth, too polished. “Miles Carver. We need to talk.”

I freeze. Carver. The tech guy who’s been sniffing around the bar for months, dropping hints about buying it. I don’t trust him—never have. “About what?”

“Your little problem,” he says. “Meet me tonight. Rooftop bar, downtown. Eight. I’ve got a way out.”

I should say no. Tell him to shove it. But fifty grand by Friday’s choking me, and I’m out of moves. “Fine,” I mutter. “Eight.” He hangs up first, and I sit there, staring at the phone. Caleb’s upstairs—I could tell him—but I don’t. Not yet. I need to hear this myself.

I grab my jacket, lock up, and head out. The rain’s back, a light mist that sticks to my face as I drive. Downtown’s a different world—shiny towers, clean streets, nothing like The Static’s grit. The rooftop bar’s on top of some fancy hotel, all glass and sleek lines. I feel out of place in my worn boots and faded shirt, but I don’t care. I spot Miles at a table by the edge—suit, slick hair, a drink in his hand. He’s all smiles when I walk up.

“Ryan,” he says, standing, offering a handshake. “Good to see you.”

I don’t take his hand. “What’s this about?” I sit across from him, arms crossed. The city sparkles below, but it just makes me miss the bar’s dim glow.

He sits too, leans back like he owns the place. “I heard about your loan trouble. Tough spot. I’m here to help.”

“Help how?” I keep my voice flat. I don’t trust that grin.

He sips his drink—something clear, expensive-looking. “I’ll buy The Static. Cash upfront, enough to clear your debt. You stay on, run it under my company. Corporate management, but your name’s still on the door.”

My stomach twists. “You mean you own it, and I’m your errand boy.”

His smile doesn’t budge. “I mean I save it. You keep the keys, the vibe. I just make it profitable.”

“No,” I say, quick. “It’s mine. Not yours.”

He laughs, short and sharp. “Yours? Come on, Ryan. It’s your father’s failure, not your legacy. You’re drowning in his mess, too sentimental to see it.”

I clench my fists under the table. “Don’t talk about my dad.”

“Why not?” He leans in, eyes glinting. “You’re bleeding cash because of him. That bar’s been a sinkhole since he ran it. You’re just too soft to let it go.”

“Shut up,” I snap. My chest’s tight, hot. Dad’s gone—five years now—but hearing his name like that stings. He built The Static, poured everything into it. Yeah, he screwed up—debts, bad calls—but it’s ours. Mine.

Miles doesn’t flinch. “You’re stubborn. I get it. But you’re out of time. What’s your plan? Begging punks for donations?” He smirks, like he knows about Benji’s fundraiser. “That won’t cut it.”

I don’t answer. He’s right, and I hate it. My jaw’s locked so tight it hurts. I want to walk away, but my boots stay planted.

He sets his drink down, voice dropping. “Here’s the kicker, Ryan. That loan? It’s not clean. Your dad owed people—big people. I bought the debt cheap, flipped it to your shark. You’ve been set up from the jump.”

My breath stops. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “Your father’s past caught up. I just sped it along. Sign with me, and it’s gone. Fight me, and you’re done.”

I stare at him, head spinning. Dad’s debts? Set up? The words bounce around, loud and ugly. I think of the loan papers, the calls, how fast it all went bad. It fits—too well. My hands shake, but I hide them under the table. “You’re lying,” I say, but it sounds weak, even to me.

“Am I?” He pulls a paper from his jacket—some old contract, my dad’s name scrawled at the bottom. He slides it over. I don’t touch it, but I see the numbers, the dates. It’s real. Too real.

“You’re a snake,” I say, voice low.

“Maybe,” he says, shrugging. “But I’m your snake. Take the deal, Ryan. Last chance.”

I stand up fast, chair scraping loud. “No. I’m not selling.”

He doesn’t move, just watches me. “Your call. Don’t say I didn’t try.”

I turn and walk out, legs stiff, heart pounding. The elevator ride down’s a blur—glass walls, city lights, my reflection staring back. I look tired, beat. Miles’s words stick like tar—Dad’s failure, set up, sentimental. I want to punch something, anything, but I just grip the railing till my knuckles hurt.

Back in my truck, I sit there, rain streaking the windshield. I should call Caleb, tell him everything—Miles, the deal, Dad’s mess. He’d want to know. He’d fight with me. But I don’t. My phone stays dark in my pocket. He’s already carrying too much—his mom, Jake, the bar. I see his face in my head, that grin from last night, the way he held me. I can’t dump this on him. Not yet.

I start the engine, pull out into the wet streets. The Static’s waiting, and so’s Caleb. I’ll figure this out—alone for now. He doesn’t need to worry. Not till I know what to do.