Part 2: Chapter Thirteen

Dave's POV

Leaving Aria's apartment was like treading away from a piece of my heart. Sometimes that quiet click of the door closing behind me did feel very much like an echo in my mind, marking an end to something I wasn't ready to let go. That was a very cool night—much of a contrast to the raging fire in my chest. I stuffed my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and wrestled with frustration, hurt, and loss, almost palpable at the base of my throat.

I needed a drink. Something to wash away the image of Aria's tear-stained face, her quaking voice when she said we were through. This was more than one should have to take sober. Half-consciously, I wandered into the nearest bar—well, then, a tiny, dimly lit, hole-in-the-wall that used to be a regular when things got tough. It wasn't classy, but it did the trick: a place to lose myself for a few hours.

It was all but empty until I came in except for a couple of regulars nursing their drinks at the bar. I took the stool at the very e