Abby Spencer hated everything about Brody Stone, from his dumb crew cut, to his heavily tattooed arms, to his ludicrous name. "Brody Stone" she jeered to her friend, Kris. They were standing outside the Thirsty Moose, trying not to freeze to death as Kris took a last drag off her cigarette. Abby's shift was about to start and she was dreading spending another night working alongside the ill-tempered bartender.
"He's not THAT bad" heartened Kris, stamping out her cigarette. Although her face said otherwise, as she spied him through the frosty windows. "My shift at Basil's is over, I'm gonna get home before this storm hits. Hang in there Abby, stay warm."
The Thirsty Moose Tavern was one of the few old-town, hold-outs in this ever changing, tourist trap of a ski village. Abby remembered coming here as a kid, after ski lessons, for hot chocolate. The place hadn't changed much, and neither had Brody. The tattoos were new, to her at least, but not the attitude. When they were in grade school he would pull her hair and call her "Crabby Abby". When they got to high school he shortened it, skillfully, to "Crabs" and took to snapping her bra strap. Due to the special torture of alphabetical seating charts, he always seemed to be near her. Abby went off to college and tried to forget about Brody Stone and this town, and the way it always made her feel like an outsider.
As anticipated by her perpetually disappointed parents, Abby's Bachelor's degree in Anthropology had not yet translated into the exciting career she had hoped for. So, instead of digging up valuable artifacts, or even working in a museum, she found herself back here, shoveling snow and working as a waitress. When she took this job, over a week ago, she had no idea Brody worked here, or that he'd be the one "training" her. She took a deep breath and tugged on the door.
"It's about time Crabs," chided Brody with irritating predictability as he tugged on the beer tap. "You got something against being on time?"
"Jesus Brody, it's 2 minutes after 7:00 and I could see from outside we've only got three customers." Abby lamented, "Everyone is packing it in because of the storm. Why the hell is Chuck even making us work? Let alone both of us?"
"HA!" Snickered Brody, "Don't you know anything about this town, Crabs? We don't shut down when it snows, that's when we party the hardest."
"Riight, well, I dunno if you watch the news Brody," Abby snubbed, as she stomped snow off her boots and hung up her parka and scarf, "but this is going to be snow, ice and wind like we haven't seen in years. Not to mention temperatures well below freezing. It's not really party weather." Brody just shook his head and rolled his eyes dismissively.
"I'll party with you," slurred a very inebriated snowboarder from the corner. "Thanks hun," Abby feigned "but I'm on duty." She tied up her strawberry blonde hair and started wiping down tables. "Jesus Brody," she retaliated, "You got something against cleaning? Why is everything such a mess?"
"Listen Crabs, this place has been bursting at the seams since the lifts closed, you just missed the rush. The lunch shift has gone home and the dinner shift isn't here yet. What's the matter, you too good for cleaning?" It was Abby's turn to roll her eyes dismissively.
The drunk snowboarder and his buddy ordered another round and Abby continued clearing and wiping, hoping Chuck would come to his senses and send them home soon. She leaned over a booth to reach some dirty mugs and felt a hand on her ass. Recoiling, she spun around to find their 3rd customer, an old townie who had been lurking in the corner, staring at her menacingly. "Do that again and I'll cut it off." She threatened, brandishing a dirty knife from the bussing tray at him. He put his hands up in mock innocence and she moved behind the bar. Of course Brody had disappeared into the back. Useless.
One of the snowboarders was laughing hysterically as the other staggered toward the men's room. He was only half-way there when he doubled over. Vomit splattered everywhere and his friend's cackling multiplied exponentially.
"BRODY!!" Abby bellowed, as she filled a bucket with soapy water.
"WHAT!?" he barked, punching through the double doors from the back.
"Can you please call these two an Uber, or do SOMETHING useful?" she berated, jabbing her thumb toward the men's room, "This one just ralphed and I have to go clean it up before the smell gets any worse."
"Fucking Christ," Brody winced, punching instructions on his cell phone and directing the snowboarders through the front door, "C'mon boys, party's over."
Dawning rubber gloves, Abby started mopping up the disgusting slurry, trying not to wretch. She hauled the sloshing bucket down the hall, into the women's restroom and flushed the contents down the toilet. She was rinsing everything in the sink, listening to the wind howl, when the lights flickered and went out. Fucking power outage, awesome, maybe we can go home now, she thought.
She pushed the bathroom door open and stepped into the inky blackness of the narrow hallway, trying to inch her way to the front of the tavern, where there would be some light from the fireplace at least. She heard the floor creak in front of her and caught a sour whiff of hot breath before a hand closed around her throat and pinned her to the wall. "C'mon shortcake," rasped the sour breath, "Show me what's under that little skirt." She felt another hand moving up her cable-knit tights and swiftly hoisted a knee upward, into his groin. He faltered and she ran through the darkness, colliding with something solid, just as a bright light filled her straining pupils and re-blinded her.
"What the fuck!?" Brody demanded, perturbed.
"Jesus Brody, you really are fucking useless." She cried, pushing the flashlight out of her eyes and toward the bathrooms. "That old pervert just tried to violate me in the hallway, so excuse the fuck out of me."
Brody's naturally mean face got even meaner as he shoved the flashlight at her, stepping toward the crumpled body on the floor and gripping it by the shoulders. "Get up asshole," Brody barked, pushing the man down the hall "I'm calling the cops, and you're never setting foot in here again, or I'll kill you myself." Abby listened to them struggle their way through the tavern and felt the cold rush of air as Brody shoved him out the door, locking it behind him. Abby was still frozen to the same spot, holding the flashlight to her heaving chest. "You ok Crabs?" asked Brody.
"No Brody, I'm not fucking ok, you asshole." She was crying, fucking crying in front of Brody Stone. Goddamnit.
"What the fuck did I do?" Brody challenged, as Abby put on her coat. She couldn't stand being his whipping girl for one more second, she had to get away from him. "I'm going home Brody, can you please let me the fuck out of here?" Brody hesitated, "Don't you think you should wait until.."
"Jesus Brody, Let me OUT!" Abby interrupted. Brody unlocked the door and moved aside as Abby trudged out into the blizzard. Conditions had gotten much worse since she arrived an hour ago. The biting wind stole the breath right out of her lungs as she tried to make her way up the hill, to the lot where she left her Subaru. The sidewalk was already slick with ice. Crystalized snow was flying sideways into her eyes, stinging her face. She thought she heard, or maybe sensed someone following her as a particularly forceful gust knocked her off balance and she hit the slippery cement hard. She was trying to catch her breath when a pair of strong hands gripped her from behind and she rolled over and kicked hard, aiming for his balls again. He was too quick for her this time, so she screamed, only to be drowned out by Brody's roar "CRABS!!!"
"Jesus Christ Crabs." Brody insisted, "This is fucking crazy, It's bad out here and that asshole could still be lurking around. Come back inside so we can figure this out." Abby was disheartened to find that she didn't have a better idea.
Brody put some more wood in the big, rustic fireplace that served as the centerpiece of the tavern's layout and he found a kerosene lamp somewhere in storage, depositing it on the bar. Abby sat, dejected on the wide, squashy, leather sofa that faced the fire, trying to get warm and wishing she could be anywhere else tonight. They had already called the police, and given them her attacker's description, Brody even gave them the man's name, apparently he was a regular. The officer on the phone suggested they come down to make their statements tomorrow, when conditions would be safer. Snow was piling up quickly now, on top of the coating of ice, and Abby began to realize they really were stuck here together, maybe for the whole night.
After he turned all the faucets on to drip so they wouldn't freeze over, Brody sat down next to her with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured and she accepted a glass, studying the way the flames danced through the amber liquid before downing it all in one gulp. "Jesus Crabs, slow down."
"Stop fucking calling me that Brody!" Abby screeched, "Why are you always so fucking mean to me?!"
"ME?!" protested Brody, "You're no picnic yourself Cra... Abby."
"Oh really, and when we were seven, what was your excuse then?" she demanded.
" 'Grody Brody' was no picnic either, Abby, or don't you remember inventing that little gem?" She had forgotten that actually, and it made her cheeks burn a little, before she remembered what a creep he had always been to her. "Yeah, well, you did plenty to deserve it."
"Probably," he admitted, taking a swig, "but you were always so damn full of yourself, acting better than everyone else. I couldn't help wanting to bring you down to earth."
"Fuck off Brody."
"Jesus, you're a pain in the ass." Brody protested, "You fucking asked!" Brody got up and moved to a table between the fireplace and the bar, leaving the whiskey bottle next to Abby. She took off her boots, placing them by the fire and stared out the rattling windows at the blizzard, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
