Smoke and Promises

(Rory POV)

I hang back outside a minute after Leo ducks in, staring at the cigarette stub smoldering where I chucked it. Waves are smashing the shore hard, and the cold’s gnawing at my knuckles. That call’s still bouncing around my skull—“I need more time.” Time for what, mate? I try brushing it off, but it sticks, so I shrug and head back inside. The casino’s slowing down—few punters still feeding the slots, cleaners kicking off their rounds. My shift’s kaput, and Leo’s finishing his checks. I snatch my jacket from behind the bar, catch his eye, and jerk my chin at the door. He gets it. We’re gone.

Boardwalk’s dead when we hit it, stretching out dark and quiet under a moody sky. Salty air smacks me in the face, crisp and sharp after the casino’s rank haze. Leo’s next to me, hands stuffed in his pockets, black shirt flapping a bit in the wind. I dig out my last fag—swear it’s the last this time—and spark it up, shielding the flame from the breeze. He doesn’t say a word, just nicks it off me after a puff, our fingers grazing like before. It’s nothing big, but it’s us.

“You’re too bloody grim tonight,” I say, giving him a nudge with my elbow. “What’s with the face? Someone swipe your chips?”

He blows out smoke, and then—there it is—a real smile, not that fake crap from earlier. Warm, soft, crinkling his eyes up. “You’re a right pain, you know that?” he grumbles, voice all low and scratchy like the sea.

“Oi, pot calling kettle,” I fire back, grinning. “C’mon, Navarro, cheer up. World’s still spinning, innit?”

He lets out this quiet chuckle, and it’s like the vibe flips. We stroll slow, passing the cig back and forth, the little glow bouncing between us. These are the bits I live for—just me and him, no casino chaos, no racket, just us nicking a moment. Still feel that buzz from earlier, when his eyes snagged mine across the floor. Two months since I blurted out he’s the only thing that makes sense in this dump, and he yanked me close. Two months of—this, whatever it is—and it still gets my chest all tight and stupid.

I think back to a year ago, before any of this. I was a wreck—huddled in some dive diner off the highway, face bruised up from where my old man clocked me after I told him I’m gay. Booted me out with a split lip and a duffel bag, that was it. Sat there shivering all night ‘til Leo slid into the booth opposite. Didn’t know him then—just some bloke in a beat-up jacket, hair a bit shaggy, eyeing me like he’d seen rougher days. Shoved a steaming black coffee my way and grunted, “You look like you need a break.” Gruff, no fluff, but his eyes were solid. Next day, he hooked me up with the bar job at The Siren’s Call. Pulled me out the muck, really. Didn’t reckon I’d fall for him back then, but maybe he had me sussed.

Out here on the boardwalk, I sneak a look at him—moonlight hitting his jaw just right. “You ever think about binning this place?” I toss out, keeping it breezy. “You and me, somewhere chill. No slots, no drunks.”

He takes a drag, holds it, lets it drift out slow. “Yeah,” he says, real quiet. “Sometimes.”

I’m about to rib him more when I clock he’s not all here. Eyes are miles away, and his free hand’s twitching in his pocket. “You good?” I ask, dropping the jokey bit.

He blinks, like I jolted him. “Fine,” he says, too fast. “Just knackered.”

Nah, I ain’t buying it. He’s been off all night, and that call’s still gnawing at me. Then his phone buzzes again—same pocket, same twitch. He tugs it out just enough, but I catch a flash before he turns it away. Screen lights his face up, and I see it: Time’s running out. My gut lurches. He jams it back quick, jaw locked, but not quick enough.

“Who’s that?” I ask, keeping my tone level.

“Nobody,” he snaps, eyes flicking to mine then off. “Work stuff. Leave it, Rory.”

I want to dig—Christ, I want to—but I hold off. He’s shutting down, and I know that look too well. Something’s chewing him up inside. I grab the cig back, take a deep pull, let the burn steady me. We keep walking, but the easy feel’s gone, swapped for this heavy quiet that’s suffocating.

Then someone’s shouting my name. I spin round—it’s Nadia Ortiz, legging it over from the casino’s side door. Cocktail waitress, proper tough nut, loud as hell, with a cough that’d wake the dead. Hair’s a state, apron still dangling off her. “Rory, you seen Mia?” she pants, out of breath.

“Mia?” I scrunch my face. “The dancer? Not since last week. What’s up?”

“She’s gone,” Nadia says, voice wobbling. “Not seen her in days. Was texting me weird shite—said she owed too much, sounded proper spooked. Now she’s just… poof, vanished.”

I shoot a look at Leo, but he’s staring at the boards, kicking at a loose one. “Owed who?” I press.

“No clue,” Nadia says, hugging herself tight. “Wouldn’t spill. But something’s off, Rory. I can feel it.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, my stomach twisting again. “Same.” Mia’s a good lass—cheeky, loud, always twirling about even off-shift. Her missing? That’s bad. And with Leo acting dodgy, it’s starting to feel like it’s all tied together.

Nadia mumbles something about checking Mia’s locker and scarpers off. I turn to Leo. “Weird bloody night, eh?” I say, prodding a bit.

He nods, but won’t look at me. “Let’s move,” he says, heading back toward the casino lot. I trail him, hands in my pockets, dead cig between my fingers. We’re nearly at the steps when I spot him—Frankie Russo, slinking out from the shadows by the bins. Greasy hair, sharp suit, eyes pinned on Leo like a vulture. My skin crawls. He just stands there, smirking like he’s in on some secret.

Leo’s hand clamps my arm out of nowhere, hard enough to make me wince. “Keep walking,” he hisses, low and sharp. A warning. I don’t argue, but my heart’s thumping now. We pass Frankie, his stare boring into us, and I can’t shake it—Leo’s grip, that text, Mia AWOL, and this sleaze watching.

Back inside, Leo lets go, but I can still feel where his fingers dug in. He heads for the office, shoulders rigid, and I’m left standing there, slots humming in the background. He’s hiding something nasty—I’m sure of it now, right down in my bones. And whatever it is, it’s coming for us, fast.