Besides Shelly.
I asked around. Marty insists Thelma took the guy’s reservation before she’d gone into the hospital, and Shel didn’t know him before he checked in.
I saw him that day, though. There was no un-seeing that glint in his eye.
Smiling like a dumb kid on prom night, his filthy paws on her, rubbing her arms.
She told Thelma that Hercules knocked them over, but they were standing when I caught a glimpse. They were so close a feather would hardly fit between them.
“Weston, two drafts!” a voice calls.
I nod at the server and grab two ice-cold mugs.
With my mind still on Shell—and hating that I care—I’m all thumbs.
One mug slips and hits the floor.
Thankfully, the rubber mat saves it from shattering. I pick it up, drop it in the sink, and grab a new glass—only to have it overflow when the draft handle sticks.
Fuck me.
I need to get my mind off Rachel Simon or it’s going to be the longest October of my life.
As much as I’d like to escape—just hop in my truck and follow the road wherever it leads me—that’s not possible.
I have work at the garage coming out my ears till the snow flies, plus a car show coming up around Halloween I’m helping organize. Somebody’s wheels always need fixing around here, and business is good when you’re the only on-call emergency mechanic with his own towing rig in town.
I’m still mopping up spilled beer when a big hand slaps my shoulder.
“How’s it going, West?” Uncle Grady’s voice booms over the other chatter.
“No complaints,” I say, lying through my teeth.
I force a smile for my uncle and feel like a fool.
If I think I have a full plate, all I have to do is look at Uncle Grady. He came home from war to a sick wife, who passed away, leaving him with two rambunctious daughters to raise on his own.
That all changed massively last year when he got remarried after the wildest ride of his life. When he’s not at the Bobcat, he’s with his wife, working hard at managing the new big cat sanctuary at the edge of his property. The whole town came together to kickstart the place and it’s been mighty good for tourism ever since.
“Everything okay with Bruce?” I can’t resist asking.
“He’s wondering when you’re gonna visit,” Grady says. “You spoiled him green with that buffalo steak last time.”
I chuckle, remembering how the tiger wolfed it down. Safely through the cage, of course, because I’m not anxious to ever relive the time I was face-to-face with that Bengal monster and nothing between us.
Waking up to a tiger staring at me was some wild shit I’ll never forget.
“How you holding up?” Uncle Grady asks.
“It’s been slow this afternoon, but the evening crowd’s picking up.”
“I can take over. You’re not supposed to be putting in more than four-hour shifts.”
“You sure? I can stay longer.” I straighten up. I really don’t mind helping him out.
He frowns. “Since when would you rather sling beers than work on a motor?”
“Aw, Unc, I don’t have anything critical to repair today.”