I barely catch my breath when Lance laughs.
“Well, that was impassioned,” he says. “Have you considered open mic night at the bar? I think you could really do something with that.”
“Fuck you.”
Walker holds a hand to Lance, stopping him from a retort.
“Look, Mach,” Walker says, letting his gaze linger on Lance until he’s sure he’s shut up. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry it did because it’s obviously fucked you all the way up.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter. “The bar was the nail in our coffin.”
“Why is the bar such a problem for her?” Walker asks.
My head hangs. “Her mom was killed by a drunk driver. So, she had this immediate reaction like it was the worst idea ever, which, in retrospect, it might’ve been. I don’t know. She didn’t get why I wanted to buy it off Uncle Vince, and honestly, I don’t know if I understood it then.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I think back to the day I asked Uncle Vince if I could buy it from him. He laughed and said my mother would’ve killed him had she known her only brother was selling her son a tavern. He tried to talk me out of it, but he was dying of cirrhosis, and I was dying of the heartbreak of losing my daughter and Hadley. Even though she was still around, she was only there out of habit. I knew she’d leave eventually.
It wasn’t too long after I bought it for less than a used car that Hadley asked me to marry her.
I said no.
She left.
And I’ve lived my life sort of floating around with no anchor since.
“Do you understand it now?” Walker asks.
“Understand what?”
“Why you wanted to buy it.”
I walk across the kitchen and blow out a breath. My entire body is tight. My shoulders slump like the whole damn world is sitting on them.
“I like it,” I say simply. “I like hearing everyone’s stories and watching their lives play out. I like giving my two cents. And I like having something that was in our family, which might sound weird.” Flicking the bottle cap Walker left on the counter, I watch it hit the edge of the sink and bounce in. “I don’t have a lot of options. You have Crank. Lance has his teaching bullshit. What do I have? I’m not good at anything.”
“I got this one,” Lance says, pointing a finger at Walker. “I get why you’re a little rough on yourself for owning a bar.”
“Not helping, Lance,” Walker grumbles.
Lance waves him off. “But that’s all superficial. Let’s break this down.”
“Make it quick. I gotta piss,” I lie.
He rolls his eyes. “Historically, what are you good at? What are your strengths? I’d say partying. Causing mayhem. And …” He looks at me. “Observing people and taking care of people you care about.”
“I—”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m not done,” Lance says. “Walker, you got my back if he lunges, right?”
Walker chuckles. I try not to laugh.
“Anyway,” Lance continues, “the bar is the perfect place for you. When I help my students narrow down their career choices, I tell them to look at their strengths and pick something that falls within those boundaries that interests them. You did that. Maybe you didn’t do it with that thought process, but you did it anyway.”
It makes sense, but I don’t care. It doesn’t solve my real problem.
Walker stands and heads to the trash can. After polishing off the rest of his beer, he tosses the bottle in the garbage. “I’m out of here. Do what you want. Just don’t fuck your whole life up because you made some bad choices. We’ve all done it.” He swings the door open. “Call me if you need anything,” he says over his shoulder as the door shuts.
“I gotta go too,” Lance says. “Mariah wants chicken noodle soup, and I have to drive all the way to Peaches to get it because Megan McCarter is working at Carlson’s. Did you know that?”
“Yeah.”
Grinning at the memory of picking Hadley up in the rain, I sigh. I can still feel her in my arms. I can taste her lips, feel her body against mine.
I look at my brother. “Are you ever worried you’ll fall back into your old ways?”
“No.” He doesn’t laugh or smile or even pretend to be amused by my question.
“Seriously? Like you never think you’ll ever want to sleep with some random girl you see on the street?”
“Is that what this is about?” he asks. “Do you want to fuck around?”
“Not at all.”
“Then why ask that?” He studies me closely. “Are you worried you’ll turn back into a punk?”
“Gee, thanks.” I snort.
He laughs. “Mach, you were an asshole for a long time. I was there for all of it. Or most of it,” he reconsiders. “But I have faith that you won’t get arrested, punch anyone who doesn’t deserve it, wreck a car, or lose your money in a high-stakes poker tournament again.” He heads for the door. “Now I’m going to get some soup and then go home to the one girl who makes all the pussy I miss out on worth it.”