Tonight, The Fix looked to be in no danger of going out of business. Even on a Wednesday, he had to push his way through the crowd that clustered near a wooden stage bordered by two walls of windows that gave a view of the corner intersection and the pedestrians and cars humming about outside. There was no performer, not yet, but a man Noah recognized as one of the bartenders was adjusting the height of a microphone in front of a single metal stool.
On any other night, Noah might have stayed to listen. Right now, he wanted to escape the crowd.
He wound his way through the throng, passing the long bar that extended deep into the room as he made his way to the smaller--and blissfully quieter--bar area in the back.
From behind this secluded bar, Tyree waved a greeting. A large black man with broad shoulders and arms as thick as a woman's thigh, he was often mistaken for the bouncer rather than the owner of The Fix. He was, however, more suited for the latter. Tyree had some of the kindest eyes that Noah had ever seen, and an easygoing manner that wasn't suited for tossing rowdy patrons out on their asses.
"What's your poison, Noah?" he asked after passing something fruity to one of two college girls sitting at the bar. Their blonde heads were bent close together, and Noah could almost make out words as they alternated whispers with stolen glances at the second bartender behind the rail, who seemed unaware of them as he expertly mixed the Manhattan that Noah had requested.
"Are you new?" Noah asked. "You look familiar, but I'm not sure why."
"I've been here a few months," he said, wiping his hands on a bar rag. "But I just started working a regular night shift yesterday. Before, I filled in at night or covered lunch. I'm Cam, by the way."
"Cam's a grad student at UT," Tyree explained as Noah frowned, still trying to place him. He studied the guy's face--young, but not naive, with intelligent blue-gray eyes, dark brown hair, and a single earring--and tried to remember where he'd seen it before.
He shook his head, still pulling a blank. "What are you studying?" Maybe that would jar his memory. Noah was certain he'd met the guy before, and his inability to place the kid was bothering him more than it should.
If Cam answered, though, Noah didn't hear it, because at that moment, there was a lull in the din filtering in from the front room, then a smattering of applause before a male voice announced that there was a pre-show surprise. A local performer he hoped they enjoyed.
Noah tuned it out. When he was younger, he'd loved live music. Now, it just brought back unwelcome memories.
He glanced at Tyree. "I didn't think you brought bands in on Wednesdays."
"Usually don't. This one's getting quite a local following, though, and they leave soon on a three-state tour. The lead singer asked if they could do a farewell performance." A wide grin lit his face. "Honestly, I think he mostly wanted his girlfriend to have the chance to try out her new song on a live audience. She's not part of the band, but she's got chops."
"She's not his--" Cam began, but Noah wasn't listening anymore. Because the voice from the front room had reached him, low and clear and hauntingly familiar.
It couldn't be. Could it?
He stood, then moved to the doorway that separated the two areas. He squeezed in between patrons knotted in tight groups, the words seeming to pull him closer even as the voice made him want to draw away.
"...and when I'm feeling blue, I always circle back to you..."
He didn't hear anymore. How could he now that he was looking at her? Now that the wild roar of emotion and memory was filling his head?
Now that he was staring at the woman he'd loved.
The woman he'd destroyed.
And the woman whose voice was even now tearing his heart into pieces.
* * *
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Logan St. James is a smoldering, sexy beast. Sure, he can be a little broody at times--but Ellie Hammond's willing to overlook that. Because, have you seen him??
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For years, she's had a crush on the intense, protective royal security guard--but she doesn't think he ever saw her, not really.