She turned around, and one step at a time, she started walking back down Sixth Street toward The Fix.
Chapter Two
Taylor paused outside The Fix, still uncertain. But what choice did she have? She could either run, or she could get help. And--
"Taylor!"
She turned, to see Megan Clark behind her. A makeup artist by trade, Megan had recently started working at The Fix to make some extra money. A fact that reminded Taylor that she could surely do the same if the new hole in her bank account made it necessary.
"Why aren't you in there? Aren't you working today?" Megan asked.
"Mina's covering for me. I'm feeling crappy so Jenna sent me home. But I really need to talk to Brent, so I thought I'd grab him before I go mega-dose on NyQuil and crash." As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Megan would want to know what was so important it had Taylor running to Brent. Not because she was inherently nosy, but because they'd become good friends. And good friends talked.
She cleared her throat, then rushed on before Megan could get any reply in. "Are we running this weekend?" Megan, Mina, and Taylor had started training together for a 5K, with the ultimate goal of running in the Capitol 10K next year. A goal they probably wouldn't reach since most of their running sessions turned into too-short runs and too-long breakfasts.
A couple circled them, then pulled the door open.
"We're blocking traffic." Megan shoved her cat's eye glasses up her nose, then reached for the door as it closed behind the couple. "And yes," she said, holding it open for Taylor. "Absolutely we're running. And after, there's this new place that's supposed to do amazing Tex-Mex breakfasts. We should check it out."
Taylor bit back a smile, amused by how well the conversation was tracking her own thoughts. "Sounds good," she said, then stepped inside. Immediately, the noise surrounded her. The familiar, constant din of a bar full of carefree people who'd come to have some fun. "I'm going to go find Parker," Megan said, referring to her ultra-sexy boyfriend. "I was supposed to have met him five minutes ago. Oh. There's Brent."
Taylor followed Megan's finger to the back, told her friend she'd catch up with her later, then wove her way through the crowd until she reached Brent, who was standing by both Tyree and Reece. Great. So much for keeping this on the down low.
"I thought Jenna sent you home," Reece said in lieu of a greeting as Taylor approached.
"She did. I needed to come back." Taylor looked between the three of them, working up the courage to pull Brent aside and spill all of her woes. She knew she needed to, and the sooner the better. Already she felt calmer, just standing near the three.
And why not? She was awash in a sea of testosterone. And she was certain that any one of the three would help her if she asked and protect her if she needed. They were just those kind of guys. Reece, the bar's manager, with his stellar body covered with intricate tats, and the shaved head and beard he rocked so perfectly. Tyree--the original owner and founder of The Fix--who stood like a grizzly of a man, exuding both strength and patience. And Brent, a former cop and single dad who ran security for the bar. He was the only one of the three who hadn't been anointed as a Man of the Month, although Taylor happened to know that wasn't for lack of trying. Jenna was forever harassing him to enter, and lately Megan had jumped on that bandwagon, too.
Taylor figured they'd win that battle eventually. And when they did, Brent would win the contest. He had the kind of good looks Hollywood casting agents rubber-stamped with Leading Man. And the best part about Brent was that he didn't even seem to realize it. He focused on his job, his daughter, and his friends.
Today, Taylor really hoped she ranked in that last category, because his help was the reason she'd come back.
"--okay?"
She shook her head to clear it, then realized she'd only heard half of what Reece had said. "I'm sorry. What?"
"I said, hurry and get whatever you came back for, then get out of here. Trust me."
"He means that Jenna is in full-on mother hen mode," Brent said, chuckling. "If she sent you home, she wants you home."
"Got it," Taylor said. "But could I talk to you first?"
Brent's whiskey-brown eyes widened. "Well, sure. But the contest--"
"I know," she said. "But it's important. It's, um, a security thing."
At that, he shifted from laid-back to all-business. "We can talk in Tyree's office. I'll catch you guys later," he added to the other two, who, to Taylor's relief, didn't ask a single question.
As soon as she'd crossed over the threshold, she shut the door behind her. Brent noticed, but said nothing, just nodded to the guest chair in front of Tyree's desk. She sat, expecting him to sit in Tyree's chair. Instead, he leaned against the desk, his brow furrowed with concern. "So what's going on?"
"It's not about The Fix," she said quickly. "I'm sorry if you thought there was some sort of crisis on the job. There's not. Or, I guess, if there is, I don't know about it." She wanted to spit everything out. Instead she was rambling. Why was this so difficult?
Except that was a ridiculous question; she knew damn well why it was difficult. Because she'd been self-reliant for so long that getting help almost felt like she was breaking a secret pact she'd made with herself all those years ago. In a way, she supposed she was. But things had changed, and she loved this life. And, dammit, she wasn't going to give it up without a fight.
"It might be easier if you close your eyes," Brent said gently.
A laugh burbled out of her. "Is that what you tell Faith?" she asked, referring to his five-year-old daughter.