Greer sighed, grabbed my shoulders, and turned me so I was facing the room.
“Right, he has, and we both know what he wants is for you to go back to work. He’s not going to be able to for Lord knows how long, so he’s going to have to live vicariously through you for a while, Royal. What he’s always wanted for you is for you to live up to your full potential. Don’t let this knock you down after how hard you’ve worked to build yourself up.”
If only it was that easy. I inhaled deeply and took the step I had been avoiding for two weeks.
He was propped up in the bed, dark hair mussed all over his head. His green eyes were locked on the doorway, obviously watching for me. His big body was all wrapped up in plaster and bandages. His handsome face was dark with irritation and a scruff of beard that was pretty impressive. He looked terrible and wonderful all at the same time. I was so lucky that he was still alive and I wasn’t the one having to tell his family that they had lost another person they loved to the job.
I couldn’t help it, the waterworks started up. I really wasn’t much of a crier, but something inside of me was wrong, off, or not working right. The tears leaked out and Dom reached out his uninjured arm slowly, the small movement obviously hurting him.
I bolted to the side of the bed and let him tug me softly to his side. I felt his lips touch the top of my head and his broad chest rumbled as he told me, “’Bout damn time.”
All I could do was whisper back, “I know.”
I should have been here all along, or even more accurately, I should have been the one lying in this hospital bed all along. How was Dom ever going to forgive me if I knew there was never going to be a time when I could forgive myself?
CHAPTER 3
Asa
The following weekend came and went without any kind of incident. I wasn’t sure if that was because Royal had taken my warning to heart and stayed home, or because Rome’s friend Dashel—Dash—Churchill was officially on the payroll. There was no way anyone would be stupid enough to tangle with the massive wall of muscle that hardly spoke but glowered like a pro. The guy’s scowl was enough to shut down even the slightest bit of misbehavior, and while the break in having to be the bad guy was nice, I was worried the guy’s dark and brooding demeanor could scare off potential customers.
Rome was fairly hulking, and on the quiet side as well, but there was something about this other ex-soldier that indicated, loud and clear, that at some point in time not too long ago, the man had been a stone-cold killer and was not to be messed with. Even Dixie, who could get along with anyone and everyone, was giving the new recruit a wide berth, even if she was also giving the brute an interested side eye when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. All the ladies in the bar seemed to think the caramel-skinned behemoth with his mixed ancestry and impenetrable dark gaze was easy on the eyes—not that he seemed to give a rat’s ass about the female attention.
It was slow for a Monday night, so I had sent both of them home early and let Avett close down the kitchen. There was no sense in paying them to hang around when there was only one person at the bar. I knew Zeb Fuller pretty well. He was friends with my brother-in-law and the rest of the crew I spent most of my time with, and he was a regular at the Bar. He was another beast of a man that emanated a whole lot of don’t-fuck-with-me. It must be something about the clean mountain air that allowed the men in the state to grow into giants. I wasn’t small by any stretch of the imagination, but more often than not, I found myself eye to eye or having to look up at most of the guys that made up my social circle. It was just one more incentive to keep my ass in line. There were way too many guys around that were very capable of kicking my ass six ways to Sunday if I screwed up again.
Zeb had a pensive look on his face and was absently stroking his beard. Since moving to Denver, I had learned quickly that the three B’s ruled all—beards, beer, and babes. The mile-high had a plethora of all those things, and when in doubt a conversation could always be started by picking one of the holy trinity. In a pinch, the Broncos always worked as a substitute B as well. Zeb had the beard, he didn’t drink beer, and I knew, since he was at the Bar spilling his guts all the time, that his current babe situation was stuck in neutral because the girl he was hung up on seemed clueless to how he felt about her. She was also the older sister of one of his best friends, Rowdy, who wasn’t exactly thrilled with Zeb’s interest in his sibling.
I was finishing wiping down the bar and restocking the cooler while Zeb sulked into his almost empty glass of Jack and Coke. I never thought I would be the guy that others went to with their problems. I wasn’t exactly sympathetic or patient with things that I thought were obvious, but ever since I stepped foot behind that bar, I felt more like a therapist than a drink slinger. What was even more shocking was that I liked it. I liked being able to see the situation from the outside and point out things from my own unique perspective. After all, I had screwed up enough for an entire army of people, so I figured I might as well put those hard lessons learned to good use.
“Why don’t you just ask her out on a date?” I tossed the bar towel onto the dirty-rag pile and picked up the remote to turn off the TVs. I was going to shut it all down at midnight since Zeb was the only customer and I knew enough to know he just wanted to talk, not to drink.