About two weeks after the night at the hospital, I walked into the Bar full of trepidation. Rome had called and asked me to come in an hour early because he wanted to talk to me about something. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out if I had screwed something up or done something wrong, but his grave tone was more serious than usual and it made my long-honed self-preservation instincts kick in. If he was going to can me, tell me to get lost, I told myself it was no big deal. I could hit the road, I could figure out something else to do, but the Bar had really sort of become the first place that felt like it was solid under my feet, and I didn’t want to admit that losing that scared the hell out of me. Not having this place really would set me adrift, and when I was adrift I got into trouble … lots of trouble.
Ayden and Jet had stayed for a week. My sister wanted to be there when Shaw took baby Ry home and got settled. The nickname was cute and Shaw loved it because she was a huge J. D, Salinger fan, plus knowing who the kid’s dad was, he was bound to have a little Holden Caulfield rebellion in him. It wasn’t enough time with my sister, and even though I could see she was happy, really happy with her choice to move in order to get more time with her man, I missed her and I could see that she was still worrying too much about me. I tried to tell her that I was fine. I tried to explain that if I was going to fuck up, it wouldn’t matter if she was here in Denver or in Austin, but that just made her tawny eyes spark at me in anger. I loved Ayden more than I ever knew I was capable of, but I wasn’t going to try and fool her into believing that I was never going to screw up again. All I could do was try. Try and be better, try and be honest, try staying on the right side of the law and not running when things got hard. Trying was just going to have to be enough. For Ayden and for me.
During the day the Bar was fairly quiet. There was a whole slew of retired veterans that liked to hang out and share old war stories. It never ceased to amaze me how many of them had to do with ex-wives and old lovers rather than any actual war. Rome typically opened the bar up and hung out until I got there in the early evening to run the night shift. He wanted to be home with his family during the evening and I couldn’t say I blamed him for that. Being a retired soldier himself, Rome had an easy way with the grizzled clientele and preferred to leave the more lively and rambunctious party crowd to me.
When I walked in the front doors, he wasn’t around, and Brite, the guy who had sold Rome the Bar in the first place, was standing in my usual spot behind the long wooden bar. Darcy, the Bar’s cook and Brite’s ex-wife, had her head poking out of the kitchen and the two of them appeared to be arguing in low voices.
I don’t think either of them copped to the fact that they might be exes but were still practically married. Wife number three was long gone, and Darcy wasn’t just his only child’s mother, but really the love of his life. I had asked Rome about it once and he just shrugged and told me that good women were complicated and hard to hold on to. I didn’t understand it until I walked into the liquor storeroom unannounced one day between shifts and found Darcy with her legs in the air and Brite’s giant form hovering over her in an unmistakable way. There might not be rings, but there was love and passion still there. Too bad their daughter was a grade-A pain in the ass.
Brite cut off whatever he was saying to Darcy, and she ducked back into the kitchen. His teeth flashed at me through the miles of beard that covered his face and he crossed his arms over his barrel-like chest. Brite had so much don’t-fuck-with-me pouring off of him it always surprised me how soft-spoken and insightful he really was. He looked like a Hell’s Angel not a savior, but he was. He had saved this bar. He had saved Rome. He had given all those vets a place to feel secure, and now he was trying his hardest to save his obviously wayward daughter even though she absolutely didn’t seem to appreciate the fact.
“How’s it going, son?” His voice rumbled like thunder over the Rockies.
I shrugged off my coat and ran my hands through my hair. “It’s going. You have any idea why Rome called me in early?”
He shook his head and lifted a bushy eyebrow at me. “How is Avett doing? Tell me the truth, Asa. Rome doesn’t want me to worry, says he can handle her, but I raised that girl. I know all the kinds of headaches she can be.”
I sighed under my breath. “Her attitude sucks. She doesn’t listen. She fights with Darcy. She hates it here, which is a shame because she’s one hell of a good cook.” She really was. When she wasn’t just throwing together the bar food the joint specialized in, when she made something for herself or was playing around, the girl was obviously talented. I told Darcy once that someone should tell Avett to go to culinary school, to which Darcy had sighed and looked like she was going to cry. Turned out Avett had just flunked out of regular college, so any kind of expensive specialty school clearly wasn’t in the cards. The girl was on a downward spiral. I could see it clear as day, mostly because it was a ride I was all too familiar with.
Brite swore under his breath and raised a hand to stroke his beard. “You feel comfortable firing her if she crosses a line?”
I dipped my chin down, thinking about the beer in her purse. “I will do what I have to in order to keep the Bar and Rome safe.”
He nodded grimly at me. “That’s what I wanted to hear. She’s driving Darce nuts. The girl is going to be the death of us both.”
I made a noise of agreement. “Rome in the office?”
Brite nodded and again flashed me a grin that had to fight through his facial hair. “You look nervous, son. Don’t be.”