"Well, you don't ever have to worry about him trying to take me away again."
Pick blew out a breath before glancing around. "Where is the bastard anyway? Have they already taken him into custody?"
"Um . . . " I had no idea how to even start to tell him what had happened.
"Who owns this place?" One of the detectives asked, breaking into my thoughts.
"Oh!" I pointed to Pick. Yeah, I had a lot more to tell him than I'd initially thought. "Right here."
Pick glanced at me. "What?"
"There's a deed with your name on it in the office."
He shook his head, still confused. "I'm not following."
Yeah, there was plenty left to tell him. And there were a whole new batch of problems for me to work through. But at least this time around, I knew I had people who loved me and were willing to help me heal. To me, that meant I had everything.
Pick's Epilogue
PICK
Three Months Later
Some days I was grateful to Eva for the deal she'd made with her dad. As the new owner of Forbidden, I only had one job instead of two. Cleaning up all the mess after the shooting had taken up so much time, I'd had to quit my position at the garage, which was fine because now that things were beginning to settle back into place, I could be with my family more.
Other things were better as well. Tink and I had found a bigger apartment in a better neighborhood, closer to Reese and Mason. And not just a bigger apartment, but a three-bedroom apartment so Julian and Skylar each had their own space and their own cribs, away from our room. We could be as loud as we wanted to be.
Though I think the kiddos missed sleeping together because sometimes Tink and I still couldn't get them to settle down at night until they were snuggled up next to each other.
We'd also hired a lawyer to help us adopt Julian. The state had allowed us to keep him as foster parents after we'd gone through a couple classes. But he still wasn't ours for good.
But most of the time I was grinding my teeth in frustration for all the hassle Eva had put me through by making that deal with her dad. I had so much more responsibility now; it was crazy. Sitting in my office—which had been completely redesigned and moved to another room in the past few months after the murder-suicide—I was trying to figure out schedules and fix an incorrect order plus fill out all these freaking legal forms I didn't even know existed until I became a club owner when a knock on my door had me lifting my head.
It was a Thursday, so I had to hurry because I still didn't have a new bartender to replace me to help on ladies' night. I'd already lost the two I had hired, because neither of those had worked out. So, I was stuck working the floor every Thursday.
The guy I found lingering in my doorway looked youngish with waves of dark hair and bright grass-green eyes.
"I'm looking for . . . Pick?" he said as if he were sure he had my name wrong.
I nodded. "That's me. How can I help you?"
Shifting his weight from foot to foot and appearing nervous, he held out his hand when I stood up and approached him.
"Sir, I'm Asher Hart. And I—"
"Have we met before?" I frowned as I moved closer. He looked so damn familiar.
He faltered, even more antsy as he blinked. "No. I don't think so."
"Hmm." I studied him harder as he went on.
"Anyway, my buddies and I just started this band. We're kind of heavy metal with a folksy twist and call ourselves Non-Castrato. I think we'd really fit in with the Forbidden crowd."
I arched an eyebrow, making my brow ring pull a little. "Oh, you would, would you?"
We'd never had a live band before, didn't even have a deejay or an area appropriated for music. But the seed he planted was already making my head spin with a sudden flurry of ideas.
"Yeah," he went on, looking excited. "You guys have been getting really popular lately. Just imagine what holding a few gigs for local groups would do for you." Then he added, "We could play for free."
I grinned and shook my head. This kid was quite the salesman. But still . . . "I'm sorry, Hart, but I haven't even considered bringing bands in here. I'm still trying to find another bartender right now."
"I could bartend," he said helpfully, his eyes full of hope. Then he shrugged, and his lips lit with a rueful grin. "I mean, if we're not going to be paid to play, I'd have to make money somehow. On the nights we're not singing, I can mix drinks."
His enthusiasm warmed me, but I only sat back down in my big-ass boss chair and folded my hands together under my chin as I studied him. "You must not have a woman."
The question seemed to catch him off guard. "Uh, no. Why?"
"You just promised all your nights to me. That's not going to leave a lot of time for anything else."