Tamar sidled up beside him, long hair the most vibrant kind of red. Her lips were dyed even redder, and she quirked them up in a sexy grin as she snatched the bottle of vodka from Charlie’s hand. “Pssh. You don’t know wild, old man.”
Laughter trickled from me, and I shook my head as I slid the napkin where I’d written the five girls’ drinks on across the bar.
“What, is Savannah getting too boring for your L.A. blood?” I teased her, lifting a brow at my friend who stood out in this bar just about as bad as Sebastian had the first time I’d seen him hidden in his corner booth.
“Never,” she shot back with a smile. “I like boring just fine. Why do you think I’ve stuck around so long?”
“Uh…pretty sure that’d be because of me, darlin’,” Charlie supplied, stretching his arms out like he was the obvious gift of living in Savannah.
No doubt, he was a bonus.
He’d been taking care of Tamar and me since we’d walked through Charlie’s doors years ago, each of us escaping here for our own reasons. I’d been running home and Tamar had been running from home.
An ironic expression slid across Tamar’s face as she poured the vodka across three shot glasses. “Now who’s full of himself?”
Charlie had been giving Tamar crap about being full of herself since she started working here. Neither of us had ever seen her not completely put together, not a piece of hair out of place, makeup thick yet flawless, clothes just like she’d stepped out of one of those motorcycle magazines, tattooed skin for days.
She was a force.
Unwilling to allow anyone to mess with her.
I had my suspicions she’d been messed with enough.
But she was the kind of force to be welcomed, the girl proud yet profoundly loyal.
Charlie’s expression turned sly. “Just tellin’ it like it is, sweetheart. And for the record, my bar isn’t anything close to boring.”
With a laugh, I shook my head.
Cocky old man.
His smile faded, and he looked at me seriously. “But for real, how’s it goin’ out there, Bear? You doing okay tonight?”
The smile I gave him was soft and appreciative, and it only just hinted at an eye-roll because my burly, softy of an uncle had taken all that fatherly concern he typically watched me with to a striking new level.
But I completely understood it. His concern wasn’t just for me. He was worried about Kallie’s welfare, just as much as the rest of us. He was thinking of her future and the threat of what may come to pass.
Martin Jennings’s resurgence lurked like cobwebs in the corners of my mind.
Weeks had passed without a word. It left me in a state of disquiet. Constantly on guard. But I refused to give my life to a worry that for the time I couldn’t control.
I would relish in this moment’s harmony and savor the love I’d been given.
No, I was no fool. There was so much to worry about, concern flying at us from every direction. But that was another thing my grandmother had taught me.
You take what you’re given and make the very best of it. Live life to the fullest even when it might feel empty. Live like there are no barriers when there are walls towering in front of you. Be prepared to fight, even in times of peace. And be willing to live in peace when there are wars raging all around you.
And God, this was going to be a war.
I could feel it.
Felt it to the deepest places in my spirit. In that instinctual place born the first time I held my daughter in my arms. A mother’s knowledge. A gut feeling that whispered and warned and told me to prepare.
Part of me had been preparing for years, because I knew Martin would never forget what I knew.
But in the meantime, while I lay in wait, I wouldn’t be shirking or shrinking, and I refused to give into the misery that simmered like a threat in the darkest fragment of me.
For now, I chose to live.
And when this life called me to fight, I would fight.
“I’m just fine, Charlie. Really,” I promised.