Hold On

I disconnected, threw my phone in my purse, and hauled my ass out to go to work.

I did this hoping we’d have a busy night. I needed a ton of tips.

Because I had a feeling I might be facing attorney’s fees.

*

Two hours later, I stared down at the end of the bar where Colt and Sully were bent over their beers, looking at each other, smiling and chuckling.

Feb was on. Jackie was looking after Colt and Feb’s little Jack.

This happened. Colt liked to hang with his woman when she was on.

Then again, Colt just liked to be with his woman and they both liked to give their son’s gramma time to be with her grandson.

Drew Mangold, another detective, had been in. He’d left fifteen minutes ago.

Mike had been there too. When I got there, he’d been sitting with Colt and Sully, shooting the shit, an after-work drink that led to two with cop bonding. But he’d left less than half an hour after I hit the bar for my shift.

No Merry.

He didn’t come into J&J’s every day.

But he was a regular. Once a week, more often two or three times, sometimes more.

It had nearly been a week since I blew things up.

He was avoiding me.

This scared me. He didn’t seem the kind to hold a grudge. He was a straight shooter. He had a problem with you, he told you to your face and didn’t delay (not that he’d ever had a problem with me, but I’d seen him have problems with other people and that was what he did).

He was not doing this with me.

He also wasn’t living his life as he had so there was an opening for us to gloss over it and move on.

So it was safe to say I was worried. I’d not apologized. I’d not reached out in any way. There was no door open he could slide through so we could start the work to get back to the him and me that used to be.

My attention was called, a customer wanting a draft.

I pulled it, all the ugly shit that had come out of my mouth that I’d aimed at Merry slamming through my brain as I did.

I served the draft. The guy paid. I got a good tip that would probably pay for half a second of an attorney’s time. I moved down the bar after a scan showed me some drinks needed refills.

I made drinks, notes on tabs, pocketing tips on those who paid outright and didn’t open a tab.

Done with that, I glanced down at Colt and Sully. Feb was standing with them but twisted, her eyes on me.

She smiled a soft smile.

She’d noted Merry hadn’t come in too.

I returned a cocky grin.

She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t act on that.

At that moment, Ruthie bellied up to the bar with an order.

I moved her way.

*

Early Tuesday Morning

It was four o’clock in the morning. Mom was snoring on the couch. Ethan was sleeping in his bed. I was in my bed, the room dark, my phone illuminated.

I fucked us up, I typed into Merry’s text string.

I deleted it.

I fucked us up, I typed again, my eyes beginning to burn.

I deleted it again.

I miss you? I didn’t tell him, typing it with no intention of sending it.

I backspaced through it.

I fucked us up, baby, and I’m so fucking sorry.

I didn’t hit send, but I also didn’t erase it.

Like it could just exist and he’d somehow get it without me giving it to him, I left it there, closed down my phone, tossed it on the nightstand, turned to my side, closed my blazing eyes, and did not sleep.

*

Garrett

Tuesday Night

Getting home after work, Garrett sifted through his mail at the kitchen bar, wondering how the fuck he got so many catalogs when he’d never bought a thing from a catalog in his life, and in the same time, he’d never made an online purchase.

Bills. Credit card applications. Life insurance offers.

And there it was.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, staring at the handwriting.

Solely out of curiosity, he opened the envelope.

Upending it, an eight-by-ten color glossy slid out on his bar, face up. Stuck on it was a bright pink Post-it note in the shape of a heart.

It read, I messed this up. I didn’t work for it. I’m going to work for it, baby.