Which was just as well.
He watched Shelley follow after Briar, ignoring the sinking sensation in his chest and shoving away the deep ache that whispered he was making a mistake. Shaking his head, he told himself that it was the right thing to do. He might be a free man, but he wasn’t free enough. Not free to be with her. He was trying to get his life together and he didn’t need a complication like Briar Davis. She made him feel like he was unraveling at the seams.
The next hour passed in a blur.
Aunt Alice appeared before him with a huff. “Okay, that’s the third drink order you messed up. At this rate I won’t have any tips tonight. Clearly your head’s somewhere else.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand, cutting him off. “Nope. Not gonna hear it. Ever since that pretty thing showed up and you disappeared with her in the back, you’ve been distracted. Why don’t you take off early? Jimmy and I will lock up.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, clearly indicating she thought he should go after Briar.
“Aunt Alice, I got this—-”
She pointed in the direction of the door. “Go on now. You been here almost every day this week. Don’t come back tomorrow. I’ll see you Monday.”
With a sigh, he nodded and stepped around the bar, exiting through the back. He could at least check in on Uncle Mac. Hopefully, he’d eaten something besides Hostess cakes for dinner. Knox had made spaghetti yesterday so he wouldn’t have to resort to his usual junk food dinner.
Aunt Alice had done her best to take care of him over the years, but she had her own family to look after, in addition to working at Roscoe’s. Now that Knox was out, he was hoping to ease some of the burden for both his uncle and aunt. He had a lot to make up for.
He sat in his truck for a moment before starting the engine. He stared vacantly into the back parking lot. Some of the perimeter lights were out and he made a mental note to take care of that this week.
The old farmhouse where he grew up was only ten minutes from Roscoe’s. He drove past the fallow fields that Uncle Mac, North, and he had planted and harvested growing up. The sight of it in the moonlight, darkly barren with only patches of wilted grass, settled like rocks in the chest.
The porch light was still burning brightly as he drove up. Sandy hopped down the steps and barked at him as he pulled next to his uncle’s pickup. Uncle Mac didn’t use it much these days—-the stiffness in his left leg getting to be too much even for a simple drive into town. He added getting his uncle’s truck inspected to the to--do list growing in his head.
It wasn’t even midnight yet, but Mac kept odd hours. His various medications kept him up at night. Unsurprisingly, his uncle was camped out in the living room in front of the television watching a rerun of Mash.
“Uncle Mac,” he greeted. “How’s it going?”
He waved from his recliner. “Good. Not closing tonight?”
“Alice offered to.”
His uncle nodded and glanced at the clock. “Eleven--thirty on a Saturday. In my day, the night would have just been getting started.”
His uncle wanted him to have a life outside of work and looking after him, and he didn’t bother disguising that fact.
“Alice mentioned that you’ve got a few admirers at Roscoe’s.”
Knox laughed once, shaking his head. Of course they were talking about him and his nonexistent life, as they deemed it. Those admirers were regulars and had more mileage on them than his uncle’s old Dodge. He wasn’t interested in any of them. Briar flashed across his mind. Fresh--faced and smelling of pears. Shit.
He patted his uncle on the shoulder. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Knox made a move toward his bedroom down the hall, but his uncle’s beefy hand shot out to grab his arm. His grip was still surprisingly strong. Even after the stroke, after losing Katie . . . after Knox and North went to prison and Aunt Sissy died, his hands were still strong. So capable.
They were the same hands that had picked up Knox and his brother when they’d fallen off their bikes as boys. He was the only father they had ever known. Knox wouldn’t fail him. He couldn’t. Not again.
He met his uncle’s rheumy gaze. “You can’t run from life,” his uncle said. “From living. I don’t want that. Neither would Katie or your aunt.”