“Thanks for meeting me,” I murmur as our lips break part from the most unemotional kiss we’ve ever shared.

He plops down on the chair to my left with a single nod. “You were annoyingly insistent, so I’m here. What’s going on?”

“I…uh, I just haven’t seen you much lately, and uh, with your working so much and my studying,” I stumble over my half-lie, “I thought it’d be nice to do something outside the house for a change.”

Right about the time he gives me the I’m-not-buying-your-bullshit look, Mary barrels through the door along with a gust of wind, drawing everyone’s attention to her, including Crew’s. Snapping his head in my direction, his expression instantly morphs from detached to downright pissed off, his blazing eyes boring straight through me.

“You invited my mother? Why would you do that to me?” he hisses through clenched teeth, venom spurting out with his words.

I don’t answer as Mary cautiously draws near to the table. She can no doubt read the fury etched in Crew’s face, and by the time she reaches us, the tears are already gushing from her eyes.

“Honey, don’t blame Hudson for this,” she begins, hiccupping through her sobs. “She didn’t want to do this, but I begged her. I need to talk to you, and you won’t return my calls or texts.”

Banging his fists on the table, his brow furrows into one straight, angry line. “I don’t call you back, because I don’t want to talk to you. There’s nothing left to discuss. Leaving your epileptic kid at home alone, because you wanted to watch a movie with your boyfriend, prioritizing your life like you’re thirteen instead of forty-three, you may as well have cracked his skull yourself!”

“Crew!” I snap, stupefied at the way he’s speaking. “A little respect? We’re all hurting here, and you know we all thought Caleb’s health had improved enough to stay home for a little while by himself. We talked about it!”

“Fuck respect, and fuck you,” he sneers at me with an evil laugh as he rests back in his chair. “Oh wait, I already do…it’s the only reason I keep you around. And you’re so fucking blinded by your ‘Hudson the Hippie Healer’ act, you’re too naïve to realize when you’re being used like a whore.”

I begin to tremble uncontrollably as a myriad of emotions—namely hatred, humiliation, and heartbreak—take my entire body hostage. Any pieces of my heart that were still intact before his last outburst are now smashed beyond recognition.

“Newsflash,” he continues, overflowing with rage. “I. Hate. You. If you hadn’t shown up to spy on me at work that night, I would’ve never had to follow your stupid ass and make sure your feelings weren’t hurt, and I would’ve gone home. Caleb’s death is just as much on you as it is on me and Mom. So enjoy living with that bit of knowledge for the rest of your life.”

The few remaining threads I’ve been clutching to so tightly finally slip through my fingers, and I realize that to preserve my own self, I have to let him go. Standing up in a state of numbness, my mind can’t even process the verbal spars he and Mary are trading. I grab my things and stagger out the glass door to my car, leaving behind the two of them, a cup of coffee, and my shattered heart.

I don’t remember driving home. I don’t remember taking a shower. And I don’t remember getting in bed.

But when I wake up alone the following morning, I know the hollow emptiness I feel inside is something I’ll never forget.

Of all the fucking nights for Half Pipe to be slow, of course it’d be the night I really need a distraction from my shitty ass life. That’s par for the motherfucking course these days. Anything that can possibly go wrong, most definitely will.

For the first hour, I brood around behind the bar, slamming shit down and grumbling under my breath. After I break my third glass—none of them on purpose—Brody appears from the office, looking more than a little perturbed.

“I think Rory can handle it tonight. We’re pretty light, so why don’t you take a night to get your shit together and try again tomorrow? At this rate, you’re gonna cost me more in glassware than we’ll profit tonight.”

His tone is lighthearted, but it doesn’t mask the concern flickering in his eyes. I know he, along with everyone else, is waiting with bated breath for my big post-death explosion. The day where I decide I’m tired of being numb and face the reality that my little brother is dead, gone forever, and I start throwing shit while dropping f-bombs every other word.

Hudson and my mom pushed me close to the tipping point earlier with their little sneak attack, but I was able to reel it back in before I fully gave in to the emotion. Thankfully, Hudson didn’t stick around long, because if she would’ve called me on the bullshit I was spewing at her, I probably would’ve broken down in tears and admitted that I hate how much I love her, and how she’s the only flicker of light left in my life. Instead, I hurt her with my vicious words, which almost feels as good as it does bad.

Not that any of that makes any sense…I’m fucking worthless.

“I can stay, man. I promise I’ll be fine,” I implore, hoping he magically develops ESP and realizes I have nowhere to go if he makes me leave.

But he doesn’t. “Seriously, Crew. Go ahead and clock out, and grab a beer or something. Just chill for a while. No worries.”

A beer. Yeah, a beer sounds good.

And a shot. Yes, definitely a shot too. Maybe a few.

“Sure thing, man.” I nod and stride over to the computer, signing off with my employee passcode before taking a seat on the opposite side of the bar—the drinking side—and motioning for Rory to bring me a cold beer. A little alcohol should help push this afternoon’s memories a little farther to the back of my mind, and then I can figure out where I’m crashing tonight. Yeah, great plan.

“So you gonna tell me what happened, or you just gonna let me assume something terrible?” Rory cocks his eyebrow as he sets the green Dos Equis bottle and three tequila-filled shot glasses in front of me.

I snicker crossly and lift the cold glass to my lips, taking a long drink of the refreshing beer. “If your assuming something terrible includes being ganged up on by your mom and ex-girlfriend two weeks after your little brother died a preventable death, I’d go with that option.”

He blinks hard. Then does it again. “Wow, man. Sorry to hear that. What happened with you and Hudson? I thought you were staying with her?”

“I was.” Tossing all three shots back, one right after the other, I shake my head as I revel in the burning sensation left in my chest and gut. “Pretty sure I’m a free man now.”

Stealing a glimpse at whoever just slinked up next to me, female based on scent alone, Rory groans and pushes back away from the bar like the Grim Reaper just joined our conversation. Which, based on my luck lately, wouldn’t surprise me one fucking bit.

“Did I just hear you say you’re single?” Tasha’s undeniable voice breathes heavily into my neck, the bridge of her nose skimming the shell of my ear. “‘Cause tonight just got a helluva lot better if you did.”

Ignoring her, I take another lengthy pull from my beer and chuckle to myself. She couldn’t have timed her approach any better, and I can’t decide if I really care that she knows Hudson and I are through. ‘Cause I know there’s no way she’d stay with me after the shit I said to her this afternoon. I shrug. What the fuck ever.

Caleb’s not replaceable. But she sure as shit is.

“What are you doing on this side of the bar tonight? Shouldn’t you be working?” She attempts to make conversation again as she slides onto the empty barstool to my right, relentless in her pursuit.

“It was dead, so Rory’s handling the bar while I relax and enjoy a beer. What about you? Why are you up here on your night off?” I finally twist my neck to look over at her, not surprised at all to see her non-work attire shows just as much cleavage as the tops she wears while on duty. Shit, her neckline plunges so low, I could probably motorboat her right here at the bar, and she wouldn’t have to adjust the sweater at all. My cock stirs under my zipper.