“It’s great to meet you, Grace,” I say, shaking her hand. “We’re a small town, but I think you’ll like it here. Everyone looks out for each other, so you’ll be happy, for however long you plan to stay.”
Grace smiles tightly but doesn’t say a word.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask. “We’re a little packed tonight as you can see, so I’ll need to move along. We’re meant to have a new bartender starting tonight, but I can’t imagine where he is.”
“What a way to make an impression.” Grace chuckles lightly, and the tension seems to dissipate for the moment.
“Right?” I laugh as I pour another drink and place it beside Grace’s glass. “On the house,” I say. “To welcome you to our town.”
“Thank you so much.” Grace smiles. “But I really should get back to my son. He’ll be waiting for his dinner.”
“How old is your son?” I ask, thinking surely she wouldn’t leave a small child alone and hungry.
“Fourteen,” Grace answers. “He found some kids to play with at the motel, and their parents offered to watch them at the pool while I came out to get food.”
“That was nice of them,” I say, relief flooding through me. “But if you must go, I insist that you bring your son back here one day for lunch. I’m sure he’d love to meet Stone and Keets.”
“Stone?” Grace repeats, sitting up a little straighter.
“Do you know him?” I ask. Grace’s face is ashen, as though she’s seen a ghost.
“I . . . no,” she stammers, grabbing her purse from the counter and hopping off the bar stool. “I-I’m sorry, I really do have to go.”
“Grace, wait,” I call out, but the woman hurries out without a backwards glance.
What the hell was that about? I’d seen Stone at the bar a few times over the past few months, but never with anyone besides Keets. Hell, I didn’t even realize who he was until this morning. I just assumed he was a lonely drunk. Giving a small shrug, I turn my attention back to the bar and the people waiting to be served. The place is now filled to capacity. The local country band is playing up on the stage, and people are dancing on the floor as I busy myself with serving drinks. By 10 p.m., I’m exhausted. I keep glancing toward the door, waiting for the new worker to arrive.
Where the hell is Stone?
They’re going to break the door down.
It takes a moment of drunk cowering in the corner to realize it’s not the Taliban trying to break into our camp, but someone banging on my front door. I stumble through the messy living area with my half-empty bottle of beer, flinging open the front door to see Keets standing there, looking mighty angry. “Keets,” I slur, staggering against the door. I’m trying to act cocky and self-assured, ignoring the fact that a moment ago I was shaking like a leaf. “What’s up, man?”
He snarls and draws back his fist, sending me flying onto my ass, spilling my beer. Fresh pain explodes in my cheek and for a second, I’m dazed.
“What the fuck?” I sputter, touching my jaw.
“Don’t start,” Keets snaps, stepping over me and walking through to the bathroom. I unsteadily lurch to my feet and follow Keets into the bathroom, leaning against the door frame as I watch him turn on the shower. “Hey, wait,” I say, reaching for the beer Keets snatches out of my hand. “What are you doin’?”
“You know, sometimes you can be a real asshole,” Keets sneers, sounding disgusted as he pushes me under the cold water, clothes and all, ignoring my protests as he stands at the door. The water is like ice, and it sends a shock through me. I’m instantly half-sober. And fucking angry. “What the hell, Keets?” I roar, wiping the water from my eyes.
“You royally fucked up,” Keets says, not moving from his position. “You were meant to be at the bar four hours ago.”
What fucking bar? Saddles, right. The bar. Shit.
Realization dawns on me, and my head drops toward my chest as I groan. “I fucked up,” I admit dully.
“Royally,” Keets reminds me. What a great friend he is. “What the hell were you thinking? I put in a good word for you.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I apologize, raking a hand over my head. I’m surprised at how sorry I actually am. “Can I get out of the shower now?”
Keets studies my face for a minute then reluctantly steps aside and hands me a towel. “I’ll wait for you out there,” he tells me, indicating toward the door with his head. “Five minutes.” He leaves without looking back.
I turn the water off and step out of the shower. My clothes are soaked through, so I quickly step out of them and drop them into the washing machine on the far side of the bathroom, turning it on. A part of me can’t believe Keets shoved me into a cold shower, fully clothed… the other part applauds him. I dry myself and wrap the towel loosely around my waist before leaning my hands against the sink and staring at my reflection. I know I’ve screwed things up, but it’s too late to change now. I’m not the same, naive boy I once was. War turned me into a hard, cold man. I no longer believe the stories of love conquering all, or that the world is full of good, generous people. All I see is a cold, dark, desolate wasteland. Filled with hate, violence and disease from which there is no escape.
“Hurry up, Stone,” Keets’ voice sounds from the living room. “Don’t make me come back in there.”
I grin as I rub my fingertips over the stubble on my chin. My jaw is still tender when I touch it. I step back from the mirror and leave the bathroom, entering the living room where Keets sits on the couch.
“Christ, man, put some fucking clothes on!” Keets shouts, covering his eyes with one hand.
I glance down at myself, belatedly remembering that I’m only wearing a towel.
“Right,” I say, pointing toward the bedroom on the other side of the living room. “I’ll be right back.” I quickly walk behind the couch, holding up the towel with one hand as I push the bedroom door open and flick on the light with the other.
“You know, you’re a real jackass,” Keets calls out from the living room.
“We’ve established that,” I call back, pulling on a pair of faded blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. I grab my black boots and walk back out into the living room, sitting on the couch opposite Keets as I pull them on and quickly tie up the laces.
“No,” Keets says, watching me. “I mean you’re really a jackass.”
I sigh and sit up straight, looking my friend square in the eyes. “I know,” I stress, crossing my arms. “But what do you want me to do about it?”
“It’s not about what I want,” Keets states with a shrug, getting to his feet and pulling the keys to his truck out of his jeans pocket. “It’s about what Shannon wants.”
“And what does Shannon want?” I ask, surprised to realize I actually care about the answer.
“Well, now, that’s the question of the century,” Keets says with a soft smile. “I don’t think even she knows what she wants.”
“Do you love her?” I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. I know it’s none of my business. If Keets wanted me to know about his love life, he’d tell me.
He fidgets nervously with his glasses.
“Sorry, man,” I say. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s okay,” he replies, a faraway look on his face. “I think everyone who meets Shannon ends up having feelings for her. She’s such a sweet girl that it’s hard not to love her.”
“Sweet?” I echo with a laugh. “Tell that to the knife she was holding to my throat this morning.”
“I know she seems a bit rough around the edges,” Keets argues. “But you would be, too, if you’d lived her life.”
I’m suddenly very curious, as I’m being given a perfect opportunity to find out more about the strange woman who has my stomach in knots. “What about her life?” I ask, hoping I sound nonchalant.