Colt, Sundial, Levi, and Rob sit on the flat deck of Colt’s truck with me, waiting for the verdict from Denny. The air’s cold and crisp, with abrutal wind, but I’m sweating. Unable to focus on the guys’ conversation.
Denny crashes through the bar’s front doors with a grin and practically skips over to us. “We’re allowed in but you”—he juts his finger into my chest—“need to be on your best behaviour.”
“Great. We’re fucked.” Colt throws his hands up.
“Shut the hell up.” Walking toward the double doors, I stick my boot out to trip him. Thanks to the amount of road pops he drank on the way, Colt barely manages to stop himself from face-planting into a pile of dirty snow. Giggling as he rights himself and carries on.
My hand lands on the door handle, and I stop breathing. With the flip of an imaginary switch, my body mindlessly goes through the motions—walking into the warm building and across the worn floorboards guided by muscle memory. Despite the edges of my vision getting foggy, I keep my eyes trained on the table along the back wall. Our usual spot. When I sit down next to Denny, I stare at the knots and dings in the shiny wood table. If I lift my head, I might see Cass. And, as much as I want to see her, I’m terrified of how I’ll feel when she makes it obvious she doesn’t want to see me.
There’s not much time to panic before she’s there. Right fucking there at the side of our table. Hair in a high ponytail, sparkling eyes, and…shit, her tits have probably doubled in size since I last held them. Either that, or she’s wearing a serious push-up bra. All I know is I’m immediately envisioning them pouring out from my hands while she’s on top of me. And there’s no denying she’s pregnant anymore.
How has so much changed in two weeks? Two weeks I should’ve been there for.
“Hey,” she says softly.
“Hey,” I reply. The other guys may as well not even be here. “You look beautiful.”
“Liar.” She tugs at the hem of her dark-green long sleeve, tilting her head to hide a small smile. When she looks back up, our eyes meet for asplit second before she redirects her focus to the rest of the guys. “You guys need a round of beer?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Denny says. “You do look great, by the way.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
I watch her walk across the empty dance floor, stopping to grab a few empty glasses from another table, then putting in our order with Dave. He doesn’t so much as glance at her—shooting daggers at me as he pours pint after pint. I’m fully prepared for him to hurtle his body over the bar top and charge at me. Maybe pull a gun from under the bar and take me out with a quick headshot.
But he simply fills the glasses, then turns away to do something else. Whatever Denny did or said to convince him to let us in here, I’m impressed.
Thank God it’s not long before she’s back with a round of beer. Then a second. Then third. The boys are doing some heavy drinking to make up for lost time, since most of them have avoided this place for as long as I have. Cass flutters around the place like a hummingbird, never stopping for longer than necessary. It’s no wonder why her back hurts and she’s always so damn tired. I should be going home with her to massage those aching muscles tonight.
After setting down the fourth round, she lingers with a yawn. Her hands rest underneath her stomach, cradling it as she leans against the table. “You all better tip good. It’s rude to make the pregnant girl hustle back and forth all night because you insist on sitting the furthest from the bar.”
“We can move,” I offer. But, looking around, there’s nowhere else that can seat all six of us. “Or not…”
Denny beams at her. “We love you, Cass. I’m sure Red would be more than happy to show our appreciation in other ways.”
“Wow, is that all my time and energy is worth? Serving really is a thankless job.” Her hand finds the back of my chair, seeking stability so she can lean between Denny and me to grab a pair of empty beer glasses. Her tits are so damn close to my head it makes my dickhurt. Then her fingertips graze my back, sending a shiver up my spine. It’s likely my imagination getting the best of me, but I swear her fingers stay where they are for longer than necessary. The simple touch rushes through me with a buzz and, when she pulls away, I can’t breathe.
“I’d offer my type of thank you, but I think the big guy would kill me.” Denny winks at her before slapping me on the back, restarting my heart. If any other guy made a similar comment, I would remove their testicles with the dirty work knife I keep in my pocket.
She chuckles—the sweet version, not her true laugh. I hate knowing what her laugh sounds like and not being able to hear it every day.
“That’s the most unappealing proposition I’ve gotten all night. And Toothless George told me he has a pregnancy kink while he had a dollop of ketchup on his ZZ Top beard.” She walks away, arms loaded with empty pint glasses.
Toothless George. He’s been old, toothless, and permanently drunk for as long as I can remember. He’s gotta be at least ten years older than my dad. How is it Joe’s going to drop dead of liver failure any minute and this fucker will probably spend the next twenty years slumped over that bar? Not that my dad doesn’t deserve to have his liver fail… but still. It’s bullshit that the world works this way.
“You good, bud?” Denny elbows me. “You look spacey.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about Toothless George.”
“Afraid he’s gonna steal your girl? I heard he has a big inheritance. Can’t say I’d blame her if she gets the choice between you two.”
“Fuck right off. I’m thinking about why he gets to live another day.”
“Hey man, being part of the sick parent club fucking sucks. I’ve been there… Just a heads up, the dead parent club isn’t great either.” He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before picking up his beer glass and downing it.
When his mom died, it hit me hard, too. Obviously, I would never try to compare my grief to that of Denny, Jackson, and Austin, but Lucy Wells was more of a mom than I’d ever had. She taught me how to cook a steak, how to ride a horse, and how to add fractions. My mom taughtme that fictional men are apparently always better than the real version, the proper way to roll a cigarette, and the lyrics to every single Fleetwood Mac song—not saying those aren’t surprisingly useful life skills.
Knowing my dad is dying doesn’t feel like it did when we found out Denny’s mom was dying. There weren’t any conflicting emotions about losing her. It was pure misery for every person who was blessed enough to know her—the entire town was devastated. With my dad, I’m torn between relief from knowing karma is finally kicking that son of a bitch in the ass, anger that he couldn’t even be bothered to tell me himself, and disappointment because he’ll never have the opportunity to turn his life around. Despite everything he’s done, there’s always been a tiny part of me hoping things could change.
