“Sweetheart, you know you’re the only MILF I want seeing my tits. I’ll give you the VIP treatment, even.”
Denny grimaces. “Cool it, Romeo. I already know enough about your guys’ sex life. Save the cringey dirty talk for later.”
“Would you rather hear the non-cringey stuff?” Cass looks up at me with a smile so big I bet it can be seen from space. Her hands lightly, absentmindedly rub over her baby bump.
Before I say something stupid—one of her many rules I still find myself trying to follow—I leave to do Cassidy’s job so Dave doesn’t lose his shit. Do I tell every table I pass to go place their own damn orders at the bar? Absolutely. Wouldn’t kill most of them to get some exercise, anyway.
Things are going smoothly. Dave seems less likely to kill me with every trip to the bar. Regardless of how much he hates me, he’s not going to force his pregnant daughter to get back on her feet when I’m capable and willing. We both want what’s best for Cass and, right now, that’s drinking a root beer and talking to Denny.
“You gonna be bitch boy for her all night?” says a guy who’s best described as the crusty cum sock under a teenage boy’s bed. Landon Wiebe. Twenty-eight years old and desperately trying to become a rapper. Somehow he hasn’t realized nobody gives a shit about rap lyrics from a punk who’s never left his mom’s basement in small-town Canada.
“Whaddya need, Wiebe?” I slip my hands in the front pockets of my jeans because it’ll buy me a few seconds to think about my actions if the next words from his mouth are deserving of a punch.
“Bro—just sayin’—I heard Cassidy fucked a few guys at the rodeo. Now she’s got you trapped with a baby that’s probably not even yours.”
I crack my neck and tighten the fists in my pockets, wishing Cass was here to calm my inner demons. The way she did when I wanted to hit that arrogant ex of hers in the grocery store parking lot. “Keep herfuckingname out of your slimy mouth, skid.”
I look at her briefly. Carefree, relaxed. I should walk away—go to her. Wrap her in my arms, inhale her sweet perfume, and ignore the crap spewing from this loser’s mouth. But it feels like my feet are cemented to the floor, and no amount of electric zaps from a cattle prod could get me to move.
“Bro, I’m just sayin’ what I heard.” He shrugs and looks over at his equally stupid, ugly, wannabe-rapper friends. Then he laughs. “I heard she’s a slut and, like, fucked a whole load of dudes. Guess if it comes out a ginger, you’ll know for sure, though.”
I want to give him a final warning. I do. Because every rational part of my brain knows I shouldn’t do anything to piss off Cass or Dave. But I can’t give him another warning because the alcohol and the rage combine in my stomach, burning me from the inside out. So I snap. Seeing red, the pockets do nothing to stop my hands from grabbing the front of his hoodie, yanking his pinner body closer to mine.
“You wanna talk about the mother of my child? I’ll make sure you don’t even make it to the hospital,bro.” My words land with spit droplets against his ugly face. Then my fist makes contact with his jaw, right as his friends strike from all sides.
My tunnel vision’s smaller and smaller. If time’s moving, I’m unaware. Soon, all I can see is a fist—I assume mine—hitting Landon Wiebe’s narrow nose. And I don’t feel anything until there’s a hand on the back of my shirt, pulling me backward, out of the brawl. My ass slams onto the sticky bar floor.
Maybe it’s been ten seconds, maybe ten minutes. Maybe I only hit him twice, maybe we’re both bloody messes. I have no idea.
Blinking to clear my vision, I see my friends fighting the skids. And the person who yanked me out of there still has a firm grip on my shirt—Dave.
Fuck.
Send me back into the middle of the donnybrook full of flying fists, knocked over chairs, and spilled drinks. I’ll take that over whatever fury Dave is going to unleash.
“My office.Now.” He points toward the double doors leading into the back, then stalks toward the group to break them up.
My heart’s hammering inside my chest and my skull at the same time, threatening to beat so hard it seizes completely. With Dave’s back turned, I could slip out to the parking lot or jump back into the fight. A lot ofgood either of those would do when I’m stuck with Dave just as much as he’s stuck with me. Our worlds revolve—and collide—around Cassidy’s sunshine.
I stand up slowly, too afraid to search for Cass and see whatever emotion she’s feeling right now. Disappointment, anger, fear, worry. I can’t handle any of that. I don’t remember the last time I worried about anything other than winning the fight. My reputation’s long been ruined, and impressing people was the lowest priority. Before she came along and gave me a reason to want to be a decent guy. Although, my Cassidy-induced good behaviour hasn’t changed anything—I’m still here, pining over a girl who doesn’t give a fuck about me and fighting guys who talk shit about her. Nothing has changed.
Keeping my eyes trained on the dirty, worn flooring, I push through the doors and locate Dave’s small office. In total contrast to Cassidy, who has everything neatly organized and clean, this place looks like somebody let a wild animal run amok. I pick up a pile of papers from the shabby armchair and set them on an empty patch of floor before sitting.
The seconds drag on, bringing me back to neverending strings of days where I sat like this in my high school principal’s office, waiting to be told if I’d be paying for my stupidity with detention or suspension. At least I was fairly confident Principal Thiessen wouldn’t walk in and stab, shoot, or punch me. Can’t say the same for Dave Bowman.
I’m dragging my boots back and forth across the dusty floor when Dave storms in some time later. Immediately, I sit upright, tucking my hands deep into my pockets, ready to face my punishment like a man. Whatever he thinks is a fair consequence.
“What the fuck was that?” He slumps into his rolling desk chair, dragging a hand down his face. “Let me get one thing clear, Red. I knew your dad pretty well back in the day. And I refuse to sit back and let you drag Cassidy through that kind of bullshit. She won’t be bailing you out of jail, dragging your sorry ass home after a rough night, or taking care of your kid while your ass is on my bar stool so often I shouldcharge rent.”
I nod, refusing to make eye contact with him. Counting the pens sitting in a mason jar on his desk instead. Five blue, three black, one red. And a worn-down pencil with purple hearts on it, which seems like it probably belonged to Cass before ending up here.
“Denver told me about your dad. Frankly, that’s the only reason I’m talking to you instead of calling the cops—got it? Take this as a win and clean your fucking act up. Be a goddamn man. Don’t go starting bar fights in front of the mother of your child.” He knocks his boot hard against mine so I’ll look at him. His brows are tight, forehead wrinkled, and eyes narrow as he assesses me. “Cassie’s relentlessly trying to convince me you can be a decent guy. And I don’t think she would say that for no reason, so be that man. If not for yourself, do it for the baby. You don’t need to become your father, Red. But you sure as hell will if you don’t figure your shit out.”
Clearing my throat, I say, “Thanks for not calling the cops. Is that all?”
“Yup.”
I rise from the chair despite my entire body feeling numb, tingling with TV static. And the walk of shame I do through the bar, past Cassidy, and out to the parking lot, feels worse than the handful of times I’ve been dragged out in handcuffs. I’m like a kicked dog, tail between my legs, rushing across the icy parking lot. Desperate to get far away from this place.
