Trudy was a petite girl with a round figure and wearing a blue dress. She was as pretty as a doll but looked terrified of the situation.
When the man took Trudy’s hand, Shepherd grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back. I wrapped my arms around Shepherd’s waist and hauled him away until he collapsed on top of me. My back hit the floor with a thud, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Over two hundred pounds of muscle on top of me wasn’t helping my breathing situation either.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I spat.
Shepherd rolled off me and knocked into the table, tipping over a glass. With his lips pressed tight, he sat up and appeared more placid. In fact, something completely switched off behind those dark-brown eyes. The fire extinguished, replaced by a tide of hopelessness.
I scooted next to him. “What happened tonight? You didn’t say anything mean about Patrick’s kid stealing your phone, did you? Did Patrick threaten you?”
Even if Shepherd had said something vulgar or offensive, Patrick had no right. Especially after what Shepherd had done for him.
“Why the fuck am I here?” he murmured.
I patted his leg, searching for the right words, but I had none. “You know what? Let’s just sit here for a while. I’ll get the bottle and glasses, and we’ll have a drink under the table. No more talking. Sound good?”
He nodded.
While I didn’t have words of wisdom that someone like Niko could have offered, I had years of experience. My father was a recovering alcoholic, and I’d learned early on how to talk to a drunk by reading their body language and listening. What to say, what not to say, what they needed. My father wasn’t an angry drunk, but he had his moments where his emotional outbursts became intolerable. He used to take me to the bar and spend hours there, so this wasn’t my first time at the rodeo. But it was the first time I’d shared a drink and understood what it meant to have demons of my own.
An hour later, Shepherd had finally given up the booze and was working on his first cup of coffee. He hadn’t said much, but I’d gotten him off the floor and into a booth, so that was progress.
Limbo had a different vibe. Most people were low-key and not as boisterous as in other rooms. They were lost souls who wanted to either connect with others or be left alone. Maybe Shepherd and I fit right in.
Near the door, the crowd parted, granting passage to a man strolling in. Wyatt had swagger, and when he walked, people noticed—black cowboy boots, army-green jacket, and all. He wasn’t overly handsome or especially tall, but his charisma and charming smile made up for any shortcomings.
He flattened his palms on the table so I could see all the letters tattooed on his fingers. “I’m here to save the day.”
Shepherd sipped his coffee and stared listlessly at the cup.
“Where are your keys, Shep?”
“Someone stole them.”
Wyatt slid in beside him, directly across from me. “Your Jeep is still outside. Why would someone steal your keys and not your car? You misplaced them, you drunken bastard.”
“I already searched the club,” I said. “No one’s turned them in, but the waitresses are keeping an eye out.”
“Buttercup, the only thing those ladies are looking for are tips.” Wyatt propped his elbows on the table and tapped his fists together. “How did dinner with Mr. Fancy Pants go?”
I pointed my finger at him. “Next time we do anything like that,you’regoing.”
Wyatt regarded Shepherd for a moment with a concerned look.
“I’m going to close the tab,” I announced. “Meet me by the bar.”
“Hold up.” Wyatt shot out of his seat and fell into step beside me, his voice low. “What’s up with him?”
“I don’t know. Has he ever been this way before?”
“Cantankerous?”
“No, drunk for no reason.”
We both stopped and looked back at Shepherd, who was pouring sugar into his coffee.
“He’s pretty tanked,” Wyatt said. “Nothing unusual happened tonight that set him off?”
I shrugged. “After cake, I left them alone to talk privately. His whole mood changed when we got here. Maybe it was Gem and Claude accusing him of murder.”
