“Did you win?” The one with black bangs asks.
“What do you think, mama?”
She looks him over like he’s a snack and giggles. “Of course you did.”
“I’m not one to brag, but yeah.”
I roll my eyes and take a seat at the far end of the bar, far enough to make it clear I’m not here to compete for attention.
He whips up their cocktails, making a whole routine with the shaker like it’s some kind of choreography before he finally slides the enamored women their drinks. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he says with another wink, then saunters down the bar to me.
“Scotch? Beer? A tub of ice cream to cry into?”
“Thanks for the sympathy,” I snort. “I’ll take a scotch without the commentary.”
“Commentary’s free, bruh. Part of the entertainment.” Dice pours the amber liquor into a glass and leans on the bar, crossing his arms. “She’ll be back, man.”
“I know. It’s not that.”
“What then? Soph okay?”
“She’s actually good, all things considered.” I fill him in on Lexie taking on the battle.
“Guess she’s not as sweet and demure as she appears.”
“She is, but she’s tough too.”
“So, what’s got you looking like someone pissed on your favorite guitar?”
“You do have a way with words,” I say wryly.
“You’re the poet, not me. What’s up?”
“Just thinking. About my dad. About Townsen.”
“That’s progress. You’re saying his name now.”
“That’s the thing, man. I’ve been carrying all this anger. It’s like it’s taken up permanent residence. And now, with what happened to Soph. It just adds to it. I have all this rage inside me that’s been festering for twenty years. It’s not good.”
“Sounds like you might be ready to evict that shit.”
“Easier said than done. But I don’t want it to get in the way of what I could have with Lexie.” I pause, swirling my scotch. “She and Soph have banded together, trying to get me into therapy.”
“And?”
I shrug. “Pouring my shit out to a stranger. I don’t know. It has its pros, but grief counseling didn’t help when Moms made me go.”
“Yeah, I remember. But you’re not the same dude you were at twelve. Hell, you’re not even the same as you were a month ago. People grow. Or so I’m told.” He smirks. “But listen, man, if you’re serious about letting go of all this anger, maybe therapy’s the way.”
“Have you ever thought about it?”
“Naw. I’m not looking to dig up all that. My father was a deadbeat, and my mom, well, she did what she did. I’m over it.”
He isn’t, but I don’t push. He’ll deal with his past when he’s ready.
“Have you seen Lot yet?” I ask, shifting the subject.
“She was here last night, looking fine as hell with her bad attitude. Walked by like I didn’t exist, and I’m not fucking with that. If she wants to act like a grown-up, she knows where to find me.” He blows it off, but I’m not fooled by his feigned indifference. Whether he or Lot knows it or not, she hurt him by cutting off ties without any explanation.
