Prologue
Lochlan James
Tonight, the dark, dingy bar in Brooklyn perfectly suits my mood. The dive is hotter than hell and smells a whole lot worse. It’s got crappy food, criminal lowlifes, and a bartender who doesn’t give a rat’s ass if I get shit-faced.
Suds holds out his hand as if expecting I’ll let him see what Callie texted. I’m not about to expose my complete failure as a husband, a father, and a human being. Instead, I chuck the electronics into my pocket, point to my glass, and the bearded bartender fills it with more whiskey.
Before I can wrap my fingers around my drink, Suds slides it in front of him and downs my amber liquid. “You’ve had enough.”
“Not even, close, mate.” I get in his face, then slam my cell phone on the bar. “Fine. Go ahead. Have a look-see. Then leave me be.”
My best mate scrolls through my messages and sighs. “This doesn’t sound like her.”
It hurts so bad I can’t even breathe. Without her, my life has no meaning.
What am I, some kind of pathetic loser?I motion the bartender over while Suds regards me with hooded eyes. The whiskey heats the back of my throat and I cough but the real pain doesn’t subside.
I point for a refill but my self-appointed nanny covers my glass with his hand and opens his mouth with more fucking words of wisdom. “You need to tell her how you feel.”
“Thank you very much, Dr. Phil.” I raise my glass at the bartender, eyeing me now with brows creased.
“Could you pour me another, pal?”
The bun-tender empties the last of the Jameson into my glass and even after another, I’m still not inclined to chit-chat. “Why not go babysit someone else? I was doing bloody fine until you got here.”
Suds stands, piercing blue eyes finally angry, his southern accent thick. “Y’all need to go up north, apologize, and get her back.”
I stand, thinking I’ll get in his face but I need to brace both hands on the bar to get the room to stop spinning. “You think I haven’t tried? She’s gone off the grid. No phone, no online, no nothing. She told me to back off so I am.”
“Since when are you a quitter?”
“Because she’s right. I’m no damn good for her. If we’d never met, the last couple weeks would never have happened and she wouldn’t’ve almost died.”
“But she didn’t and she’s got your kid in her belly. Y’all gonna let her raise your kid alone?”
“If that’s what she wants, yeah.” My stupid chest feels like the time I took a bullet.
Suds slaps me on the back. “Don’t be such an ass. Pregnant women aren’t exactly the most logical beings on the planet. All those hormones make them crazier than a two-peckered billy goat. Just go up there, go caveman, and bring her home.”
“What makes you such a fucking expert?” I gulp down the tall glass of water that bun-guy places in front of me.
“I got four older sisters, all with kids.”
“Suds, I messed up. Okay? I almost got her killed. They’re both better off without me.”
My pal, one of the most laid-back guys around, stands, reaches back, and punches my jaw. I fall off my stool with my ass on the sticky floor.
Fuck. Double Fuck. And Fuck that too.
When the bouncer runs up, I send him away with a wave and force a grin toward Suds. “Only a friendly disagreement, mate. We’re good, eh? No worries.”
I climb back onto my bar stool, grab a cube of ice and place it on my throbbing chin.
Suds, apparently, isn’t done harassing me. “Drag your fucking ass out of here and go get your wife or I swear to God I will knock you fucking unconscious and drive you up to Mass-a-two-shits myself.”
When my phone blips, I read the message and shove it under his face. “Yeah, nah. I don’t think so.”
Suds eyes dart over the text then he shakes his head back and forth. “You’re a moron. This ain’t from Callie.”
