“CHEERS!” the room roars back.
The music cranks back up—some classic rock that Duck probably picked—and the party resumes. I watch Kya step down from the stage, immediately getting swept into Lee’s arms for a kiss that has half the room whistling. When they break apart, both of them are grinning like idiots. It’s good to see Lee happy. After everything that went down with Summit, with Emma, with all of it—he deserves this. They both do.
I drain my beer and head for the bar, needing a refill and some space from the crowd. Mercy’s behind the counter, expertly pouring drinks and taking orders like always.
“Another?” she asks when she sees me.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She pops the cap off a fresh bottle and slides it across to me. “You did good work here, Bones.”
I shrug. “We all did.”
“True. But you were here every day. Rain, shine, whatever.” She leans on the bar, fixing me with that too-perceptive look she’s got. “You’ve been different since you got back from New York.”
I take a long pull of my beer. Mercy’s good people—Cash’s old lady now, officially—but she’s also Kya’s friend, who’s Emma’s friend. And I’m not about to spill my guts and have it get back to Emma through the grapevine.
“Lost my position,” I say. “Changes a man’s perspective.”
“It’s more than that.” Mercy studies me. “You’re quieter. More focused. Less likely to start shit.”
“I still start shit.”
“Not like before.” She tilts her head. “One of my earliest memories of you is when you knew Lee was into Kya and decided to hit on her right in front of him.”
A grin pulls at my mouth as I remember how easy he was to rile. “Worked, though. Didn’t it?”
“Sure did.” Her smile turns into curiosity. “Although I never could figure out why you pretended you didn’t know who she was—or who Emma was, for that matter.”
I shrug. “To fuck with his head.”
“Hey.” Her expression shifts from amused to serious and she leans a little closer. “Whatever happened between you and Emma?—”
“Is between me and Emma.”
The words come out flat, final. Not angry, just done. Mercy holds up her hands in surrender.
“Fair enough. Just letting you know, Cash and I are here if you need to talk.”
“Appreciate it.” I take a swig of beer. “Where is Cash anyway? Haven’t seen him for at least an hour.”
Mercy’s face softens, and she nods toward the door. “He’s outside. Said he needed some air, but I think he’s just getting antsy waiting for me.” She wipes down the counter with a rag, her movements efficient and practiced. “I finish my shift in about twenty minutes, so he’s probably just killing time until then to have his fun.”
“Hey, Mercy!” someone calls from the far end of the bar. “When a guy’s gotta wait this long for a drink, he starts wondering if prohibition came back!”
Mercy rolls her eyes at me. “Duty calls. Try not to brood too much while I’m gone, OK?”
“No promises,” I mutter.
I turn around, leaning my back against the bar and surveying the room. The place really does look better than before. Higher ceilings, better lighting, more space to breathe. We kept the soul of it—recreated the original bar top and neon signs—but most of it is different. Better.
Sometimes destruction can be a gift. If you survive it.
My eyes drift to the door. Habit I can’t break. Watching. Waiting.
Six months without her. Six months of rebuilding this bar, rebuilding my place in the club. Six months of not knowing where she is—Stone made me hand over access to the tracker the day I got back, and the disconnection feels like a phantom limb.
For years I knew exactly where she was. Could pull up an app and see that little dot moving through her life, know she was safe even when I couldn’t be there. Now there’s just . . . nothing. A blank space where she used to be.
