30
PHOENIX
Ipushed through the door of Frank’s Bar, the old cowbell above the entryway giving its usual half-hearted jangle. Not that anyone noticed. The place was packed, shoulder to shoulder, especially for five o’clock on a weeknight.
Somewhere in the back, the sharp crack of a pool stick sliced through the low drawl of Willie Nelson crooning through the jukebox. The hum of conversation, laughter, clinking glass—it all blended together like whiskey on the tongue. Smooth. Familiar. A little too easy to drown in.
Frank’s wasn’t just a bar—it was Berry Springs gospel. Stepping inside gave locals thicker accents, a trucker’s vocabulary, a steel-plated ego, and a liver that could survive a nuclear blast. I loved this place. Always had.
As always, the men were in their dirtiest Carhartts and worn-out cowboy hats, and the women wore skin-tight jeans, low-cut tops, and bejeweled boots. It was small-town Friday night in a bottle, poured neat.
A bar I used to shut down on a weekly basis.
Used to.Big difference.
Heads turned as I made my way across the room. Conversations paused. Gaze after gaze followed, whispers trailing behind me like smoke.
They watched you before the incident, Phoenix. You just didn’t notice.
Rose’s voice echoed in my ears.
But I wondered what they saw now? The old me? The new one? A ghost of both?
I shook it off and kept walking, weaving through the crowd like I still belonged here.
I ignored a few shoutouts—old friends, acquaintances, maybe ghosts from my wilder years—and slid onto the last stool at the bar. My spot.
At least, it used to be.
“Mr. Steele. I mean, Phoenix, well, I’ll be damned. Evening to ya.”
Frank, owner and retired Berry Springs police officer, wiped his hands on his apron as he walked over, his gaze assessing me with both surprise and caution.
“Long time no see.” He stretched out his tanned, leather hand. “How you doing?”
“Can’t complain. Good to see you.”
We shook hands. He stared at me for a moment. Expecting more from a man who’d been shot in the head months earlier?
“Well. Glad all is well. How’s the weather outside lookin’?” He grabbed a short glass from the rack and began filling it with ice.
“Cloudy.”
“Roads are already washed out and we’re supposed to get another round of storms tomorrow. Stan the Weatherman said even a chance of tornados.” His head tilted to the side. “You made it down your mountain alright?”
I didn’t think you were supposed to be driving,is what he meant. After all, the entire town had heard the details of my medical records thanks to Josh Davis—otherwise known as Rose’s ex.
“A little water on the roads is no match for Spirit,” I replied.
“Ah, yes. That’s good. She’s a good horse.” Seemingly relieved that I wasn’t behind a steering wheel, he grabbed a bottle of Johnnie Walker—my usual. He unscrewed the cap and began pouring two fingers—my usual.
I watched as the amber colored liquid filled the glass, and for the second time in a handful of minutes, Rose’s voice…
Lay off the booze until you’re healed.
My jaw clenched, my fingers curling to fists on the bar.
Lay off the booze...
