Nash
The Brass Lantern is loud tonight. Basketball game playing on the TVs above the liquor shelves, someone arguing about fantasy stats near the dartboard, and a couple in the corner who seem to think fighting is foreplay.
Cal Monroe glances up from behind the bar, polishing a glass like he’s got a personal vendetta against fingerprints. He nods once in my direction.
“If that look gets any darker, we’re gonna lose the lights entirely,” he says, already reaching for the whiskey.
“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t rely on mood lighting.”
Cal snorts his approval, filling a glass and sliding it my way. I claim the booth in the back, the one near the ancient jukebox that still has no right playing anythingrecorded by Grayson Kincaid. The leather’s cracked, the table wobbles, and the lantern-style sconce above the booth flickers.
Bennett shows up five minutes later, fresh off shift. He stops at the bar to order a beer, then slides into the booth across from me, and raises a brow.
“All right, big brother. What’s got your scrubs in a twist?”
I take a long drink before answering. I came here to clear my head, not spill my guts. But Bennett’s always had a way of worming into places he’s not invited.
“Rough week,” I mutter.
“You called me to a bar at ten o’clock on a Wednesday with twenty minutes notice. That’s not ‘rough.’ That’s ‘I’m spiraling and don’t want to say it out loud.’”
I glare.
He grins.
“If you wanted gentle, you woulda called Mom. You called me,” he says with a flare of his hands. “I’m here, so let’s cut the shit.”
I lean back in the booth, thumb tracing the rim of the glass. “I offered Lucy the spare room. She moved in last week.”
Saying it out loud almost feels humiliating. It was a short-sighted, impulsive decision and that is not how I live my life. Bennett’s reaction says he agrees.
He pauses mid-sip and cocks his head. “I’m sorry, what now?Moved in?”
I nod.
“That seems bold. Or sudden. Suddenly bold,” he finishes, raising his beer with a satisfied smile.
“What it is, is temporary. Just until her ankle’s strong enough for her to get home. It makes logistical sense.” I pause, then decide to stroke his ego to distract him from digging farther. “You were right. I’m too busy. Having her in the house makes it possible to follow through on my promise. As it turns out, I did not unlock a bonus day between Tuesday and Wednesday.”
Bennett snorts. “Right. Because logistics explain the look on your face right now. And the fact that you kept the whole thing secret for a week. Or that you made a great big change in your routine without mulling it over first.”
I ignore that. Stick to the facts.
“Stella’s couch wasn’t cutting it. Lucy’s family is a mess. This was the cleanest option. Logistics, man. That’s all.”
He tilts his head. “And?”
I hesitate.
“If that was all we wouldn’t be here for an emergency drink when I know you have to work at the crack of dawn tomorrow.” Understanding flashes across Bennett’s face and I brace for whatever comes next. “Holy shit. Did something happen between you and Lucy?”
My silence is apparently answer enough.
“Wow. Nash and Lucy.” He sits back in the booth, eyeing me with a confusing blend of judgment and mirth. “Twelve-year-old me never saw that coming.”
I scrub both hands over my face. “We kissed. Justonce. It was heat of the moment after too much wine. We agreed not to do it again.”
But I’ve wanted to every day since.
