“It’s the red meat diet I’ve been on for the last seventy years,” Mick responded with a humorous grin. “Let me know if I can get you fellows anythingelse.”
“We’re good,” Brock said. Something in his voice had me turning my head to look at him. He appeared exhausted and tense, but he wasn’t looking at me. I followed his gaze as it went over to the bar. Braden sat at one of the stools, hunched over an amber glass, not paying attention to anything happening around him. The tension left my shoulders when I realized that Brock’s mood had little to do with me and everything to do with his youngerbrother.
“How’s he doing?” I asked as Mick walked off, gesturing to Braden with a slight tilt of myhead.
“Still drinking his face off every night, causing a shit ton of trouble for Mick,” Brock sighed, scratching at his jaw. “I don’t know what to do withhim.”
“I told you, kick his fucking ass,” Gordon chirped from beside me. “That’s what I’d do if Tommy ever pulled thatshit.”
“Not every problem can be solved by your fists,” Grady supplied with a frown. He clapped Brock on the shoulder in a show of solidarity. “I think it’s gotta be up tohim.”
My thoughts circled round to Becky, and I wondered how she was doing with all this. I’d known that Braden hadn’t handled the death of their mother very well, I’d seen as much the last time I was down, but I figured he would have come out of it bynow.
“How’s Becky handling things?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded causal enough not to draw attention to my interest in his answer. Luckily, Brock was distracted with watching hisbrother.
“She’s doing alright for the most part. She’s still in school full-time, and she graduates from her nursing program in April. She misses Mom and it’s hard for her to see Braden this way, but she’s not giving up…which isgood.”
We all watched as Braden tossed back his drink and brought the empty glass down heavily against the bar. “Another round,” he barked at Mick. The old bartender watched him while he continued drying the glass in hishands.
“I think you’ve had enough, son,” he finally responded with an air of authority and quietdisappointment.
“The fuck I have, I’m a paying customer and I want more fucking whiskey,” Braden retortedangrily.
Mick arched his white wispy brows. He set the clean glass he’d been drying down on the shelf beneath the bar and tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Paying customers still get cut off when they’ve had toomuch.”
“You’re not the judge of that, I am!” Braden said, as he shoved the glass toward Mick a little too roughly, and it fell off the edge of the bar top, shattering against theground.
Brock stood up warily, cracking his neck. He said nothing as he made his way over to the bar where Braden was still belligerently arguing withMick.
Gordon, Grady and I all exchanged a look. I got the impression from the lack of surprise on their faces that this was a regular occurrence. We stood up and crossed over to the bar, ready to assist Brock if needbe.
“What the fuck do you want?” Braden slurred, scowling at Brock from where he stood besidehim.
“Time to go home,” Brock said warily, grabbing Braden’s arm to try and guide him out of thestool.
“Fuck off,” Braden shot back loudly. He yanked his arm free and lost his balance, falling sideways off of the stool to the ground by my feet. He didn’t get up, and a second later he began to snoreloudly.
“For fucks sakes, Braden,” Brock huffed, irritation and concern lining his features as he crouched to check the damage. Braden had a small cut on the bottom of his chin from when he’d hit it on the bar stool coming down, but seemed to be okayotherwise.
I helped hoist Braden up, tossing his arm across my shoulders while Brock took his other arm. Braden was like a dead weight between us. He came too, his head rolling as his eyes searched through the spins to lock on hisbrother.
“Sorry,” he said, shuddering as he closed hiseyes.
Every person in the bar was watching as we moved toward the door, and I could feel their judgement. It wasn’t directed at me, but at theMillers.
Anybody else in this town could get piss drunk and fall off a bar stool and not get judged for it. They’d probably get a pat on the back and a few chuckles. If a Miller did it…the whispers and the stares were full ofcontempt.
The townsfolk had always seen the Millers as hellions. It went back to their old man, Brett. He’d been the town drunk, and in his younger days had gotten into a hell of a lot of trouble. It wasn’t fair that they couldn’t get out from under his shadow, that their every action in this town was watched andscrutinized.
“Oh, like none of you fuckers have gotten too shitfaced before?” Gordon barked at the patrons staring at the show, just as pissed off with the stares and pointed hushed conversations as I was, only more adept to show it. “You drank so much that you pissed your pants last week, Carl!” he added to one of the middle aged men sitting at the bar casting looks of contempt toward Braden. Carl Hanson flushed and looked away, and I grinned withpride.
I used to run my mouth like that; I used to speak whatever was on my mind, but too many times before, something I’d said would get taken out of context and then blasted all over the Internet. Gordon could poke fun all he wanted at my profession of choice, but at least he could give someone shit without it blowing back in hisface.
Gordon tossed some bills down to cover our tab as Grady held the door open for Brock and me. We practically had to drag Braden through, and out to Brock’struck.
Between the three of us, we managed to get Braden in, although he immediately laid down in the back seat and started tosnore.
“Mick said he can’t leave his truck here again or it’ll get towed,” Gordon reported, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “Maybe you should let it get towed. Might teach him alesson.”
