“Ya, and your zodiac crap. You’re lucky I love you, weirdo.”
She smiles as I playfully nudge her shoulder, cracking a smile. I feel like I can relax for the first time since I’ve been here. I mean, how hard can getting a blue-collar job be?
3
NICK
After we finished singing Happy Birthday to Abigail, I slipped away to the bar for a drink. The kind of drink that settles something restless in your chest. These gatherings always left me in my head—nostalgic, maybe, or just tired. Seeing Colt again dragged me back to the days when life was simple, when it was just about our mothers and chasing money.
Now, thirty-three is staring me down, and my mom won’t let up about marriage. Like it’s some deadline I’m failing to meet. But not all of us became NFL stars with women practically lining up like it’s draft day. For Colt, finding a wife was just statistics—inevitable, even. So no, I’m not surprised he’s locking down another marriage, another baby.
Me? I gave up on all that a long time ago. I thought gifting my mom a whole damn restaurant might earn me some peace, maybe even pride. But apparently, a fully built dream isn’t enough when it doesn’t come with a crib and a ring.
I poured everything into this place—every cent, every sleepless night. I’ve never borrowed a dime. Lived lean, worked hard. And I’m not about to start begging now.
Cash is king, but so is survival.
I plop down on the bar stool and wait for the bartender to give me my usual. I probably shouldn’t be here because, unlike some of those people in that recovery lakehouse, I know what it means to be an alcoholic. It means you can’t stop. I’m typically able to if I have priorities in the morning but I don’t have shit going on, besides my restaurant now, since I was let go on honorable discharge.
“Long time no see, Nick. How ya been?” Bailey says. She went to Colt and I’s high school and seeing her comforted me because it made me feel like I did more with my life than continue to serve assholes at the bar every day. But one may also argue I just served different types of assholes being a tier-one operator.
“Ya just been lying low, Bails.”
“Any particular reason why?” she says as she wipes a glass cup.
I watch her empty some ice into a bucket and place some beer cans inside. She’s put on some pounds since the last time I saw her, but she doesn’t look bad after two kids. I felt sorry for her, though. The guy she had a kid with bailed out on her. It’s how we gave her the nickname Bails. She hated it at first, but now takes pride in being a single mom who’s provided for her kids all alone. That I can understand. My mom was the same way, but my dad didn’t bail; he died.
“For one, I've been busy at the restaurant, and two, my mom has been hounding me about when I’m going to get married and have kids, so if she found out I’ve been coming here every night, then she would cut my balls off and tell me they aren’t of good use anymore.’
“I love your mom.” She says through a laugh.
“Hey, whose side are you on?”
“Your mom’s, obviously.”
“Just give me a whiskey on the rocks.”
“Coming right up, Soldier. And why aren’t you married? I heard your boy, Bolt Colt, is engaged. Never thought that would happen after he got burned from his baby momma.”
I let out a long sigh.“You and me both, but I guess he fell inlove, and honestly, she's a cool chick. So I’m happy for him. He made me his best man at his wedding.”
“Honey, with that perfect smile, you are bound to find your future wife there.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why, you don’t believe in love?”
“No, that’s not it. I just don’t think some people are suitable for marriage.”
She shakes her head and grabs a glass cup from the gantry. She turns around and places the cup in front of me on the counter. “It’d be a damn shame not to reproduce those genes. That’s for sure.”
“Good genes or not,” I say through a light chuckle, “I should be alone. Trust me. Don’t let these good looks fool you.”
She pours the dark golden liquor into the cup and my mouth salivates, craving the sting from the burn when it goes down my throat.
“Oh, I already know,” she adds a splash of Coke, just the way I like it. “Now go easy on that, and don’t ask me for another. I don’t care how damn hot you are or how many tattoos you have on your arm. I’ll call security on your ass and throw you out of my bar.”
I lift the drink to my lips. “Yes, ma’am.” I close my eyes as I feel the burn slowly trickle down my throat, savoring the sensation. It instantly warms my stomach, and I can feel the tension between my ears subside.
