"She's not ready. I'm not an asshole." His jaw tightens. "When she is, I'll be here."
There's a beat of silence. Then Levi raises his glass. "To the long game."
"To the long game," Kevin echoes.
I clink my glass against theirs, and for a moment we just sit there, drinking and watching the bar move around us.
The food arrives a few minutes later—loaded fries piled high with cheese, bacon, and sour cream, and a platter of wings that smells incredible. We dig in, and the conversation shifts to safer territory. Work. The crew. A project coming up next month that's supposed to be a pain in the ass but pays well.
Ace is funny and quick with a joke, easy to talk to. He asks about my time in the Army, and I give him the sanitized version. Enough to satisfy curiosity without dredging up the shit I'm still working through. He gets it and doesn't push.
Levi talks about his wife and daughter. There's pride in his voice, the kind that makes something in my chest ache. That's the life I want. Steady. Rooted. Something worth coming home to.
Kevin stays quiet, answering when spoken to but otherwise keeping his attention on Steph. She's working the bar with Ainsley now, the two of them moving in sync like they've been doing this together for years.
I watch Ainsley pour a beer, laugh at something a customer says, tuck a stray curl behind her ear. She's good at this. At making people feel welcome. At keeping things light.
And then some asshole at the end of the bar leans over and grabs her wrist. Everything goes red, and I’m wired for action. I'm off my stool before I even register moving.
"Come on, sweetheart," the guy slurs, fingers tight around her arm. "Just your number. That's all I'm asking."
Ainsley pulls her hand back, smile gone. "I said no. Please respect that."
He doesn't let go. His other hand reaches for her, grabbing her forearm.
I'm behind him in three strides, hand clamping down on his shoulder, pressing harder than necessary but making sure my point comes across.
"She said no," I say, voice low and flat.
The guy turns, bleary-eyed and swaying. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone who heard her the first time." I don't let go. "Back off."
He tries to shrug me off, but I tighten my grip. He winces.
"Jesus, man, I was just talking to her—"
"You were grabbing her." My voice drops another notch. "That's not talking."
Kevin's beside me now, badge out even though he's off duty. "I suggest you listen to him," he says calmly, "or I'll arrest you for harassment and public intoxication. Your choice."
The guy's eyes widen. He looks between me and Kevin, then back at Ainsley. "This is bullshit."
"This is you leaving," Kevin says. "Now."
The guy mutters something under his breath, yanks his arm free, and stumbles toward the door. I watch him go, hand still clenched into a fist at my side.
When I turn back, Ainsley is staring at me.
Her face is flushed, eyes bright with something I can't quite read. Anger? Embarrassment? Relief?
"I had it handled," she says.
"I know."
"I deal with drunk assholes all the time. I don't need you stepping in like some kind of... of..."
"Bodyguard?" I offer.
