CHAPTER
ONE
Collin
I pull open the old wooden door and smile. Classic George Jones pours through the speakers, not too loud, but loud enough all patrons can enjoy the good music. The regulars at the bar turn and wave when I enter, earning me a round of welcomes and hellos from the people I’ll be serving drinks to for the next several hours.
“Hey, Collin,” Guy hollers, throwing me a wave and a grin.
“Evening,” I reply, walking behind the bar and dropping my duffel bag into the cubby hole where we keep personal possessions. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, not too bad. The game’s on,” he informs me, nodding to the TVs lined up on the wall above the bar. The St. Louis Cardinals are taking on the Chicago Cubs in a much-anticipated rivalry game. Our red birds are up by one in the series but look to be down already in game two. “How are we doing?” I ask, even though the score is pretty telling.
“Bats are cold,” Guy states, moving to the tip jar and cleaning it out. “Hey, so I heard something today,” he adds, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Chuck sold it.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my mouth drops open. “You’re shittin’ me. He really did it?”
Guy gives me a sad smile and a nod. “’Fraid so.”
My heart sinks with the news. Chuck has been talking about selling this place for years, but no one ever thought he’d actually do it. He’s worked here his entire life, buying the bar in his late twenties. Now, he’s pushing seventy, and I thought for sure he’d be here until the day he died.
This place won’t be the same without him.
“I guess he’s signing the papers Friday.”
I turn my attention to the older man standing beside me. “What?”
He gives me a knowing look. “Yeah. He told me earlier when he stopped by. This Friday, we’ll have a new owner.”
“Who?” I ask, my mind spinning.
“I don’t know, but it sounds like he’s from out of town.”
I exhale loudly and catch one of the regulars sliding his empty beer bottle toward the inside of the bar top, a sign for a refill. “Well, maybe this is my time to get out too. I’ve only really stayed because of Chuck and you. I don’t need the money,” I confirm.
“I know, kid. I just thought you should know. As of Friday, looks like some changes coming our way.”
I nod and head toward the customer who’s ready for another drink, grabbing his brand from the cooler on my way by. “Here ya go, Tom,” I state, twisting off the top and placing the beer on the old, faded coaster.
“Thanks, Collin,” he replies, taking a sip from the fresh brew. “Did you hear the news?”
“Guy just told me. I can’t believe it,” I reply, reaching for a cloth to wipe down the bar top.
“Me either. Do you think there’s gonna be any changes?” he asks, his eyes bouncing between me and the Cardinals’ game on the TV.
“I hope not. We’ve gotta pretty good thing going here,” I state.
“Damn right, we do,” he says just as the sound of a bat cracking a baseball fills the bar. Everyone cheers as our batter hits a double, sending a runner home.
After Guy takes off, I check on the rest of the patrons and refill a few drinks. Everyone seems to be engrossed in the game, so I take the opportunity to do a little cleaning behind the bar, all while my mind is spinning.
I can’t believe Chuck is selling. This place has been part of my life since I was twenty-one and could finally—legally—enter. It’s a small bar with lots of character. The bar is original but has been refinished a few times, keeping that old charm intact. I’m not sure the stools have ever been replaced except when they break, leaving them mismatched and well-loved. Hell, a few of them are leaning and don’t even spin anymore. The walls are covered with neon beer signs and paraphernalia and maybe a thick layer of cigarette smoke. No, you can’t smoke in here now, but back in the day you could, and I’m pretty certain Chuck didn’t do any sort of deep cleaning after the updated smoking laws were passed.
This place is old, but it’s one of my homes away from home.
The other place I call home is the Sycamore Fire Station West. Ever since I was a little boy, I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Fighting fires is a calling, and I answered. I went through basic training at Lackland Air Force Base, and then specialized technical training at Goodfellow Air Force Base, both in Texas. I spent my four years fighting fires around the United States and learned an invaluable skill set doing it.
Now, I work as a full-time firefighter in Sycamore, a large city of thirty-two thousand people about an hour north of us. I love it there, but not enough to move, if that makes sense. I actually prefer the small-town lifestyle, which is why I returned to Cooper Town after my discharge from the Air Force.
