“I think it works either way.” He shrugs. “Jonas found this place and swore it had that special something that would make our club stand out. Since he seems to have a knack for this, I didn’t argue.”
“Your club?” I tease.
He tenses, but quickly recovers. “You know what I mean.”
We both stare up at the building for another moment before I turn to him. “So are you going to take me inside or what?”
“Right, yeah.” He laughs. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late meeting up with your sister.”
“Assuming she can actually tear herself away from work,” I quip. “This is the third time she’s rescheduled.”
“Why lunch?” he asks. “Why not dinner, or I don’t know…bowling?”
I snicker, trying to imagine my prim and proper sister bowling. She’d probably show up wearing a sweater set and pearls. “Mercury is like the female version of Cash, but without the permanent stick up her ass,” I explain. “She’s super smart and detail-oriented and a complete workaholic. But unlike some people who are married to their jobs, she actually enjoys it.”
“You said she’s some sort of musical genius?”
We head toward what I assume will be the main entrance. The intricately carved double doors are both propped open, and inside I can see a construction crew hard at work.
He was not wrong. The inside is a hot mess.
But it’s also absolutely stunning.
Old carpet is being pulled from a grand staircase. A man to our left is carefully repairing the plaster on a massive column, while another works on salvaging the old tile floor.
“We call her a genius,” I say absently, distracted by everything going on around me. “But it’s not like she’s been tested or anything. She’s just insanely talented. Dad is lucky to have her. All of them, really.”
He stops dead in his tracks and turns. “You know, he’s lucky to have you too? They all are.”
I avoid his intense stare, choosing to focus on the rich brown terracotta floors. “Sure.”
“Are you, though? Because sometimes the way you talk about your siblings makes me think that you don’t, and I can’t help but wonder why. Did someone make you feel that way?”
“What? No.” I jerk up. “You know my family. They’re awesome.”
“Then where does this come from? Because when I see you at the bar, you are confident and competent. Everyone who works there respects the hell out of you and feels lucky to work there.”
“Then why did I mess it all up?” I blurt out a little louder than I mean to. The words bounce off the walls of the massive space, and a few of the workers look up and finally notice us.
Oh god. Please, let the ground swallow me whole.
One of the workers, a tall guy about our age, waves, sets down his paintbrush, and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He quickly types a message and then puts it away again.
“He’s probably letting the general contractor know we’re here. And you didn’t fuck it up, Pres,” he says, going right back to our previous conversation.
“I don’t recall my dad ever being worried the bar might close.”
“How would you have known?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think he would have shared something like that with you as a kid? With any of you?”
I open my mouth to respond that, of course, he would have. My parents shared everything with us, but then I think about it—really think about it—and I shake my head. “No,” I find myself saying. “He wouldn’t want us to worry. He never wanted us to worry. About anything.”
“And I love that about your father. I really do. He’s fiercely protective, but I think by shielding you from his struggles, he inadvertently gave you the illusion that he had none.”
I think about it and nod. “I know you’re right, and I know my parents aren’t perfect, but it’s hard to remind myself of that when everything feels so bleak. I’m still so worried he’s going to regret giving me this responsibility. I’ve had it for less than two years, and we’re so fucking close to losing it all.”
“Then it wasn’t in that good of shape to start with, Pres. I know you think you did all this, but I guarantee you didn’t. Iwouldn’t be surprised if the bar has been hanging on by a thread for years.”
“It wasn’t doing well when I took over,” I admit. “But I assumed that was because of the economy. Dad’s never mentioned the bar struggling, so I focused on bringing in more cash. I wanted to make him proud.”
