Frankie leans against the bar, setting down a clipboard and tucking a pencil behind his ear. “I’ve got extra whiskey stocked, backup ice in the freezers, and the cider should all be delivered by end of day.”
I nod and he gives me a suspicious look. “How’d it go last night? With Emma.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“She’s already pissed at me.” I mutter finally, setting down the crate I’m holding and picking up a rag on the bar top. I drag it across the shiny wood surface harder than necessary.
Frankie snorts. “Shocking. Truly. Who could’ve seen that coming.”
I shoot him a look, but he shrugs as he starts wiping glasses.
“You working tonight or going to the tattoo shop?” I ask, desperate to talk about anything but her.
“Ozzy asked me to work on a back piece with him so I’ll be leaving at noon.”
“Okay. I’ll inventory all the cider tonight and make sure everything is done so we just need to worry about loading up tomorrow morning.”
Frankie nods and stacks freshly wiped glasses on top of one another. “Just… don’t start something you can’t finish, man.”
I meet his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“With Emma. Don’t fuck with her.” He shoots back.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Bullshit,” he fires, eyes narrowing and fierce. “She’smysister.”
The words seethed from his mouth. That’s the thing about Frankie, he’s not the loud or dramatic type, but every word lands like a punch you don’t see coming. Emma has been a sensitive subject for him ever since she left, but now he seems even more protective of her and I’m not sure why.
“Relax, man. I’m not starting anything with her.” I lie, to him and to myself.
He gives me a look like he doesn’t believe a word I’d said but doesn’t continue to push. I finish wiping down the counter and surrounding tables and drop the rag on the bar. “I’m gonna check the stock in the back.” I announce, walking past Frankie and push open the swinging door to the storeroom.
9
EMMA
I thought it’d be at least a couple days before I went back, yet I’m here not even twenty-four hours later, staring at the golden door handle, contemplating whether I really want to do this or not. My heart clenches as I grip the handle and turn, steeling myself for what’s to come. The door swings open and I’m immediately greeted by the permanent warmth of the house.
“Hey, Em. In here.” Leo calls from the living room.
Following the sound, I step into the room to find him sitting on the couch with Mia nestled against his chest, fast asleep. His expression is soft and gentle when he looks up at me. He seems to be so comfortable snuggled up with her, as if being next to her is where he was always meant to be.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my volume close to a whisper so I don’t wake Mia.
“I’m nap trapped… if it wasn’t obvious.”
The corners of my mouth lift in a slight smile. “She’s so lucky to have you, Bear.”
He gives a small grin in response and rubs Mia’s back, his hand looking giant against her little body.
Behind the gentleness, there’s a certain sadness in his eyes. Our family has never been one to enjoy talking about heavy subjects or emotions. I think it’s a result of the sheer amount of grief and trauma we’ve experienced—my heart disease diagnosis at such a young age, the death of our dad, and eventually our mom, as well. We also don’t talk about Mia’s mom, Vanessa, and how she left Leo for another man when Mia was only six months old. He hasn’t been the same since, and I don’t blame him. That sadness is always tucked in tight behind his eyes, just another item added to a list of all the horrible things that have happened.
Despite everything though, he took on the responsibility of both parents, becoming everything that little girl needs andmore, in the same way he did for us siblings when we were younger. All he’s ever done is hold the weight no one else could carry—no complaints, no hesitation, just quiet strength and tired eyes. The same fierce admiration for him that I’ve always had rises to the surface as I watch him be Mia’s safety, as he once was for me.
“I’m gonna go up for a bit,” I murmur. Leo nods in understanding.
The steps creak beneath my feet as I ascend the stairs, each one feeling heavier than the last. When I reach the pale blue door, I hesitate. My hand hovers over the doorknob again as my heart pounds in my chest. The last time I was here, I was an angry teenager with a newly dead mother, packing up my entire life in two suitcases and vowing to never return to this god forsaken town.
