“You’re a terrible liar, Rae.”
“I’m an excellent liar.”
“You’re terrible.”
The door swings open behind me then and Tommy and Rick wander in like they own the place, which in their minds they probably do considering how much time they spend here.
“Evenin’, Rae,” Tommy says as he drops onto his usual stool.
“Evenin’, boys,” I answer, grabbing a glass and reaching for the tap.
The routine helps more than I expect it to. Pour beer, slide the glass across the counter, take the cash, make a joke about Tommy’s terrible taste in teams. It’s all muscle memory, the kind of repetitive motion that keeps my hands busy enough that my brain doesn’t get too much space to wander.
For a few minutes the rhythm of the bar settles around me again and the tight feeling in my chest loosens just enough that I can breathe normally.
Then Wayne comes back out of the kitchen carrying a plate.
And I immediately know I’m about to lose an argument.
He sets the plate down in front of me like it’s not up for discussion.
Burger. Fries.
My eyes narrow at him.
“No.”
“You’re eating,” he says calmly.
“I’m working.”
“You’re eating while working.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Wayne folds his arms and leans against the bar like he’s got all night.
“Eat the damn burger, Rae.”
I stare at him for a second before grabbing it with a sigh.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m right.”
He watches me take the first bite like a hawk making sure its prey doesn’t escape.
Satisfied, he nods once and leans back against the counter.
“You heard from Ghost?” he asks casually.
The question lands heavier than it should.
“No.”
Wayne nods like he expected that answer.
“He head back to Jackson?”
