I could only hope that Lady Luck would be on my side for once, and this new life I was building for myself would work out, changing my path for the better. No matter how hard or uncomfortable it might be, I saw a glimmer of hope for the first time in a while
“Take a leftat the light and drop me in front,” I directed my driver to the run-down bar just off of Las Vegas Boulevard.
Last week, I stumbled upon this bar. It wasn’t a place I’d normally go, but that was the point. It was the perfect place to hide, disconnect from the real world, and not risk a chance of running into a single soul I knew.
“You got it, Mr. Russo.”
Not one for formalities, I said, “Please, I’ve told you before, call me Spencer.”
“Sorry about that. Is this a good place to drop you, Spencer?” He pulled up to the front of the old building.
“Yes, I’ll shoot you a text when I’m ready for a ride home.” Before heading in, I slipped off my suit jacket, rolling up my sleeves.
The car door clicked shut behind me as I headed for the old bar. The sign that once flashed Bluff City Barin bright neon letters was now so run-down that half the letters were burnt out.
Dressed in one of my best suits, I was painfully aware of how different I’d look walking into a dive bar where you’d find mostlylocals and service industry workers. Losing my jacket would have to be enough.
As a sports agent for some of the highest paid athletes in the country, I ran in a very sophisticated circle full of athletes, CEOs, lawyers—you name it. People who would never be caught dead in a place like this.
The big wooden door was heavy in my palm, the pull of it allowing the smoke from inside to escape. Bluff City was an Irish bar made up of more mahogany than I would ever wish to have in one setting, any Irish beer on tap you could think of, and an extensive whiskey collection.
It may be a hole in the wall, but they carried a damn good variety of my favorite after work beverage.
Pulling out a chair, surrounded by absolutely no one, I took a seat, setting my phone on the bartop face down. A long day at work called for a hard pour of whiskey.
“Spencer, welcome back!” the bartender called out my name from memory after only being here once before.
“Thank you. Remind me of your name again?”
“Colton, but you can call me Daddy.” He winked.
After the day I’d had, his refreshing sense of humor was a relief. “You may just be around my son’s age, if anything, I think I could beyourdaddy.” I chuckled.
“Well then, what does Daddy want to drink tonight?” Colton asked, spinning his bottle opener around his finger.
“Daddy wants you to refer to him as Spencer, and a double shot of whiskey, neat.” My eyes veered to the top shelf before shooting him a stern look.
“Coming right up, D—Spencer.” He reached for the same whiskey on the top shelf I’d drank the last time I was here. With his back facing me, I couldn’t help but shake my head and chuckle under my breath.
“Cheers.” He set the rocks glass in front of me followed by a shot of his own.
“Cheers,” I repeated, saluting him with my glass before we both tipped our shots back.
“You know, you never forget a guy who comes in here with his fancy clothes, a frown on his face, and a one-hundred-dollar tip. Just doing my job as your local bartender to turn that frown upside down and deliver you the outstanding service you deserve.”
Colton topped off my glass with a single shot to sip on before he flipped a rag over his shoulder and walked across the bar toward a group of women.
I’d take a shitty hole in the wall bar off the Strip any day if it meant good service and a moment alone with my thoughts.
Turning over my phone, I mindlessly scrolled through the ESPN app when a text popped up.
Jackson: Hey Dad, was hoping we could get together for a drink soon.
Lately, my son only seemed to want me around when he needed something.
Three years ago, I found out I was a dad. Once Jackson graduated college, he moved away from his hometown to start over in Vegas. I never knew for sure, but I assumed part of his plan to start over included me—his biological father. It was a shock at first, finding out that I had knocked up a woman at a party when I was only sixteen and had no clue. But once the idea of being a father sunk in, I was content with it. At least, at first.
I finally had something to spend my money on that wasn’t myself—that was until he took advantage.
