Mae catches my eye from behind the bar. Twenty years she's been slinging drinks here, since before I was old enough to legally drown my problems.
She doesn't ask what I want. Just pours three fingers of Jack into a rocks glass and slides it across the scarred wood without a word.
Smart woman. She knows better than to make small talk when I'm wearing this particular shade of darkness.
The whiskey burns going down, but not enough.
Nothing burns enough anymore.
Two years since my world imploded. Two years since I lost everything that mattered in the span of a single conversation.
Some days I'm still not sure I'm really here. Still breathing, still functioning, still pretending that losing both my best friend and the woman I loved didn't gut me like a fish left bleeding on the dock.
Two years since Beau looked me in the eye, jaw set like granite, and said he was done.
Done with her. Done with us. Done with everything we'd built.
When Sophia couldn't handle being with just me, when she made it crystal fucking clear that what we'd had only mattered because Beau was part of it, I lost them both in one brutal swoop.
Funny how time changes what hurts. I can barely remember what Sophia's laugh sounded like now, can't recall why I thought I loved her so desperately. That painfaded months after she left, becoming just another mistake filed away with all the others.
But losing Beau?
That still feels like walking around with a piece of myself missing. Like trying to work with a phantom limb that aches every goddamn day.
The pool balls clack behind me, some ranch hands trying to hustle a couple of tourists who wandered too far from the interstate. Their laughter scrapes against my skull like nails on rusted metal.
Everything's too loud tonight, too bright, too fucking much.
I drain the glass and tap the rim. Mae's already reaching for the bottle.
Today was worse than usual. Beau showed up at the clinic this afternoon for his daily check on Dusty, all controlled politeness and careful distance. The same dance we've been doing for two years. But I caught him watching Lucy when he thought no one was looking.
Those gray eyes tracked her movements like she was something precious he was afraid to break.
The jealousy that sliced through me was sharp enough to draw blood.
Not that I have any right to it. Lucy's not mine. Hell, she's barely been working for me for three days. Made it crystal clear she's just passing through, another tumbleweedblowing across Montana until something better comes along.
But watching Beau notice her? Seeing that flicker of interest he probably doesn't even realize he's showing?
That jealousy flared hot and ugly in my chest, like touching a branding iron.
"Another," I grunt when Mae glances my way.
The second whiskey goes down easier than the first. Or is it the third? Numbers stop mattering after the pain starts dulling.
Lucy stayed late again tonight, organizing files and updating the appointment system in ways I didn't know were possible. She'd alphabetized the medications by both species and emergency priority, color-coded the schedule whiteboard like some kind of organizational wizard, and somehow made the reception area look like it belonged in a real veterinary hospital instead of the barely controlled disaster I'd been running.
Three days. She's been working for me for three goddamn days, and she's already transformed my practice into something I might actually be proud of.
But it's not just the organizational skills that get to me.
It's the way she talks to the animals, like they're worthy of respect and comfort instead of just another paycheck. The way she can talk a terrified owner through their pet's procedure, voice steady and warm, making them feel like their fear matters and their animal is precious.
The way she makes coffee that doesn't taste like motor oil and somehow always knows exactly when I need it most.
The way she looks when she thinks no one's watching. Guard down, brown eyes soft with whatever pain she's carrying around like a lead weight.
