It does.
More than I want to look at too closely.
So I don’t.
Work picks up fast.
Orders fly in, beer taps run, glasses clink, music hums low in the background.
I fall into it automatically. Move, pour, clean, serve.
Jude walks in and takes his usual seat at the end of the bar, tucked into the shadows.
I nod once, already grabbing his beer.
“You okay?” I ask.
My twin will always be a part of me. Even if we live different lives, he’s the one person who knows me better than anyone.
“All’s good…” He hesitates.
There it is.
“What’s wrong?”
Jude downs his beer and looks up.
Green eyes, exactly like mine, look haunted.
“D’s sick. Cancer. Terminal.”
It hits like a punch to the chest.
Damiano.
He lived on the ranch next to ours until he was fifteen. He and Jude were inseparable.
“I’m sorry, man. How long?”
“A year,” Jude says. “His grandma called Mama this morning.”
I turn, grab another beer, set it in front of him.
“I’ll take you home later.”
Jude studies it, then shakes his head. “Thanks. But I think I’ll go for a ride.”
He pulls out his wallet.
I give him a look. “You don’t pay here. Ever.”
He nods, tucks it away, and leaves.
Probably heading out with the horses.
Where I burn things out with boxing or my bike, Jude disappears into quiet.
“Jude didn’t look well,” Lexy says, carrying a tray of empty glasses.
