Nash looked away, heat creeping up his neck, replaying every night in that room and feeling like a total jackass.
The silence stretched.
“I ain’t mad,” Connor said finally, voice low.“Just don’t hurt her.I mean it, man—she’s already lost so much.”
Nash blinked hard, the sound of Connor fading into the wind.Cassie stood beside him in the very spot her brother had once sat, and he wondered if she felt it too—the weight of old promises long broken.
It was nearing ten when they crossed the county line, engines rolling slow through ridge smoke that rose off the asphalt like breath.Up ahead, the glow of Slagheap Sally's Roadhouse bled through the trees—a crooked beast of weather-stained timber and flickering signs.What had begun as convenience had become ritual.A drink at Sally's before the ride home.Tonight would be Connor's last.
Inside, the air was thick with music, laughter, and the crack of pool balls.The Kings spread out fast—claiming tables and ordering rounds—while Nash took his usual place at the bar.He kept his back to the bottles, one eye on the door, one on the room.Habit—something his old man had drilled into him.Always keep your sightlines clear.
Didn’t matter tonight.He wasn’t seeing a damn thing but her.
Cassie was mid-game with Snake.Boot braced on the rail, she leaned in and took aim, the low cut of her dress revealing all that smooth skin and the hotter-than-fuck line of her back—and the sight of it was nearly as brutal as having her on his bike all night.
Nash took a pull from the glass, gritted teeth, heat burning both ways down.Somewhere beyond the noise of his pulse, the room broke into cheers and laughter as Cassie dipped into a theatrical bow.Eyes flashing, Snake leaned into her, saying something Nash couldn’t hear—and didn’t need to.The smug curl of Snake’s mouth was enough to have Nash drop his glass to the counter and push off the bar, only to freeze when Cassie let out a sharp, unbothered laugh.Then she hip-checked Snake straight out of her space and bent into her next shot.Another clean sink.
Nash, cursing under his breath, reclaimed his glass and took another drink.
“Still kickin’ asses and takin’ names,” Boone said, shaking his head.“You reckon she’s been swindlin’ boys outta their wallets from here to Timbuktu?”
Nash didn’t answer.He didn’t take his eyes off her either.Yeah, she could still run a table and hold her own with the meanest of them, but neither was she the same girl who used to hop on the back of his bike at two in the morning, stand on the pegs, arm in the air, and dare him faster.Didn’t mean she’d mellowed any—hell no, she was still chaos walking.But all that beauty and brash just cut cleaner now, tempered by time and whatever else she’d lived through.And for Nash, who’d missed the years that carved her, looking at her was starting to feel less like admiration and more like…another kind of funeral.
“Who’s next?”Cassie pointed her cue at Crusher, grinning.“Rack ’em, Crush.I’ll be back.”
“She’ll be back!”an out-of-state King bellowed, dropping into a rough Schwarzenegger growl.“Hasta la vista, Crusher!”
Cassie laughed with the rest as she wove through the crowd, disappearing down the hallway toward the bathrooms.When she reappeared, Boone called out her name, waving her over.Nash shot his friend a look, only to be ignored as Cassie slid into the open spot between them.
Boone tapped the counter, motioning the bartender over.“Get this lady a drink,” he said.“Whiskey, all right, Cas?”
“And a beer,” she added, nodding.
The bartender—a wiry old man in a grease-stained apron who’d been working Sally’s longer than Nash had been alive—slid a whiskey and a long-neck beside it.
“You’re even better than I remember,” Boone said, exhaling smoke.“You still hustlin’ backroom stick while you’re off livin’ that fancy fiddle life?”
“Fancy fiddle life,” she echoed with a laugh.“Boone, I’m a musician.I rehearse nonstop and live out of suitcases half the year.”She took a sip of whiskey and grimaced.“But yeah—I still like closing down a bar now and then.”
Boone nodded around another drag of smoke.“You got folks out there who’ve got your back?”
A softer smile flickered, and Nash wondered who she was thinking of.
“Yeah,” she said.“You’d like ’em, too.”
“They drink and talk shit?”
“Constantly.”
“Then I already do.”Boone lifted his glass, prompting Cassie to clink hers against it.
“Y'all excuse me a minute,” he said, shoving out of his seat.“I gotta hit the head.”
While Boone walked off, giving Nash a pointed look over the top of Cassie’s head, Nash tracked him for a second too long before clearing his throat.
“You always play that clean, or was Snake just easy pickin’s?"
Cassie shot him a glance, her lips twisting into a smirk.“You should know.You’ve been staring since we got here.”
