Tyler smiles, and I hate myself a little for how easy that was.
"Good." Tyler doesn't push for a kiss. He lifts a hand in a small wave and turns down the steps. "Goodnight."
"Night, Tyler."
I watch him cross to his car. I saw Rex through the Anchor's front window when Tyler pulled up. Third stool from the end. He didn't turn his head.
I unlock the door, step into the dark of my hallway, and stand with my back against the wood, eyes shut. A good man down the street. The man I actually want a floor below me.
I hang my jacket on the hook and head down.
The internal stairs come out behind the bar. I push through the swinging door and stop.
Sal stands at the taps wiping a glass. Three regulars at the far booth in low voices over a card game I don't recognise. Griz hasn't moved from his spot by the door.
Rex sits on his stool.
He isn't watching the door. He's watching the bar top, and the three empty rocks glasses lined up in front of him beside the fourth one, half full, that Sal hasn't yet cleared.
The room's dead quiet. Even the regulars at the booth have dropped their voices. I cross behind the bar without looking at him. I take down a pint glass, hit the water on the soda gun, and walk around to the customer side. I stand two stools down from his.
He doesn't lift his head. His shoulders are pulled tight enough that the line of his cut strains across his back, and his hands rest flat on the wood on either side of the glass, not drinking it, just bracketing it like he doesn't trust himself to pick it up. The gold tusk caps catch the bar light each time he breathes.
I take a sip of my drink.
His nostrils flare.
It's small. A person who hadn't watched him for two years would miss it. The flare and then the tension in his shoulders climbs another notch, and his right hand closes around the glass with a controlled deliberate grip, and the bourbon trembles in the rim.
Tyler's cologne is on me. Rex caught it the second I walked in.
The silence between us is louder than anything Tyler said all night.
The front door opens. Cold air and footsteps, and then Tyler's voice, surprised, friendly, oblivious.
"Holly. You left your phone in my car."
Rex's head turns toward Tyler. There's no other word for it but slow. The temperature in the bar drops.
Tyler stops mid-sentence. He looks past me and sees Rex.
I see the moment Tyler sees Rex. His face goes pale. His throat works once.
He sets the phone down on the bar between us, eyes never leaving Rex, and steps back toward the door. "Goodnight, Holly."
"Goodnight."
He's out the door before I finish the word.
Rex is still looking at the door.
His pupils have gone wide enough to swallow the gold-green of his eyes, and the possessive fury sitting on his face is the most honest thing I've seen from him in six months.
It's also not enough.
I put my pint glass down on the bar. The sound is loud in the quiet.
I take his empty glass to the well, pour him two fingers of his bourbon, and set the fresh glass in front of him without touching him.
