I know what heisn’tsaying. His dad can’t stand me. Won’t let us move in together or even take the time to meet me. As far as Franklin Penngrove’s concerned, I’m just a stain on his son’s reputation.
“I never want to take advantage of our friendship,” Art says. “And I know I promised that I’d…”
He swallows hard.
Lance’s silver chain swings forward as he leans in, resting his elbows on his knees. There’s a beat of silence, and they do that thing they do: communicate without words.
Jealousy cuts through me: sharp and searing.
It’s not Lance’s ego or the way he acts like I’m an inconvenience.
It’sthem.
The way they’re family so effortlessly. There for each other without question. Meanwhile, I’m the outsider. The one who showed up and threw off their balance.
“The fights are starting up again.” Lance says it like he already knew.
That makes one of us.
The fights.
Even the thought of them makes me want to scream, but for some reason, I can never find my voice. I don’t have the right to, anyway. I’m just as complicit as the two of them, even if I never asked to be.
Art leads me down an alley to an industrial gray door tucked behind a blue dumpster.
He pulls out a ring of keys and spins them on his finger.
“You need help figuring out which one to use?” I joke. “I thought you owned the place.”
“I’m just debating on whether showing you this is a good idea.”
“Well you’ll have to show me eventually, especially since you said I could bartend.” I try to peer around him.
“If you work here… There are things you’ll see. Things I don’t want to keep from you, because I love you, and our life together here shouldn’t start with secrets. But I don’t know if this will be too much.”
I swallow down the suspicion. “You can trust me.”
And I mean it. I grew up with a defense attorney for a father who taught me how to keep quiet, so there’s nothing I can’t handle.
“Once I show you this, there’s no going back. And I’m serious, Gin, you can’t tell anyone. Not even your dad.”
He says it lightly, but his hand is trembling, and a cold thread pulls at my sternum.
This is Art, I remind myself. I know him, and I love him. So, I lift up on my toes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He gives a small grin, then opens the doors, dragging me behind him.
We walk through a hallway, with yellow lighting and worn tile that make my footsteps echo. I expect him to take me to the actual bar or maybe lead me to the kitchen, but instead, we head to a door in the back.
He unlocks it, and we go down a flight of stairs until we’re in a small storage area lined with boxes and inventory for the front of house.
“You’re nervous to show me the storage area?” I ask.
He smiles, bouncing in place, then he moves forward and shoves aside the boxes. He taps something on the wall, and the wood swings open to reveal a steel door behind it.
Art puts his thumb on the handle, and it beeps green then opens with a click.
“Fancy. Does everyone need a fingerprint to get through here?”
