Was Griffith working in that grocery store because he had to support himself?
I never gave much thought to Griffith’s wants and needs and future plans. Learning from Carl that his best friend had bought a bar distorted the mental picture I had of the floppy-haired wolf who moved like his body was bigger than he expected and spent his days cutting up cow carcasses.
But he was always responsible. Personable with everyone but me. I never doubted he’d be successful.
“This seems like more beer than what one bar needs.”
Griffith runs his gaze over his alcohol domain. “I distribute across Georgia.”
“Look at that. Mythics secretly taking over the world.”
He snorts. “How have you been dominating the globe these past nine years?”
“Hmm. I’ve been more of a drifter than a dominator.” I meander around the brewing setup, looking closely at all the shiny equipment as if I might know what any of the tubbing or knobs do. “When I left here, I followed a few different bands I liked.”
“Your job was groupie?”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t sleeping with them, perv. I just liked music and wanted some direction in my wandering. One band hired me on as a roadie. I carried their instruments”—I flex my biceps—“sold their merch, did setup and break down.” I smile wistfully. “That was the first time I truly felt useful. And like I had control over my life.” I shove my hands in my pockets and make my way back toward Griffith. “Bought a tablet with my first few paychecks. Started making my own designs for the band. Offered to set up a website for them. They loved it. Realized I could do that, help bands with back-end stuff. Marketing things. Just grew from there.”
“That easy, huh?”
I scoff, thinking of all the nights I slept in my car or in a shitty motel. The cheap food I ate and the never-ending traveling I had to keep up with. Long nights, long days, building trust and learning how to take care of myself.
“Wouldn’t call it easy. I’m settled into it now, but for a few years … let’s just say, I blurred the truth a bit whenever I caught up with Carl.”
“Why did you do that?” His brow crinkles with the question.
I shrug. “Didn’t want to worry him.”
“Really? Worrying him used to be your favorite pastime.”
The words hang between us like a chandelier made of knives, cutting up the semblance of a truce we were building.
He’ll never move past it. The angry teenager that I was.
My fault for thinking maybe he could.
“Is the bar opening soon?” I pass by Griffith without meeting his eyes.
“Clem—”
I’m out the door before he can finish what was likely going to be an empty apology. An attempt to keep his promise to get along. But I think the only way either of us will keep that vow is if we maintain a healthy distance. Close enough to notice any danger, but far enough that neither of us is doing the hurting.
13
GRIFFITH
Clementine stayscold toward me for the rest of the day after the snide comment I made. We had actually been getting along, and I had to go and ruin the truce.
This time, I can admit it was my fault and uncalled for.
I don’t know if I can forgive and forget the hell she caused my best friend, but I have to admit that picking at her about her actions from nine years ago doesn’t help anyone. Besides, I was the one to come up with the idea of being her bodyguard.
Or babysitter.
Despite the cold shoulder she’s giving me, Clementine decides to set up her workstation at the far end of the bar rather than in a back corner booth. She situates her laptop and a Bluetooth mouse, then focuses so thoroughly on the screen that I’d hazard she has no idea what’s going on around her.
Not exactly safe, but I guess that’s what I’m here for. To watch out for her.
