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Once again, I found myself waiting on a phone call or text from Tristan that might never come. I hated this restless, helpless feeling, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. Ethan had assured me that Tris was fine, safe at home, and that he’d promised to reach out when he was ready, but over a week later, I was still waiting.

It was pure torture.

Mix It Up had gotten a little busier since the holiday season had started, so I’d had plenty to distract myself with most of the time, but mornings at home were the worst. Since Tris had left, I’d worked every single day until I was utterly exhausted and could barely stay awake long enough to shower before collapsing into bed and falling asleep when my head hit the pillow. But that didn’t help me when I woke up and had to wait for the bar to open. I’d tried heading there anyway to work on inventory, but it was the silence, the utter lack of human interaction, that made my mind run wild and my worry spiral.

Had I well and truly fucked up the best relationship I would ever have?

Because despite the fact that Tristan may never want to talk to me again, this week had shown me I had fallen for him. He was who this old man wanted, and I hoped I’d have the chance to make this right.

I’d had to fight every instinct I had not to text him a million apologies, trying to respect his request for space and time. But it was so fucking hard when my heart felt like it was on a cord connected to his. And the tighter the cord stretched—the further he moved away in space and time—the more I ached.

I wasn’t too proud to admit I was miserable.

It was just past nine pm, and the dance floor was full of writhing, sweaty, scantily clad bodies. Friday nights were busy nights anyway, but tonight, nearly two weeks before Christmas, the bar seemed especially packed. I wasn’t complaining as I and the other bartenders on shift slung drinks behind the bar and served them up as fast as the orders were coming in.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a concerning text from Gio at the front door. I quickly pulled Ben aside to explain the situation briefly—he and Ryden could handle the crush of patrons while I stepped away—then pushed through bodies to reach the front entrance.

“Sorry to pull you away from the bar, boss,” Gio said as soon as I was within earshot, which was pretty much inches from my ear. Crowds equaled noise.

“No worries, man.” I slapped him gently on his shoulder as he stepped toward me, and one of our weekend bouncers—men hired for their imposing stature and massive muscles, to be honest—moved in his place to keep the line moving. “What’s up?” His text hadn’t said much, just that he needed backup.

I wished Timothy was here.

“That Jason guy showed up again.”

My heart stopped, and I automatically stepped to the side to see past the line of people at the door huddled under our queue’s awning and out into the rainy night.

“Here’s not here anymore,” Gio quickly offered, answering my unasked question. “I turned him away, and he got a little loud complaining about it, but he left without incident. I just thought you should know.”

My heart had started back up again, but it was racing now, and I was breathing hard. This guy had harassed my friends and effectively threatened my business, and my gut told me he was just entitled enough to start some shit. I’d hoped not hearing from him in months meant he’d forgotten about his vendetta against us—or was too drunk to remember—but perhaps our luck had run out.

“What did he say exactly?”

Gio shrugged, a frown marring his angular features. “The usual bluster of an asshole, you know. That he deserved to be here, that he could sue me for not letting him in, stuff like that.”

Goddammit.

My poker face must’ve failed me, because Gio was quick to add, “Dudes talk like that all the time. I’m sure it’s nothin’ to worry about. Just a rich boy being stupid.”

I huffed, putting my hands on my hips. “Did he seem drunk to you? Did he seem like he had his shit together, or was he a mess?”

Gio shifted his weight forward, and he swayed a little in what I assumed was excitement. “Seemed sober to me. But get this—his watch and suit looked hella expensive. Watch might’ve even been a Rolex.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. But he was just posturin’, I’m sure.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I wasn’t going to tell my employee that. So I told a little white lie. “I’m sure you’re right. Good job, Gio. Thanks for not letting him in—and for telling me right away. Please do the same if he shows up again, okay?”

He smiled. “You got it, boss.”

I forced a return smile. “Thanks.”

Hurrying away so he could get back to work, I nodded at Ben as I passed the bar and pushed through the door to the back. Less than thirty seconds later, I was in the tiny manager’s office with the door shut and on the phone with Timothy.

“Shit,” he said when I told him, echoing my response.

“Yeah. You have any advice on how to handle it?”