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A drink sounds better than going home to an empty house and a heating pad, left to ponder if the woman I’ve fallen for might get back with her ex-husband.

“Yeah, alright… count me in.”

“Try to cheer up before then,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re depressing the cattle.”

It’s a relief that The Hen House is less chaotic on weeknights.

We arrive to a bar only half full, some regulars nursing beers and watching a game on the TV. Haven’s Chicks aren’t playing tonight, which means the bar’s twenty-year-old stereo system will have to do.

Right now, some old country song about moonshine and regrets is playing.

We order a round of beers and loiter at the counter instead of our usual table.

Ricky’s worked up because of some confrontation he got into with Buck about a new fencing project. Apparently, Buck was so pissed, Joaquin claims steam was damn near coming out his ears.

“He’s a hardass for no reason,” grumbles Ricky. He takes a swig from his beer bottle and lets out a vexed breath. “Thinks he can talk to just anybody like they’re a child.”

“You need to learn to chill,” Joaquin says. “You let people rile you up way too easy, Rick. Be more like Rhett.”

I give a slight start, the grip on my beer bottle tightening. Truth is, I’ve been in my thoughts as the other two have prattled on. I’ve hardly heard a word.

“Be more like me?” I repeat slowly, lifting a skeptical brow. “Estrada, we both know Huston doesn’t have the range.”

Both guys laugh, though Ricky’s half reluctant, making a sour face.

“I’m being serious,” Joaquin says. He claps a hand to my back. “You’re the king of letting things roll off your back. Nothing means shit to you. Ricky can learn a thing or two.”

Irritation wavers through me. “There’re things I care about.”

“Sure, your TACP career. But that’s been over, brother. All I mean is you’re as easygoing and laidback as they come. Somebody insults you? You laugh it off and make them look like an ass. Then there’s Ricky here… almost coming to blows with our lead ranch hand.”

The conversation moves on without me.

I hang on the edges, taking the occasional swig from my bottle. More so disgruntled and deep in my thoughts.

Vivica was already on my mind, but now I’ve got Joaquin’s words to contend with.

…nothing means shit to me?!

Is that how people see me? Is that why Vivica’s been so reluctant to give me a real shot?

People don’t take me seriously. They see the easy smile and hear the jokes I crack and notice how elusive and private I can be and probably decide I’m unreliable.

What would they think if they knew the truth? If they found out my behavior’s just an act?

My way of disguising how severe my spine injury really is.

Vivica’s learned about it. It seemed to help her realize how dedicated I’ve been. That even when in pain, I’ve prioritized her. That I’ve got more depth than she expected…

The topic of discussion’s moved onto sports when I notice the man at the other end of the bar’s staring at us. By how bold and unflinching it is, it’s obvious he’s been staring for a minute, and I’m only just now noticing.

When my gaze meets his and I recognize who it is, I know exactly why.

Vivica’s ex-husband’s apparently still in town. He’s decided to do what many in Ironhaven do on any given night and stopped by for a drink at The Hen House.

The instant our eyes meet, a spark of amusement flickers in his. He drains the last of his glass and scoots back from his stool.

It’s only as he’s a couple paces away that Joaquin and Ricky notice him too. They stop in the middle of their conversation and glance over in bemusement.