Page 54 of Maggie

When he got there, Zeke slid a shot glass across the counter at him. “Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Drink it.”

Wylder plugged his nose and took the shot.

“Ugh.” Wylder made a disgusted face and set his glass on the counter. “What is that?”

“Hair-of-the-dog,” Zeke said. “Salt, tabasco sauce, and whiskey. You’ll feel better soon.”

Wylder sat on a stool at the counter and ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks, man.”

“Welcome. Nice shirt,” Zeke said.

Wylder looked down and was wearing his oldest shirt with the most holes in it. He practically wasn’t even wearing a shirt. He snorted a half-laugh.

Zeke poured his own shot of whiskey and twisted the cap back onto the bottle. He downed it, made a noise of appreciation, then looked at Wylder. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s something. There are empty alcohol bottles and pizza boxes all over this place. You haven’t changed clothes or showered in days. You’re hungover, maybe still drunk. I haven’t seen you or heard from you in a week when normally I see you or at least get a text daily. Are you even taking care of Buzz?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t make him suffer, too.”

Zeke gave him an annoyed look. “What’s happening?”

The images flashed in Wylder’s mind, like a video. Photos of Maggie at a restaurant with another guy, having a good time. His arm around her shoulders when they left. The pictures didn’t show anything untoward or inappropriate, but still. Another guy was making moves on Maggie. He hated it, even if he’d voluntarily given up his chance.

Miraculously, Wylder’s phone was plugged into a charger at the counter and not broken under the couch. He pulled it off the charger, loaded the photos, and slid his phone to Zeke.

Maggie hadn’t texted him or tried to call since they’d parted. He couldn’t blame her, but he missed her.

“Okay, so?” Zeke asked. “I know who this is and it’s not what it looks like. It shouldn’t matter to you, anyway. You’re not together with Maggie.”

“I know that. Believe me, I know that. Still, these pictures make me jealous. I miss her, and I’m struggling to get over her because photos of her keep popping up everywhere. Who is it?”

“Not telling you.”

Zeke screwed the top off the bottle of whiskey and poured them both a shot. He picked up his shot glass and held it toward Wylder for a toast.

He clicked glasses with Wylder, said “Salut,” and downed it.

Wylder took the shot, wincing as the whiskey burned its way down.

“I’ve never seen you this miserable. I think you need to get Maggie back,” Zeke said.

Wylder laughed and rested his face in his hands. “I fucked up. She won’t take me back. Plus, same issue. Different lifestyles.”

Zeke held up his index finger in a “wait a minute” gesture and crossed to the sink. He reached into the cabinet, grabbed two glasses, and filled them with water. He brought a glass to Wylder and sat on a stool beside him.

“I think you two have to compromise.”

Wylder sighed. “I’ve heard that. I don’t know how. Nothing I come up with works.”

Zeke held his hand up in a placating gesture. “What don’t you like about the touring lifestyle?”

“I’m away from my home, my shop, my dog, my routine, and my family. New cities every other day. No roots.”

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