Page 53 of Keeping Secrets

As he walked up to Scot’s front door, he did his best to put thoughts of Keely aside. Today’s interview, their second date, the meeting he had scheduled with Rachel, he did his best to box it all up and shove it away.

Scot deserved his full attention.

He rapped on the door, and there was a gruff “Come in” from inside. Travis let himself in and walked through to the living room, where Scot sat on his couch with his injured ankle propped up on a pile of pillows.

“You brought the paychecks?”

“Yep.” Travis crossed the room and handed them to his boss.

Scot didn’t look great. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Travis shifted from foot to foot as Scot signed each paycheck.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“How about a couple of beers from the fridge?”

Travis froze, shocked by the request. Never in all of the time that he had known the owner of the Bottlenose had he started drinking before noon. Hell, the man barely drank a drop before closing. He usually poured himself a glass of scotch when they were closing up for the night, and he often had a beer with dinner. But this… Travis almost said something, almost refused to do as he was asked. Then Scot looked him in the eye, his expression stern, and he nodded.

He walked into the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of a local IPA from the fridge, and cracked them open. He assumed that one was for him, that Scot wasn’t just getting a running start on a day of day drinking, but he wasn’t sure. Steeling himself, he walked back into the living room. Scot signed the final paycheck and leaned back, holding his hand out for the beer. Travis handed it to him and then perched on the only other seat in the living room, an uncomfortable old recliner.

“If you’re going to need to keep that ankle up any longer,” he said, “we should look into getting you a decent recliner.”

“What’s wrong with that one?” Scot groused.

“It’s terrible!”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s the worst!” Travis laughed and took a swig of his beer. “If it were any good, you’d be sitting here with your feet up instead of on the couch.”

“I like that chair. It doesn’t get my ankle up high enough, that’s all.”

“If you say so.”

Scot nodded and tapped the stack of paychecks. “You’re missing Juan.”

“He’s been out the past week or so. Drove down to… I forget, somewhere in SoCal. His mom’s in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Sounds like she’s doing okay. He’s supposed to drive back up tomorrow.”

“Good. That’s good.” Scot looked down at the beer in his hands and turned it slightly. Took a sip.

Travis couldn’t take the silence. He started talking without even meaning to. “If you don’t want a new recliner here, how about one for your office? You could come in and preside over your domain while still keeping your feet up.”

Scot looked up and met his eyes with a steady stare. “Travis…”

“Or if a recliner’s too silly, just a comfortable chair. We could prop your ankle up on a stool or something. The Bottlenose isn’t the same without your around, even if you’re just sitting in your office grumbling at people.”

“Travis, I want you to take over the Bottlenose.”

The silence that followed that declaration was overwhelming.

Travis could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. He looked down at the brown bottle in his hands, up at Scot, down and up again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he had no words.

“I’m not going to get better,” Scot said quietly.

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