Page 3 of The Guy in the Alley

I snorted under my breath and went to put in table nineteen’s order.

“Meanwhile, nobody’s taking me shopping,” Bella huffed.

“We were gonna eat first, princess.” Everett called her by the right name.

Damn.

Maybe I’d lost my influence on Bella, but I had one more hope. One more kid in my life. My nephew. Who… I checked my watch. Should be here any moment.

My little sister hadn’t been nearly as screwed over as I had in our parents’ retirement plan. She’d already been itching to move back to Chicago, so when our folks had literally given her their house, just like that, they’d made her day. This was their big bon voyage into retirement. Sarah got their house; I got the Clover. She had a nice home with very few mortgage payments left in a decent school district, and I had a sports bar in the Loop that’d been a sinking ship the past ten years.

One could say I was bitter—but not for the reasons some might guess. I loved the Clover. I’d grown up here. I’d run barefoot all over these sticky floors. I understood Dad’s reasoning when he’d told me he was giving Sarah a home and me a future. I got it. It wasn’t a money issue. The problem was the motherfucking headache that came with this joint. Running it was painful, because we were always one bad move away from shutting down.

This’d been the Kalecki tradition for four generations now, though. I’d inherited it from my father, who had taken over from his mother and her two sisters. Before then, their old man and, originally, his uncle.

I was sure as shit never having kids—who the fuck could afford ’em anyway—so that left Chip. My five-year-old nephew with attitude problems. Or that’s what his teachers at kindergarten said. They knew fuck-all. He was just a kid. He was a cocky little runt, but he had a big heart, and he was protective of his momma.

I’d been the same way at that age.

And look at me now.

* * *

“All right, I’m punchin’ out. Jamaal’s here,” Adam said.

I was busy pouring beers, but I reached over and bumped his fist. “Take it easy out there, man. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, and get some fucking rest,” he told me.

I would. Later tonight.

I had a break in five minutes, though. Petey was already working on my dinner.

As Adam left, Jamaal emerged from the back, and I told him he could start with refills for our Senior Circuit. As in, Jerry and Malcolm. They’d been sitting at the bar since four o’clock.

“Christ, Pop. Don’t you ever go home?” Jamaal didn’t love having Malcolm here all the time, but I thought it was hysterical. When Malcolm got real lit, he’d start telling everyone what a cute baby Jamaal had been, effectively killing any attempt Jamaal might make to get his flirt on.

Innocent flirting was allowed after eight PM.

We liked big tips, and we could not lie.

“You know the answer to that, boy,” Malcolm replied. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on Jerry.”

I smirked and headed for the other end of the bar, where three tipsy women were waiting for beers.

For the record, nobody needed to keep an eye on Jerry. Jerry just needed to go home to his fucking wife already. Poor Irene didn’t have it easy with him. I’d never met a crankier man than Jerry, and I was my father’s son.

“Trace?” I heard Julie call.

“Yeah?” I looked over my shoulder, only to see Chip had woken up from his very late, not-gonna-tell-Sarah nap. “Be right there!” I hurried up and put a charming smile on my face for the three ladies, and once they had their beers, I walked off.

“Unca Trace, I’m awake now!” Chip hollered.

He was so fucking cute. It helped that he took after me. We shared the same dark hair and green eyes. I’d been adorable as a kid—and these days, quite a few men had assured me I was hot as fuck.

“I can see that, little man.” I swooped him up and blew a raspberry on his cheek. “Did ya have a nice nap in my office?”

“Yeah.” His grin was as sleepy as it was goofy. “I don’t want a babysitter. I have you!”

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