Page 6 of Living with Fire

“This is my point,” he says, leaning over the bar towards me. “You don’t get laid. You work too damn much. Dude, you’re a thirty-two-year-old bachelor, wasting the best years of your life. You need to live a little. Get out there and meet some ladies, do some fucking, have the time of your life. Stop working all the damn time.”

I cock an eyebrow at him, and he does it right back at me. A silent conversation passes between us; me asking what I’m supposed to do about the bar, him suggesting I hire someone else to help out. It’s a conversation we’ve had more times than I can count in the last couple of months, but whatever he sees on my face next has him frowning.

Shrugging, I look down the bar to one of my other customers to see if he needs anything. The guy looks alright, so I turn back to Liam.

“I take it your meeting with the accountant didn’t go so well this morning?” he asks, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Besides Jordan, Liam is the only one that really knows what’s going on with the bar and the troubles I’m facing, and he doesn’t even know the extent of it.

Rubbing a hand up and down the side of my face, I shake my head. The list has been on my mind all day, giving me a headache at the base of my skull.

The stress must be showing on my face because Liam frowns, something he doesn’t do a lot. “Shit dude, that’s rough. Anything I can do to help?”

I blow out a frustrated sigh. “As much as I appreciate it, I don’t even know where to start, so you’d be even more useless than me.”

I’ve been a hard worker my entire life, but for the last six months I’ve worked harder than ever, which is starting to take its toll. Between my shifts at the firehouse, and all the hours I’ve been pulling at the bar, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends. It’s chaotic, and I feel like I’m constantly running on a hamster wheel. Usually the firehouse is a reprieve from the bar, and the bar a reprieve from the firehouse, but with this new tax situation, there is zero reprieve from anything. I’m not sure how I’m going to manage everything, but I need to find a way.

There are going to be many sleepless nights in my future. I can feel it. It probably doesn’t help that I’m a guy who hates asking for help. A fact that Liam is usually quick to point out.

I gesture to the almost empty plate in front of him, and he nods that he’s done. After disposing of it in the kitchen, I check on the guy at the end of the bar, grab him a new beer, then make a couple of drinks for Bryn, my head server, before returning to Liam.

“You should have just been your adorable, charming self and asked for her number,” Liam says with a firm nod. I’m pretty sure he’s been thinking about this since I left. “Could have told her you’d show her that not all men are pigs like she thinks. It’s true. I mean, I fit that bill, but you? You’re an upstanding kind of guy that any girl would be happy to have.” He tips his bottle back, but before he takes a drink, he sighs sadly. “Too damn bad you don’t have any game.”

I don’t have a chance to counter before my eyes are diverted to my sister pulling out the barstool next to Liam, sinking into it with a huff. She looks miserable, her brown hair disheveled in a messy bun, her eyes rimmed red. It puts me on edge, wondering whose ass I need to beat.

“What’s wrong?” I wince at the bark in my own voice, the protectiveness I feel for my sister showing.

“Tequila. I need a shot of tequila. Please, Nate.”

My eyes slide to Liam at the same time his move to mine. I can tell just by looking at him that we’re on the same page, both of us ready to kick whoever’s ass has made Jordan look like this.

I do as she asks and grab a glass, filling it a quarter of the way before edging it towards her. She takes it, and we both watch as she downs it without a second thought, not even making a face when she’s done.

“More,” she commands, pushing the glass towards me.

“First, tell me what’s wrong,” I counter, putting the bottle down to cross my arms, holding firm.

For one long second of hell, I think she might burst into a million tears when I see the shuddering breath that she releases. I’m certain Liam feels the same because he stiffens in my periphery. The moment comes and goes with no tears falling, but eyes the color of mine are full of them before she looks down at the bar.

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she says, “I think Paul is cheating on me.”

“Douchebag Paul?” Liam asks, beating me to the punch of questioning her. “I thought you broke up with him a couple of months ago.”

Jordan’s arms slam down on the counter, and she falls forward dramatically, wailing loud enough for both of us to hear, despite her face being muffled by the bar and her arms. “I did!”

If my sister weren’t about to lose it in the bar, I would burst out laughing at the panicked look on Liam’s face as his eyes bounce from Jordan to me, floundering with what to do. His hand is outstretched, ready to touch her shoulder, but I can tell he’s not sure of himself, so I give him a nod to comfort her.

“They got back together,” I tell him quietly as he tentatively pats her upper back.

I wasn’t happy when she reconciled with the asshole, but it’s not my life, and as much as I hate it, I can’t tell Jordan who she should and shouldn’t date. For the most part. She and I have an understanding that she doesn’t date my friends, something that we decided a long time ago when we were still kids.

“He left his phone open on the coffee table when he went to the bathroom, and a text came up,” she says, lifting her head from the counter. I’m surprised to see no tears have fallen, though they’re still there, threatening. “I saw the message come across the screen asking if something was sexy and then I couldn’t help myself. I know I shouldn’t have looked, but I did, and… and…”

“Deep breath,” Liam says with a calmness he didn’t appear capable of a moment ago.

I raise an eyebrow, surprised at the softness in his tone. The guy isn’t as emotionally unequipped as he thinks he is, when he stops letting his brain get in the way. Either that, or his firefighting training is kicking in and he’s treating her more like a patient than a woman on the verge of a breakdown.

He confirms the latter when he takes in a deep breath, showing her how to do it, and lets it out slowly. Jordan follows him the second time and then she nods, closing her eyes for a moment. When they open again, she gestures towards the tequila bottle, and this time I fill her glass.

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