Page 4 of Just My Luck

Her eyes widened and she blinked, a small smile spread across her red lips. Clearly she was enjoying my internal meltdown.

I racked my brain for a single logical thought before giving up altogether. “I’ll be in the front if you need me.”

I turned and walked away, shaking my head and all thoughts of Sloane’s naked body from my mind. Trouble was, Sloane Robinson was a walking, talking pain in my ass. From day oneI’d regretted hiring her as a favor to my sister Sylvie. But what choice did I have? I’d never been able to say no to Sylvie. When she looked at me, it was like she saw a better man standing in my shoes. My sister was quiet and often faded into the background of this town despite being one of the most tenderhearted people I knew. After everything that had happened, she was the first person to tell me things would be okay.

I didn’t believe her, but the thought was nice.

Now, with Sloane working for me and showing up to confirm my suspicions that she was as gorgeous naked as she was clothed, I had managed to exchange one prison for another.

Once back in the safety of the taproom, I grabbed the rag and continued polishing the wood bar. The white furry belt of Sloane’s robe was crumpled in a pile at the corner of the bar. I reached down and ran it through my fingers. A soft, silent laugh pushed out of my nose as I felt a tug at the corner of my mouth.

Sloane had a way of poking at me that was equal parts irritating and endearing—almost like she’d lent me some of her lightness for even the briefest of moments. It was a kindness I rarely received, even in my own hometown.

Outtatowner, Michigan, had been a dream location to grow up. Nestled in the beachy coastline of Western Michigan, we had it all—good fishing, sandy beaches, and enough family money to not take life too seriously. Tourists floated in and out of our town throughout the year, which meant there were always new girls to meet and friends to make.

For most kids, it was a dream come true. But most kids didn’t have Russell King as their father. My siblings and I grew up with our dad being detached and absent. His harsh words were swift and cutting, but we’d adored our mother and lamented the days when business would bring Dad back home. That is, until one morning I woke up and my mother was gone.

She left you and she isn’t coming back. Maybe if you’d been the man of the house in my absence, she would have stayed.

Four days before my twelfth birthday, my mother vanished, and nothing was ever the same. My father’s words sliced through me as I floated through middle school without direction. I was hurt, angry. I found solace in solitude and work. Then one night, years later, my life fractured again.

Driven by anger, stubbornness, and poor decisions, my actions turned my world upside down and took a life.

I scrubbed at the bar top, certain my incessant circles would wear a hole in the wood eventually. My jaw ached from gritting my teeth.

I worked twice as hard to stomp out any ridiculous thoughts of Sloane. She was my employee and my little sister’s best friend. She was a mother and had been hit with hard times this year. Her working at my brewery was a favor and nothing more.

Still, for the rest of the day, the memory of her red-lipped smile and bare skin flashed into my head and settled into my gut.

When most peoplewalk down Main Street in Outtatowner, they’re greeted with friendly smiles and waves. Not me. Not the man branded a criminal and a murderer.

They wouldn’t be wrong either.

It was solely because of the grace of my father and his savvy business sense that I even had a job after prison, let alone a thriving brewery.

I learned early on that Russell demanded results above all else, so I busted my ass to turn a fledgling brewery into a premier taproom and craft kitchen that tourists and townies alike couldenjoy. They didn’t need to like me in order to appreciate the time and care I put into brewing each flavor profile.

Only after I had proved myself did he offer even a modicum of approval. Irritation rolled through me. At least in state prison I had to worry about only myself. Here I had the weight of the King name pressing down on my shoulders.

The brewery might be named Abel’s Brewery, but it would always be his.

The thought grated on me. My dad controlled everything and everyone. It had only been in the last year, when my sister Sylvie had defied him in every way, that the threads of our family had started to unravel.

My sister had the audacity to befriend and have a baby with a son of the Kings’ most hated rivals—the Sullivans. Generations of pranks and general chaos between the families defined our town, but Sylvie and Duke’s relationship had slowly begun to dismantle it all.

My father was no longer talking with our sister, but the rest of us had banded around her. Only then had we fully begun to see the cracks in Russell King’s armor. They were minuscule, but they were there.

My long legs carried me through the midday sunshine, and my steps pounded up the sidewalk. Two women walked ahead of me in the opposite direction. When we caught eyes, I offered a flat-lipped smile and nod. You’d have thought I flashed a gun or bared my teeth at the way the women glued to each other and hurried past me while sneaking wary glances in my direction.

Everyone knew I had done time, but few knew the details. Had they known, I wouldn’t just be an outcast; I’d be a pariah. After prison, my consequence was being shunned by my own hometown.

But I deserved it.

“Abe!” My name caught my attention, and my head swiveled around to see my younger brother Royal exiting his tattoo parlor. Younger than me by two years, Royal was tall and built, like all King men. Tattoos peeked out from under his short sleeves and ran down past his wrists and over his hands. Ink even bled out above his collar. Had he not run a lucrative tattoo shop, I’m sure our father would have plenty to say about his appearance.

Royal’s sharp features carried a dangerous edge to him that could cut a man down with a single look. That is, until he opened his mouth.

“Out of the cave scaring tourists already?” His shit-eating grin spread wide as he leaned against the brick wall to his shop.

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