Page 18 of Love You Madly

She slaps me on the shoulder, laughing. “I’m not talking about either of us getting married again, Owen. I’m just saying… your charm is… an acquired taste. There might actually be someone out there who can keep you around. And put up with your bullshit.”

Her words land harder than I think she means them to, a quick sting that I try to shake off. Sabrina’s always been blunt—one of the things I’ve always loved about her—but sometimes, the truth hits a little too close to home. Still, I force a grin. This is a good night, and I’m not about to let a moment of honesty derail that.

Just then, the patio doors swing open, and the bartender steps out with a tray of shots. As she passes, I quickly grab two—one for me and one for Sabrina—silently thanking whoever decided to buy this round. I hand her the glass with a smirk.

“Only one shot,” I remind her, “and you’re staying long enough for it to clear your system before you head out. Besides, maybe it’ll take the edge off before that hot date tonight.”

We laugh, clinking our glasses together before downing the shots. The whiskey burns as it slides down my throat, and as the familiar sting hits, I realize it’s the same whiskey I had way too much of on our wedding night. Talk about full circle.

“Here’s hoping this night ends better than the last time I had too much of this stuff,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at her.

Her cheeks flush pink, and she punches me lightly in the arm. “Shut up,” she says, her tone playful but warning. She’s never been a fan of my humor when it teeters on the edge of crude, but I can’t help but laugh at her reaction.

In this moment, the weight of everything—our shared past, the path we’ve taken to get here—seems to hang between us. But instead of it feeling heavy, it feels... lighter. Like we’re both finally on the other side of something we never thought we’d get through.

It’s then that I notice the bartender standing across the room, still working but clearly keeping an eye on me. She’s pretty, around my age, with curly blond hair that frames herbright blue eyes. She’s wearing an Iowa Hawkeye jersey, tied up just enough to show a hint of skin above her low-slung jean shorts. She’s not my usual type—I tend to lean more toward curvier women—but there’s no denying she’s beautiful. I grab my beer from the table, raising the bottle in a silent “cheers” with a wink in her direction.

Sabrina catches the exchange, and as we part ways, she mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “shameless flirt” under her breath. I chuckle, shaking my head as she heads out. The rest of the night is spent surrounded by friends and family, celebrating this milestone in my life. As I look around at the smiling faces, hear the laughter and clinking of glasses, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for everyone who’s been by my side through it all.

As the party starts winding down, my phone buzzes with a video call from my cousin Vince. He looks exhausted, his eyes heavy from working double shifts at the prison. His girlfriend is pregnant with their third kid, and he’s been pulling extra hours before his paternity leave kicks in. “Sorry I couldn’t make it, man. Just trying to get everything squared away before the baby comes,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No worries, Vince,” I assure him. “You’ve got a lot going on, and we’ll catch up soon. Take care of yourself.”

After the call, Sabrina gives me a quick hug goodbye, followed shortly by Mom and Barrett. I wave them off, my heart full as I watch them go. Dad and Bev hang around a little longer, but they eventually head out too, making the drive back to Cedar Bluff. Despite the tension between Bev and Sabrina—and the mountain of unsolicited advice Bev has offered over the years—I appreciate that they made the effort to come.

I’m also grateful that Sabrina held her tongue tonight,probably knowing I’d already had enough awkward moments to last a lifetime.

The night at the bar stretches out longer than I’ve stayed out in years. We drink, laugh, and reminisce about the journey that has led me to this moment. Despite the late hour, the guys show no signs of slowing down. As the rest of the crowd begins thinning out, it's just Will, Luke, and me left at a high top table on the patio. We decide to venture into the main bar where it’s quieter now, the buzz of conversation reduced to a low hum. And no Creed, thankfully. The bartender wipes down the counter, glancing over at us with a tired but amused expression.

Luke leans back in his chair, his eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol. “So, Owen, now that the apprenticeship is done, what’s next for you?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” I say, fidgeting with the label on my beer bottle. “I thought about getting back on FlameFinder, but I don’t know.” I pause, noticing the label reads Apple of my Hawk-Eye, and the corniness of it makes me laugh mid-conversation.

“I hate dating,” I admit after composing myself. “I just miss having someone to talk to and spend time with. I guess dating is a necessary evil, but with work and Barrett… I don’t even know if I have time to really get to know someone.”

I shake my head, looking down at my beer as I swirl the liquid inside the bottle, peeling off the label completely. The bar has a wide variety of craft beers, including local favorites, and I mentally note to check if Hunter Holloway runs a brewery nearby. I need a distraction, and that seems like a good one.

Will leans in, his voice steady. “I get that. And listen, I know you’ve been through a lot, but you deserve to be happy too.”

“And if that happiness just so happens to involve a cute little bartender with blond curls who's been giving you the ‘fuck me’ eyes all night, then so be it,” Luke chimes in, casting a knowing look toward the bartender, a bemused grin on his face.

I think back to Sabrina’s earlier comment and decide that if anyone is the shameless flirt here, it’s Luke Olsen.

“It’s not that simple, Luke,” I reply, more serious now. “I can’t just bring anyone into Barrett’s life. I made that mistake with Brittany a couple of months ago. I let her convince me to bring her kids over for a ‘play date’ with Barrett, right after Mom moved out of the apartment. I had a strict no PDA rule because I wasn’t ready to introduce her as my girlfriend yet.”

Brittany Stone was a nightmare, plain and simple. Her two boys—six and eight years old—were little terrors who ganged up on Barrett every chance they got. When I confronted her, irritated beyond belief, she brushed it off with a smug, “Boys will be boys,” and had the audacity to suggest I didn’t understand because I “didn’t have enough experience as a parent yet.” That was the last straw. I told her to kick rocks and never looked back.

Will nods thoughtfully. “I get that, man. But you need to remember, not every woman is Brittany.”

“Thank fuck,” Luke and I say in unison, the words a shared breath of relief.

We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air. Their concern for me is obvious, and though I’m not sure how to act on it yet, I appreciate it. I know they’re right. I just don’t know what my next step should be.

The blonde bartender walks over, a friendly smile lighting up her face. Luke wasn’t wrong—she’s pretty damn cute. “Last call, gentlemen. Can I get you anything else?”

I glance at Luke and Will, shaking my head. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

She nods, collecting our empty bottles. Her smile lingers, a little flirtatious now. “I hear congratulations are in order. What’s the occasion?”

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