“It’s really nothing.”
She holds a knife up to me. “Spill.”
“Are you seriously threatening me with a knife?”
“Yes, I am. Now tell me everything or I will cut you.”
I laugh at her as I pour lime juice into the mixer. “I’ll give you the short version because I don’t have a few hours to tell you everything. Everyone else might get confused as to why a professional bartender is taking three hours to make a margarita.”
She puts the knife down and sits in a chair waiting for me to talk. So I do. I give her a quick five-minute spiel of Ryder and me. I tell her about eight years ago and Easton’s wedding and the night at Sawyer’s that changed everything.
“This is so romantic,” she says.
“Since when are you into romance? I thought you liked horror stories.”
A goofy smile lights up her face. “Since Brooks won my heart.”
“Ew. I think I need to call a doctor to fix my love drunk sister.”
She laughs, but then her face turns serious. “What about his fiancée?”
I pour the margaritas I left untouched in the shaker into our glasses. “That is a whole ‘nother issue we need to deal with.”
“Well in my personal opinion, she is a bitch. The day we helped them move I saw the way she talked to him. He has PTSD right?”
I nod.
“Well she acted like he needed to get over shit and just move on. I mean, I am no expert on it. But my past has come back to haunt me a few times and that is not the way you talk to someone who is suffering.”
“He isn’t suffering. He just has episodes. And he isn’t very good at communicating.”
“Except with you,” she says as she sips her drink.
“Except with me.”
“Well, they fought half the time we were there. It was kinda uncomfortable. She just walked out of the room and we were both kinda stunned. I don’t really know him, but I don’t think they are right for each other.”
I give her a half nod.
What am I supposed to say?
No, they are not good for each other.
It’s always been Ryder and me.
We belong together.
Hell no, I can’t say any of that.
Instead, I just hold my head high. “We’ll see what happens.”
She puts a hand on my forearm. “You know I’ll always root for you, T.”
“Yeah. But this isn’t a game. It’s real life.”
“I can tell he cares about you a lot.”
I shrug. “Only time will tell.”