Page 49 of The Bartender's Baby

“Or it could be an expensive fix?” I guessed, and he sighed.

“Yep.”

“And not at a great time,” I added, knowing he had plans for the second location already in motion.

He polished off another piece of bacon, and I bit into a triangle of brown toast. “No, but maybe it was a fluke.” He motioned for me to keep eating. “Hurry up. I want to shower.”

“I can’t shove food into my mouth like you can.”

He winked. “Right. Only my dick.”

“Like you can?” I arched my brow. “Tried sucking yourself off, have you?”

He batted at my mouth with my second piece of toast, mashing it against my lips until I laughed, allowing him to stuff it into my mouth. I leaned back, almost spilling my juice in the process, earning a grunt of displeasure as if this were allmyfault.

I shook my head, settling back into my spot, my orange juice safe. “You must’ve been such a little shit as a kid. Always making trouble.”

He lay on his side, propping his head up with his hand. “Actually, no. I was a pretty stereotypical firstborn boy. I mean…I’m sure Evie will tell you I was an asshole and pushed her around, but that was my job.”

I finished off the rest of the eggs. “A pushy asshole? Yes, that sounds familiar.”

He jostled my leg. “What were you like as a kid?”

I hummed in thought. “Quiet.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

I tore off a piece of toast and lobbed it at him. It pinged off his forehead and landed on the sheets. He tossed it into his mouth with a smile. “Will you tell me now?”

“Tell you what?” I placed my empty glass on the nightstand.

“Your whole story.” When I grimaced, he motioned between us. “One for one. Yours for mine.”

I supposed we had to get it all out at some point, so I agreed with a shrug. “You first.”

He pointed to the last piece of toast. “Finish that. So, my dad worked all the time. When I was little, I didn’t know any better, but then I got older and started seeing all my friends’ dads around and hanging out with them, and I was, like, what the hell?I didn’t understand why my dad wasn’t throwing the football around with me. We weren’t taking weekend camping trips. None of that. Whenever I asked him, he always had an excuse, he didn’t know how to play football, we didn’t own the equipment to go camping, he didn’t have time to go to the movies, whatever, whatever. Once I got to high school, it was pretty obvious he was checked out. My parents always argued, even when we were little. They didn’t hide it. My mom was a yeller, but my dad never said anything. Me and Evie could probably reenact their arguments word for word.”

He sat up and pitched his voice higher, “I don’t get you, Tim. Why do you even come home if you’re not going to do anything around here? Your kids don’t even know what you look like.”

Then he dipped his chin, lowering his face. “Goddamn it, Shannon. I’m leaving.”

I winced. “Is that what happened? He said he was leaving one day?”

Nate huffed a derisive laugh. “He said thateveryday. My dad wasn’t happy. Nothing made him happy—not work, and definitely not us—and I took it personally. LikeIwasn’t making him happy. It had to be me. I know that’s not true now, but back then, I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. I blamed myself.”

I understood. Though it wasn’t at all the same, I often blamed myself for things that happened in my life over which I had no control. Sometimes we were our own worst enemy. I reached for Nate’s hand, lacing our fingers together. “So, what happened?”

“He did eventually leave for good and married Summer, who I told you about. They have two kids, and he apparently has time for them. He takes them on vacations, he takes time off work. He’s even planning on retiring soon to, you know…be with his family.”

My hackles rose, irate on Nate’s behalf. I knew what it felt like to be left behind, and I hated that for him. For the boy he had been and the man he was now.

“So,” he went on, idly picking at my nail polish, my food long finished, “my mom tried to overcompensate. She did everything for us, was at every game, recital, everything, which was nice, but she also used me and Evie as pawns. Especially me. Before Dad left, I remember her saying shit likeLook, look at how you’re making Nathan cry.And no twelve-year-old boy wants it pointed out how much he’s crying, you know?”

I moved closer to him, almost in his lap, combing my fingers through his beard. “Yeah. Instead of helping you, she made the situation worse.”

His hands found my waist, fingers restless against my skin. “Yeah, and after he left, she’d shove it in our faces about how much she did for us and how little Dad did. If there was one good thing my father did, he never made it a competition. There was never one between my sister and me or him and my mom. So, I guess there are perks to caring so little.”

Sitting directly in Nate’s lap, I wrapped my arms around his neck and tucked my face into his throat. “And yet you care so much. You’re not your dad. I know you’re afraid you’re like him, but you’re not. You won’t be like him.”

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