Page 26 of Where We Call Home

Rhodes nodded thoughtfully, waiting for me to return to my game before resuming his own.

When I couldn’t stop yawning and my eyelids grew heavy, I knew it was time to go. Rhodes offered to drive me home, but I refused. There was no way I’d admit I couldn’t keep up—even if it was true.

Eight

“Do you ever leave this place?”

Mac glanced at me, a snarl on his lips, as he squatted to grab glasses from the bottom shelf of the bar.

“No, smartass. I live here. Literally,” he said, setting the glasses on his workstation.

Mac lived and breathed this bar. Even on the rare occasion he had a night off, he was still here. Considering he lived upstairs, it wasn’t much of a leap. Tonight, Dudley and the other bartender had both called in “sick.” Ironically, they were sleeping together. Being the workaholic he was, Mac stepped in to cover the bar himself.

It was Tuesday, which meant Tequila Night. Since the day started with a “T,” tequila shots were half off, and all tequila-based drinks were $4. The special usually drew a decent crowd for a weeknight.

How did I know this? Because if I ever wanted to see Mac, this was where I had to come. At this point, I’d watched him behind that bar so many times, I could probably do the job myself.

After a long day at work, I figured I’d swing by tonight and check in on my friend. Mac always loved it when we showed up just to watch him work.

Sike.

“Why don’t you call someone else in? Just because they both called out doesn’t mean you have to take the hit,” I said.

Mac didn’t allow himself much beyond bartending. The only thing that could pull him away was his dog, Angus.

And speak of the devil—there was a loud thud, followed by the sound of paws skidding across hardwood. Angus, Mac’s massive 120-pound black Lab, came barreling down the stairs.

Nearly knocking me off my stool, Angus pounced, planting his front paws on my lap.

“Hey there, buddy,” I cooed, scratching behind his ears. His head tilted left and right, his pink tongue lolling from his mouth as he panted eagerly. Angus was a beast of a dog. Standing on his hind legs, he was as tall as an average man.

“Oh, shit,” Mac muttered, rushing around the bar.

Rule number one: no animals in the bar while it was in service.

“You know better, boy,” Mac scolded, shooing Angus toward the stairs. He disappeared, presumably locking him back upstairs. Depending on how the night went, I might head up later and keep him company.

Left to myself for a moment, my thoughts drifted to dinner with Theo. She’d been on my mind ever since. She was so nervous, which I found sweet. Then again, I’d been nervous, too, though I tried not to show it. Especially when she licked her lips and gave me those big, beautiful eyes. It took everything in me not to say “fuck it” and finish cleaning her up myself.

But my anxiety had other ideas. I called herHoney.She didn’t seem to mind, but was she just being polite? Showing her how to play Solitaire—was that too much? Did I come off as cocky?

The questions came one after another, relentless.

I took a deep breath and brought my beer to my lips. The cold liquid slid down my throat, a welcome distraction.It was okay.I reminded myself of that. No matter how loud the anxiety got, I had to pull my mind back.

Mac returned from upstairs, mumbling something under his breath. When he got closer, he shook his head and smiled.

“That damn dog. I swear, he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s no dummy,” I laughed. Angus was just like his owner, always up to something.

A faint breeze swept through the room as the bar door swung open and shut. Mac turned his back to light a cigarette.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled, exhaling smoke and planting both hands on the bar. “I got a full audience tonight. Don’t you guys have anything better to do?”

That’s when I noticed the beginnings of a mustache on Mac’s face. Ironic.

Two hands clapped down on my shoulders, and I craned my neck to see Boone, wearing his signature khaki hat, with Logan close behind.

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