Page 48 of Our Secrets and Scars

“Would you swear it on the Bible?”

That drags a hearty laugh from the base of my throat. “You raised me to never swear on anything,” I remind him. “‘Above all, my brothers, do not swear, either by heaven or by earth or by any other oath. Let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’ and your ‘no’ be ‘no,’ so that you may not fall under condemnation.’” I recite James 5:12 and watch with a wry smile as Mack fights not to look impressed, but I see it.

I see the way his eyes shine with pride at my remembrance of the passage. He knows I’m not a religious man, not anymore, but he goes to church every Sunday and says his prayers to God each night. He respects my decision to distance myself religiously, but he’s always hoped I might rediscover my faith and start attending morning mass with him again.

I won’t. That part of my life is over now. But I still take comfort in the teachings he passed down to me growing up, and I’ll forever be grateful for his wisdom, even if I no longer share in his faith.

“You’re too clever for your own good sometimes, kid.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But I weren’t lying, I ain’t stupid. And I know the look of a man who’s pining after a peach and if she’s as sweet as your love-stained eyes suggest she is, then lemme tell you something, son. It’ll be a long while before you get over a lass like that. A long while, indeed.”

“You speaking from experience, Uncle Mack?”

His eyes glimmer with sadness for a brief moment, but the expression disappears as quickly as it comes, too fleeting even for me to wonder what happened to him to put it there. And then he laughs quietly and says, “I’m a lone wolf, I ain’t ever needed a woman and that’s the way it’s gonna stay.”

“Isn’t it lonely?”

He chuckles, but I see it again. The look that was there before. The flash of sadness I’d almost missed. But this time, I notice something else too. Regret swims heavy and deep in his drooping eyes, and I want so desperately to ask him about it, but I know better.

He may have raised me not to lie, or attempted to at least, but he’s always been an active participant in the practice ofdo as I say, not as I do.If he doesn’t want me to see behind his mask of easy merriness, then I’ll pretend as if I don’t.

“So, why did you bring me here?” I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I needed a reason to have a good time with my nephew.”

It’s my turn to cock a brow now. “You don’t. Just wondering why you dragged me to the other side of town to do it.”

He signals to a waitress with two fingers for another round of drinks before turning back to me. “Too clever, kid. You’re too fucking clever.”

I wait in silence for him to tell me why we’re really here.

“See that guy?” He nods his head toward the band’s guitarist. “He works for another studio across town. I’ve seen his work. Boy’s got talent. Swear, his gift is almost as special as yours.”

“We’re here to poach him then?”

“You ain’t here to do anything but drink your fucking whiskey, son.” He smirks. “But if the chance arises to offer him a sweeter deal than he’s got over there, then best believe I’m gonna take it.”

“Who knew you were so sly?”

I smile at the waitress in thanks as she replaces our empty glasses with full ones.

“Sly? Watch who you’re talking to.” He tuts, shaking his head. “You don’t get nowhere in business without taking chances and you’d be wise to remember that when you take over the shop someday.”

I go to respond, but whatever words I’d been planning to say die a long death on my lips. Because a girl is walking through the doors on the opposite side of the bar, her dark hair twisted into a long braid and her tiny frame wrapped into a blue bandage of a dress that makes her glow impossibly golden.

She’s a goddess gliding across the grubby wooden floors of the dive bar as every male head in the room turns in her direction. Not that she notices. Violet is oblivious to the attention she attracts everywhere she goes, and in the rare moments that she does detect it, she assumes that it’s because she’s being judged. Never have I met a person with lower self-esteem.

I watch as she breathes in her surroundings, her brows drawn together. She’s dressed like a woman steeped in confidence who’s here for a good time, but her face wears the expression of a girl who’s overly self-conscious and just wants to go home.

Isla tugs at her elbow, leading her over to the bar, and my gaze follows every movement. The way her hair gets caught in the draft that blows in through the open doors, the twitching of her hands as she tugs at the hem of her dress, and how she ducks her head every time she catches someone looking her way.

“That her?” Uncle Mack’s voice startles me, pulling my eyes away from Violet for the first time since she walked into the bar.

“What?”

“The girl you’re pining for. I’d bet a pretty penny that the angel in the blue dress over there is her.”

“Angel? She’d hate you for calling her that.”

“The prettiest girls never know that’s what they are, ain’t that sad?” He shakes his head. “So, you gonna go talk to her or just carry on staring like a creeper?”

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