Page 30 of The County Line
We follow Lydia and the five other volunteers from the community center who joined us today toward the two large, rectangular bar tables situated near the back of the restaurant. The space is lined with dartboards, and an unused pool table sits quietly, waiting for someone from the loud crowd to jump on it.
“I call the first game!” Lydia shouts, grinning as she grabs the arms of three of the other volunteers and pulls them toward the tables. “Molly, Colt, will you pick up the first round for everyone?”
I toss her a thumbs up then slide off my bar stool with Colt following close behind. He’s still wearing the same jeans from our parole meeting earlier, though his beard has somehow thickened since this morning, giving him a rugged edge that only adds to his already intimidating presence. I lean over the bar,catching the bartender’s eye and then place the order for our group.
Colt stays close, his eyes constantly scanning the room like he’s searching for a threat. There’s a tension in his stance, a sharpness to his scowl that feels off. The air around him hums with unease, his body language making it clear—he’s uncomfortable here tonight.
“Hey… are you okay?” I ask, turning to face him and resting a hand on his arm.
“Yeah,” he exhales, but the clipped edge to his tone doesn’t match the word. He doesn’t look anywhere close to fine, and the way his jaw tics tells me something’s eating at him. Maybe he hadn’t really wanted to go out tonight after all. But he’s the one who invited me to volunteer, so I’d assumed he was up for it.
When the bartender hands me the tray of drinks, I reach for it, but Colt is faster—grabbing it from my hands without a word. He carries it back to our table, methodically setting each glass down without taking one for himself.
“You’re not drinking?” I ask, arching a brow before taking a long sip of the cold, frothy beer. The crisp bitterness is a welcome relief, though I probably should’ve eaten something first. After the day I’ve had, I’m both starving and parched.
“Nah.”
I nod, wondering what has him so on edge tonight. The music gets turned up louder as our group of volunteers cheer from the pool table where a heated game has begun. The sound of pool cues hitting the balls as they sink into the sockets filters around us while a few couples start line dancing to the jukebox that’s playing hits in the corner.
“Hey... are you sure everything’s okay?” I don’t mean to prod but he looks like he’s a live wire, ready to snap. His hazel eyes are darker, and his forehead has been permanently creased since we got here tonight.
He puffs out a breath and nods his head, leveling me with a cool stare. “Last time I was in here was five years ago. It was the night that I got arrested.”
I set my beer down hard. A slop of the liquid slips over the top and spills onto my ripped jeans with the movement.
“Ah, shit.” I grab a napkin and dab at it while I try to collect my thoughts about how I dragged him back to the place where his life was ruined. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I mean, I never really heard the full story. I knew you’d been at a bar, but I hadn’t realized it was this one. I would have never suggested we come here tonight if I’d known.”
He shrugs but doesn’t meet my eye. His gaze is fixed on the bay doors that lead out to the bar’s patio. “It’s alright. Had to face the scene at some point.”
I nod, my mind racing with questions I’ve always wanted to ask but never did. Since moving back, all I really know is what little Regan’s shared with me from her perspective. Maverick didn’t have all the details either when I’d asked, and it’s always been clear to me that Regan doesn’t enjoy discussing it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask carefully.
He hesitates, eyes drifting toward the sticky, bar floor before meeting mine with a hardened gaze. “It’s not my favorite story to relive, but I don’t mind telling you what happened.” He exhales as if the weight of the memory is settling over him.
“It was a Friday night, and I was here having a drink with Maverick and Kody. I’d finished a beer, and a little over an hourhad passed. I was messing around with some of the older locals, playing darts, talking shit, then decided to head out to my truck and go home. Mav and Kody wanted to stay but I had an early morning at the distillery.” He chuckles but it isn’t a happy sound.
“I walked outside and that’s when I saw a guy beating on a woman at the store across the street. I told him to stop, gave him a fair warning but he didn’t listen. Had her by the hair, yanking her around like a rag doll. When I got closer to try to intervene, he swung at me, connected with my nose and broke it. It was too late to even register who he was before I started knocking the shit out of him.”
He shrugs. “I broke his jaw in three places and permanently damaged the vision in his right eye.”
“Shit, Colt.”
He nods. “Guy deserved it.”
“What happened to the woman?”
“She was pretty banged up—bruised and beaten, but she was okay. Lost a chunk of hair from her scalp. When the sheriff showed up to talk to her, though, she suddenly changed her story. Claimed I was the one who swung at the guy first and that she’d just fallen or some bullshit, pretending she was just a bystander in the whole thing. It was all a lie.” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “The bar was subpoenaed, and they handed over footage of me earlier in the night, having a single drink, which they used to build my case. But when they tried to get footage from outside the bar to figure out who started it, all of it mysteriously disappeared.”
“That’s insane.”
He nods, his eyes narrowing. “Troy did what he could, but by then he was living in New York, with Max in his senior yearof high school. He hired me a good lawyer, but the law wasn’t on my side that day. I hadn’t realized that the guy I hit was the sheriff’s son, so I guess it makes sense how the evidence vanished, and the woman suddenly changed her story when the sheriff interviewed her.”
“That’s… that’s insane.”
“Yeah. It took four years—and Troy running for governor—for them to dig up footage from across the street that backed up my version of things. The guy swung at me first. But even then, the guy still walked free. The witness disappeared, and they said the force I used was excessive.” He shakes his head. “That footage, though—that’s what finally pushed my appeal forward and helped me get out.”
I’m silent shaking my head, feeling a ripple of anger rush through me. “I’m so sorry, Colt. I never knew what exactly happened.”
