Page 79 of The Games We Play
Another thought had been gnawing at me for days—one I hadn’t said out loud yet.
“It’s not just Penny,” I said slowly. “I think that drunk mistake is why my sister’s being an ass about the bar, too.”
Saying it out loud released something. I’d been carrying that weight since the night her and I fought. Which also happened to be the last night we’d really spoken, actually. Since then, I’d done what I do best—avoid.
Boone’s brows shot up. He turned his head like he was trying to make sure he heard me right. “Go on.”
“We were arguing, again, and she said shecouldn’tgive me the bar. Not that she didn’t want to, but like something was stopping her.”
I’d been running it through my head since. But the only thing that made sense? She knew. She knew about the marriage. After Dad died and the bar became hers, she somehow knew and kept it in her name.
“No shit…” Boone murmured. “But how would she even find that out?”
I took a hard drag from the cigarette and tapped ash into the tray. “No fucking clue.”
“It never made sense why she stayed in Faircloud,” he added, voice low. “She always looks miserable behind that bar.”
A quiet laugh slipped from my throat. “That’s her default expression.”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“Nah.” I exhaled a cloud of smoke. “A civil conversation? That’s never gonna happen. She’s impossible.”
Boone hummed like he wasn’t convinced.
I squinted at him. “What?”
He threw his hands up like I was accusing him of something. “Nothing, man.”
Bullshit. I could see the gears turning behind his eyes.
“Spill it.”
“I just think… maybe you both make having a civil conversation impossible.”
My head tilted. I didn’t love the way that landed.
“I’m just saying,” Boone continued, cautious, “every time I’ve seen you two talk, it’s like watching two firecrackers light each other up.”
I didn’t argue. I couldn’t because deep down, I knew he was right. No matter what the topic was—bar business or personal—we always ended up at each other’s throats.
I crushed the cigarette in the tray and didn’t say a word.
“Did you know,” Boone said, changing gears fast—thank God, “Logan’s going to Petal Pusher tomorrow to help Penny?”
I straightened, leaning on my elbows. “Logan?”
That was my job.Mything.
When Penny needed help with Sandy, I was the one she called—whether it was cleaning vases or making deliveries during peak seasons.
A flicker of jealousy burned through my chest. She’d asked someone else.
“And you’re telling me this… why?”
Boone glanced down at his phone, thumbs idle. “Just do what you want with that information.”
“Wait—”
