Page 111 of The Games We Play
Did my sister lose one of her very few fucking marbles?
“No, you’re being nosy.” I stepped forward, voice lowering. “For your information, I did walk her down, just didn’t make it all the way to the door because I was in my boxers and figured the morning crowd didn’t need that kind of show.”
Lizzie hummed like she didn’t believe me, then reached into her tote and pulled out a laminated menu.
She slid it across the bar like she was presenting evidence in a court case.
“And this?” she asked, tone clipped. “You made this without even running it by me.”
I barely glanced down at the menu before looking back up. “So what?”
“You just said you didn’t know what was going on with her. But you’re making personalized menus?”
I picked up the next glass and dried it with more force than necessary, my patience with her and this conversation wearing thin. “Just say what you’re really trying to say and get it over with.”
Lizzie huffed, then reached into her bag again. This time she tossed down a handful of wrinkled, half-torn flyers.
I threw the towel over my shoulder and picked one up. It was a promotional flyer for the fundraiser Penny had mentioned—cowboy hats, cacti, and bold fonts carefully curated on the page.
Mechanical bull, themed drinks, line dancing,realcowboys. Saturday night. Right here.
Despite myself, I grinned. It was over-the-top and dramatic—pure Penny.
“What about it?” I asked.
“Did you tell yourgirlfriendshe could use the bar for a fundraiser?” Lizzie’s voice had sharpened.
“Yeah,” I said. “And? You got a problem supporting the library? Helping kids keep access to books and computers and a safe place to go?”
I leaned in close, voice dropping. “Go ahead. Shut it down. See how well that goes over in this town.”
“All I’m asking for is some transparency,” Lizzie said, her voice tight. “Is that really too much to ask?”
“Yes,” I said flatly. “It is.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Whatever resentment you’ve been carrying around since childhood? Put it aside and grow up. This is business, not personal.”
I laughed—a humorless, bitter sound that echoed too sharply in the quiet bar. The sheer audacity of her comment burned like cheap whiskey going down the wrong damn pipe.
“Not personal?” I leaned both palms on the bar and stared her down. “It’s pretty damn personal to me. This place has been my life since I was tall enough to see over this counter. Andnow you come in here, on your high horse, expecting me to nod and jump every time you bark out an order? That’s not business, Lizzie. That’s arrogance.”
I tapped my finger hard against the bar top, each word punctuated with the weight of a lifetime. “I grew up behind this damn wood. You didn’t.”
She stayed on her stool, arms crossed, lips pressed in a line—unbothered, at least on the surface. But that only fueled the fire roaring inside me.
Maybe it was her accusing Penny of stealing. Maybe it was just years of built-up shit between us. But I wasn’t holding back anymore.
“Why is it that every time you walk through that door, you have to push every one of my buttons?” I snapped. “You don’t say hello. You don’t check in. You just pick something to complain about—something to fix, something I’m apparently screwing up.”
“Me?” she shot back, hand on her chest, voice edged with sarcasm. “I’mthe one pushing buttons? Give me a break, Mac. You do shit just to get a rise out of me.”
“Because I’m tired, Lizzie,” I said, stepping back and throwing my hands in the air. “Tired of being micromanaged. Tired of the nagging. Since the moment you came back, it’s been one thing after another. I’ve offered more than once to take this place off your hands and let you walk away.”
“I didn’t ask?—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut her off, waving a hand between us. “You didn’t ask for this. Boo-fucking-hoo. But you stayed. You keep coming around. So, what is it? What’s keeping you here if you hate it so much?”
She mumbled something under her breath, arms crossed again, eyes shifting away.
