Page 71 of What About Us
“Whatever. At least I’m not like you, fucking your way through every tourist in the county, or like Hank, pining over someone for twenty fucking years.”
He cocks a brow at me as if to say,Oh, really?
“Just forget it,” I say and climb out of the truck, slamming the door behind me, before stalking toward the tire shop.
“You two are inevitable, you know,” Hutch calls out his window as I reach the door of the tire shop. Several customers turn to look, so I flip him off and pull open the door. “Quit fucking around and just do it already, man.”
Chapter 23
Hudson
The air is cooland the interior dark when I walk into Rowdy Roxy’s. “Should Have Been a Cowboy” by Toby Keith plays at low volume through the sound system. The only lights illuminating the mostly dark, wood-paneled space are those above the bar, casting glittering light on rows and rows of top-shelf liquor. Half-empty bottles of the cheaper stuff sit below that.
Six round-top tables take up the middle of the space. Three large booths line the right side, with three more smaller booths along the far wall. In between them are a square dance floor and a small stage that’s more a raised platform than anything. Just enough to fit three or four people on it for live music or karaoke. Just beyond that are two pool tables and a couple of dartboards.
The dance floor sits empty—the disco ball still—as well as all but one of the booths, being that it’s barely five in the evening. Two guys dressed in dirty jeans and T-shirts occupy one booth near the back. Construction workers, probably.
Off to the left is a hallway that leads to the restrooms and the office, as well as a storage room, taproom, and a small kitchen. It’s not a big bar by city standards, but it is for Timber Forge. Small towns love their bars, and this town is no different.
I know this place like I know my own bar. Even though I left Timber Forge when I was nineteen, I’ve spent plenty of nights in this place, drinking with Finn, my brothers and sisters, and other friends who have moved on. It’s the only place in town to get a draft beer, and I feel as at home here as I do on the ranch. Just stepping inside calms me.
I hear a few clangs, like Trevor might be moving kegs. I head in the direction of the office, knowing he’s expecting me. I poke my head into the taproom, to see him manhandling a keg into place.
He hears my footsteps and lifts his chin in greeting. “Hey, man.”
“Hey, Trevor,” I return. “Need a hand?”
“Thanks,” he says, “I got it.”
It’s been a while since I’ve been back here, having helped work out some kinks with Trevor’s point-of-sale program last summer. I can see that he’s implemented some of the other changes I suggested, as well.
I can’t help but feel a sense of pride that he’s asked for my help with the bar, even if it is just temporary and until they’re settled in with the new baby. Owning a bar has always been my dream, and I’ve been so busy getting settled into Finn’s and spending time with Paige the last couple of weeks that I didn’t realize how good it would feel to get back into it in any small capacity.
Once Trevor is finished, he motions for me to follow him out front. He heads behind the bar, and I pull up a stool about halfway down and sit.
“You want something to drink? I know it’s early,” he lets out a soft chuckle, “but it’s gotta be five o’ clock somewhere, right?” Then, he looks at his watch and shakes his head. “Guess it’sfive o’clock here.”
I laugh. “Time flies when you’re having fun. I’ll take a Coke.” I’ve got to drive home, and I want to go for a run later. Plus, Finn and I need to talk. Best to hold off on the beer, no matter how tempting.
Trevor nods and turns his back to scoop up two glasses, filling them with ice, and then Coke. He turns back and slides one over to me, then picks his up and comes around the bar to sit next to me.
Once he’s settled onto the stool, he takes a long drink and turns to look at me, setting his glass down.
“You have no idea how happy I was to hear you were coming back when you were, man.”
“Oh?” I ask.
He nods and takes another drink. He looks tired. Way more tired than a twenty-six-year-old kid ought to be. He pulls his eyebrows down and frowns before speaking again. “Tanya wants to move to Helena.” The way he says it, with his shoulders slumped forward and his arms resting on the bar, tells me this isn’t ideal for him.
“Her parents are there, right?” I only know this because her parents know Mom and Pop.
He nods and swipes a thumb through the condensation on his glass. “She wants the kids to grow up with cousins and whatnot. Wants me to sell this place, but I don’t know. It’s been in my family for, like, a hundred years.” He huffs out a laugh, but there’s no humor behind it.
His grandparents, Roxy and Clyde, opened this place back in 1975, and Roxy ran it until she passed away a few years ago. Trevor’s been running it ever since.
“Anyway,” he says, “I told her I’d think about it.”
“It’s a big decision,” I say, not knowing for sure what he wants to hear.
