Page 4 of Accidentally Falling
“Vetted Paws.”
“Dammit, we talked about this.”
“And I’m done listening to your excuses,” he replies, the two of us facing off in our kitchen that could really use an update. “You need somethin’ more than runnin’ the bar and these four walls.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m at least goin’ out, spending time with people. You’ll make any excuse not to leave this place.”
“I’m tired,” I grumble, but that’s only the half of it. I’ve barely seen Arden since she came into the bar after hours.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s avoiding me. She wouldn’t be the first.
It shouldn’t matter, but I kind of hate that she can’t justtalkto me even if it’s to tell me to fuck off.
Don’t I deserve that much?
It’s a tale as old as time, the kind of thing that has old feelings bubbling to the surface, things from my past I’d long since buried.
“You can be tired and take the dog for a walk.” When I glare at him, he grins. “I’ll get you and the dog matching pajamas.”
“I don’t even own a God damn set of pajamas.”
“But you could.”
“No.”
“Okay, well, you gotta get out of the house and unfortunately for you, I’ll drag your ass out of here if I have to.”
“And who is gonna watch the dog when I’m at work?”
“Me, or here’s a thought, you could stop trying to work yourself to death and hire more help, then you could watch the damn dog.”
“I don’t want to fight with you,” I manage through gritted teeth, my hackles rising as my fists clench and unclench.
Deacon’s posture is a lot more relaxed but I have no doubt it’s only an illusion. He knows all my tells and I know his.
“And I don’t want you to die alone.”
“I’m not alone; I have you.”
“Like Dad then.”
His voice has a strange tone to it, the kind that says he knows where the mines lay in that conversation and chose to detonate every single one of them.
“It’s not the same and you know it.”
“It’s not…it’s worse,” he says, his stance still at the ready. “Dad had Mom and us, and you just have me. You need to get out and at the very least love something that will love you back.”
The thought of Arden comes to mind, the sting of her avoidance causing a crater-sized ache in my chest. I’d gotten used to seeing her in the bar, used to her long hours writing on her laptop and the bottomless fries she craved.
But I’d wanted her, and indulged in something I shouldn’t have.
I should have just sold her the bottle of whiskey.
“Fine.” I relent because there are worse things than getting a dog.
“Really?” he responds, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead in surprise.
