Page 84 of The Words We Lost

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Ingrid said, cutting Cece off before she could interrupt. “Exceptwrite your synopses.”

Cece released a dramatic groan. “Ireallysuck at this.”

“Yeah? Well, I suck at Professor Donaldson’s tag-team speech nights, but I still have to do them in order to graduate early. And you have to do this in order to become the best-selling author we know you can be.” Ingrid’s smile morphed into contemplation. “I know I’m only a literary major and not an editor, but what if instead of thinking you have to shrink each book to fit your synopsis, you simply focus on the main goal and conflict of each story. No fancy writing, no interesting side characters, no extra details or descriptions. Your only job is to keep the main thing the main thing. That’s it.” She glanced down at her watch. “I have a call with Joel in between my last two study groups tonight, but why don’t you send me a progress update in three hours, okay? I might have time to help with any loose ends if you need it.”

Cece gawked at her friend. “Maybe you should consider being an editor instead of a lit teacher?”

Ingrid laughed. “There are definitely some fun perks to the publishing industry, but...”

“But Joel’s not there,” Cece finished for her.

“Or you. Or my dad. Or any of the things I miss in Port Townsend. The Bay Area is great, but it could never be home.”

She was just about to ask Ingrid about Hal—specifically about when she’d last seen her father on a video call. Cece had been shocked by his appearance last time she saw him at the hotel a few weeks ago. The dark circles under his eyes and his significant weight loss had been startling. But when she’d mentioned it to Joel, he’d chalked it up to the odd hours Hal had been keeping to accommodate his late-night crabbing runs on her uncle’s cruiser. Even still, the explanation hadn’t sat right with her. Few things about the sea captain ever did.

“Hey, Ingrid”—a feminine voice cut in—“we’re about to go over the notes on the Hemingway section. I knew you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Thanks, Emily. I’ll be right in.”

When Ingrid came back, Cece flashed her a big smile. “Okay. Three hours starting now. I’m gonna knock this thing out.”

“Good,” Ingrid said. “I believe in you.”

“And I believe you’re gonna kill it on your finals and graduate ahead of schedule.”

As soon as the two signed off, Cece got to work. Somehow she stopped noticing the irritating lights across the street, and the annoying clamor inside the coffee shop from earlier had since morphed into an energizing white noise that helped focus her thoughts. Ingrid’s pep talks about keeping the main thing the main thing had worked wonders. By the time she started on the last book synopsis, she was deep in the groove. This book would be the happily ever after her characters deserved—finally. It was the easiest summary of them all to write. She proofread the whole thing one last time and then sent it off to Barry with a CC to Ingrid. Wouldn’t her friend be surprised at all she’d accomplished today.

Impressed with her efforts, she picked up her phone to check the time. A few minutes before six. She was definitely going to treat herself to a slice of lemon poppy seed bread and a second iced chai latte. She deserved it!

But as she stood to stretch her back, all thoughts of sugary treats vanished when a familiar red knit cap worn by a familiar Norwegian giant bobbed into view and entered the sports bar across the street.

It’s a sports bar, she tried to rationalize with her overactive imagination. There were lots of things that happened inside a sports bar that didn’t involve drinking alcohol ... weren’t there?

But why would a recovered alcoholic drive forty minutes from home to goto one?

For Ingrid’s sake, she needed to have an answer to that question. When one didn’t surface after several minutes, she packed up her stuff and then pulled on an old Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt of Joel’s she’d been carting around in her trunk for close to two years. She cinched her blond curls into the hood and then jogged across the street.

Thiswasn’t the kind of thing she could leave to gut feelings or assumption. If Hal had fallen off the sobriety wagon the way she’d suspected for some time now, then she’d need hard evidence. Ingrid deserved to know the truth about what her father was really up to while she was away at school, even if Joel refused to see Hal’s decline for what it was. He wouldn’t point an accusatory finger at his new boat buddy unless there was solid proof of a relapse. He’d made that point crystal clear the last time they argued over this.

Stepping inside the sports bar was like stepping into a concert hall for the tone-deaf.

No hostess greeted her; instead, there was a chalkboard sign declaring: UFC Fight Night. Seat Yourself.

A collective roar caused her to jump as she edged her way through a standing crowd glued to a jumbo screen featuring two men in spandex briefs slugging it out. Another raucous cheer assaulted her ears as she watched a mouth guard full of spit and blood and possibly teeth shoot across the ring.Disgusting.

Cece kept her eyes low as she searched for Hal’s hat among the fight-watchers. There wasn’t a single red hat to be found; no sight of Hal. She pushed farther into the hazy space, the sound nearly as ear-splitting in the back of the sports bar as it was at the entrance.

And just as she was starting to think she’d missed his exit, she spotted him at a table. His red beanie was off now, but a lanky man dressed in drab casual was seated across from him. The two were deep in a concentrated conversation.

She slinked onto the only open barstool where a twenty-something bartender with crystalline blue eyes asked to check her ID. When she handed her license over to him, it was clear he was checking it for more than her birthdate. His bicep flexed as he braced one palm to the counter and slid her license across the bar top.

“Haven’t had many Cecelias brave enough to venture in here on a fight night,” he said with a grin Cece would have found enchanting in any other circumstance. “But if I had, I have no doubt you’d be the prettiest one.”

Taken aback by his charming yet confident demeanor, she all but stuttered her drink order of a Diet Coke with a twist of lime. It was her mocktail of choice. She’d only been twenty-one for six months, but she found that if she looked like she was drinking an actual cocktail, there were fewer questions about her stance on sobriety.

She strained to make out a single word between Hal and his friend at the table near her, but it was impossible. Between the fight noise and their lowered voices, she couldn’t hear a thing. She wasn’t in perfect view of his table, but if she angled her hips slightly to the right, her vantage point was less obstructed. Hal, like the other man, drank from a tall glass she was ninety-nine percent certain contained beer, but she couldn’t afford to be wrong.No assumptions.If she was going to involve her cousin in this, then her report of the situation had to be one hundred percent accurate.

“Excuse me,” Cece said, waving her cute bartender over. He slid across the floor toward her as if on skates.

---