“Buddy.”
Unexpectedly, the cheap bastard had gotten me that whiskey. I knocked it back quickly, flagging the barman for another. He gave me an irritated glance, like he was no waiter, and I scowled.
He sure got moving after that.
“What’s crawled up your ass?” Jay asked, eyeing me curiously.
“Work.”
“Ethan Foster.”
“I’ll take the job.”
“Ah.” Jay grinned. “I knew you would. If that asshole was boning my sister—”
“Don’t fucking talk about my sister like that.”
Jay held up his hands. “Whoa, sorry, man. I’m just sayin’, I’d wanna pop him, too.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I said flatly. “Just tell the boss he’s mine.”
It would buy us time, at any rate. Time for Taryn to explain things to Anna—clean up my mess, more like—and for me to figure out how to hold what was left of my family together.
I had to do this, for Anna. Even if she never spoke to me again, even if she hated me for the rest of our lives, I had to find a way to protect Ethan.
At any cost.
“Got it, bro,” Jay quipped. “And what about your pretty baby mama?”
“What about her?”
“I mean, you got a kid, man. What are you gonna do? The Foster job’s a good payout. You thinking about shutting shop and playing house?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you care?”
“It’d be a shame to lose you, but this job ain’t forever. We’re a flash in the pan, brother. Burning quick and bright.”
I scoffed. “Little poetic for you, isn’t it?” Jay shrugged, uncharacteristically solemn all of a sudden. It made me uneasy. “That kid doesn’t need all my shit in her life.”
“Dead dad or fucked-up dad,” Jay huffed. “What a choice.”
“Yeah.” I tipped back my third whiskey, two more lined up on the table. “Taryn doesn’t deserve all that.”
I didn’t know why I was opening up to him. This certainly wasn’t why I called him, that’s for sure. It might’ve had something to do with that third whiskey. Might’ve been the ache under my ribs, the gnawing feeling in my bones. I didn’t have friends , per se. Acquaintances, colleagues, dudes I drank with, people I ran recon with.
I guessed I just felt like talking to someone who had no stake in any of this and didn’t really give a shit. In some way, it reminded me of how I would normally deal with a situation—detached, cool, composed. It helped to get Jay’s perspective.
“She’s a good woman,” I went on, gripping my glass hard. “She’s done fine without me and she’ll keep on doing fine.”
It didn’t even scratch the surface. I was sore with wanting her, my mind saturated with every naked image, every breath and moan. I couldn’t get her voice out of my head, the sounds of pleasure or the sighs of comfort. I couldn’t stop thinking about how she defended me back at the house, how I hadn’t earned that kind of treatment yet.
“Isn’t that her decision?” Jay asked.
I laughed. “When did you become Dear Abby?”
Jay cocked his glass towards me. “This isn’t my first drink of the day.”
I looked at him, really looked. At sixteen he left behind a family for this job. I knew he had a sister and a brother, a dad who was still alive. I knew there had been a woman, too; he spoke about her in his darkest, drunkest moments. After a month together, she’d found out how he made his money and split in fear.
I hardly blamed her.
Jay hadn’t given up the job, though. He’d sunk so far into it I couldn’t see where he ended and it began. He’d become this wise-cracking jester, drinking alone at midday in this old shithole. Once he’d contacted the boss about my taking the Foster job, his purpose here completed, he’d go wherever the next job took him and probably find some other local shithole to get wasted in daily.
It unsettled me, all of a sudden, to realize this.
“I don’t exactly have any transferable skills,” I pointed out.
“Ranch work.”
I shuddered. “Fuck
Unexpectedly, the cheap bastard had gotten me that whiskey. I knocked it back quickly, flagging the barman for another. He gave me an irritated glance, like he was no waiter, and I scowled.
He sure got moving after that.
“What’s crawled up your ass?” Jay asked, eyeing me curiously.
“Work.”
“Ethan Foster.”
“I’ll take the job.”
“Ah.” Jay grinned. “I knew you would. If that asshole was boning my sister—”
“Don’t fucking talk about my sister like that.”
Jay held up his hands. “Whoa, sorry, man. I’m just sayin’, I’d wanna pop him, too.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I said flatly. “Just tell the boss he’s mine.”
It would buy us time, at any rate. Time for Taryn to explain things to Anna—clean up my mess, more like—and for me to figure out how to hold what was left of my family together.
I had to do this, for Anna. Even if she never spoke to me again, even if she hated me for the rest of our lives, I had to find a way to protect Ethan.
At any cost.
“Got it, bro,” Jay quipped. “And what about your pretty baby mama?”
“What about her?”
“I mean, you got a kid, man. What are you gonna do? The Foster job’s a good payout. You thinking about shutting shop and playing house?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you care?”
“It’d be a shame to lose you, but this job ain’t forever. We’re a flash in the pan, brother. Burning quick and bright.”
I scoffed. “Little poetic for you, isn’t it?” Jay shrugged, uncharacteristically solemn all of a sudden. It made me uneasy. “That kid doesn’t need all my shit in her life.”
“Dead dad or fucked-up dad,” Jay huffed. “What a choice.”
“Yeah.” I tipped back my third whiskey, two more lined up on the table. “Taryn doesn’t deserve all that.”
I didn’t know why I was opening up to him. This certainly wasn’t why I called him, that’s for sure. It might’ve had something to do with that third whiskey. Might’ve been the ache under my ribs, the gnawing feeling in my bones. I didn’t have friends , per se. Acquaintances, colleagues, dudes I drank with, people I ran recon with.
I guessed I just felt like talking to someone who had no stake in any of this and didn’t really give a shit. In some way, it reminded me of how I would normally deal with a situation—detached, cool, composed. It helped to get Jay’s perspective.
“She’s a good woman,” I went on, gripping my glass hard. “She’s done fine without me and she’ll keep on doing fine.”
It didn’t even scratch the surface. I was sore with wanting her, my mind saturated with every naked image, every breath and moan. I couldn’t get her voice out of my head, the sounds of pleasure or the sighs of comfort. I couldn’t stop thinking about how she defended me back at the house, how I hadn’t earned that kind of treatment yet.
“Isn’t that her decision?” Jay asked.
I laughed. “When did you become Dear Abby?”
Jay cocked his glass towards me. “This isn’t my first drink of the day.”
I looked at him, really looked. At sixteen he left behind a family for this job. I knew he had a sister and a brother, a dad who was still alive. I knew there had been a woman, too; he spoke about her in his darkest, drunkest moments. After a month together, she’d found out how he made his money and split in fear.
I hardly blamed her.
Jay hadn’t given up the job, though. He’d sunk so far into it I couldn’t see where he ended and it began. He’d become this wise-cracking jester, drinking alone at midday in this old shithole. Once he’d contacted the boss about my taking the Foster job, his purpose here completed, he’d go wherever the next job took him and probably find some other local shithole to get wasted in daily.
It unsettled me, all of a sudden, to realize this.
“I don’t exactly have any transferable skills,” I pointed out.
“Ranch work.”
I shuddered. “Fuck
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