Page 86 of Five Brothers
And then I draw in a deep breath, and after a few seconds, roll my eyes.
Jesus.Seriously, Krisjen? Way to overreact.
Rumors are rumors. I’ve never seen evidence that he’s done half the things people say, much less killed someone. And he may be doing something wrong by holding that man against his will in the backyard, but he’s doing it for the right reasons. Most people in the Bay can’t afford rehab.
It’s none of my business.
I must’ve looked like an idiot to him, though. The fear is suddenly gone, now replaced with embarrassment. I shouldn’t have gone in the house. That was stupid.
He just looked …
Incredible.
In the backyard, he looked vulnerable. Like something was squeezing his insides, and he was alone, and everything hurt him. Like things are hard for him, and why did it never occur to me that they were? No one notices his pain.
After a glance back at the house, where all the lights are off, I walk to the bar, not wanting to leave now.
But I pick up the pace, jogging faster, because Iris told me to hurry and is probably wondering where the hell I am.
As soon as I open the door to the bar, some old Avenged Sevenfoldsong blasts from the speakers, the party already underway. I leave my small hoodie on, the temperature well below the eighty-five I prefer, and jump behind the bar, grabbing a dish towel and shining up the glasses sitting on the rack to dry. One by one, I stack them on the shelves.
“You can leave, actually,” I hear behind me. “I’ll help.”
I look over my shoulder, seeing Aracely tying an apron around her waist. The crowd of people behind her talks loudly, and I spot Trace and Dallas in the mix. Army walks in the door, minus his kid, wearing a fresh black T-shirt. I can tell because the fold lines are still a little bit visible. His arms are tanner. They’ve had a full day.
“I’ll stick around for a bit,” I tell her.
“I don’t want to share tips.”
“You don’t have to.”
I’m not staying long enough to make a lot of tips anyway.
I face her, folding the towel and setting it down. She looks unamused that I’m not letting this turn into a fight. We should get drunk together.
“Hey,” someone calls out down the bar.
I quickly fill a glass with ice, pour a shot of Jack, and grab the soda hose, topping off the drink with Diet Coke. I stick a straw in and slide the glass across the bar to Aracely. “On me,” I tell her.
I don’t give her a chance to tell me to go fuck myself.
I head down the bar, looking up to see Trace. I start to smile, remembering his pub with the chesterfield chairs, but then I force it back down, remembering the lawn mower he left out in the rain.
“What’ll it be?” I snip.
But he seems not to notice my tone. “Vodka soda, two Land-Sharks, and the bride will have a …”
He looks behind him to a woman I can only assume isMrs. Torres. She wears tight black leather pants, an animal-print bodice, and a white veil. Her long dark hair falls to just under her arms, and her lipstick is bright red. Dragon Girl by NARS. One of my favorite shades.
But the man next to her answers for her. “Captain and Diet,” he calls out to Trace.
She looks at him, adoration all over her blushing cheeks. “Thanks, baby.”
That must be the groom. He’s wearing jeans and a Hawaiian shirt.
I dole out the drinks, and Trace takes them without paying, so I just mark it all down on paper to keep a running tab.
A few others come up for cocktails, and I pour four pitchers, handing everything with some extra glasses to all the guys coming up. No one pays, so I just continue to mark everything.