Page 26 of Twice in a Lifetime

“You know, she looks a lot better than she did when she first got back to town.”

“She does,” I said gruffly, emotion lodging in my throat.

My gaze shifted back across the bar, homing in on her in an instant. He wasn’t wrong. When she first arrived back in town, she looked more like a ghost than a person, a shell of who she had once been. Now the color had returned to her cheeks, her hair regained its luster, and she was finally starting to put on some of the weight she’d lost. Sadness and anger still lingered in her ocean eyes, but they weren’t as flat and dull as they had been. Little by little, the Blythe I had known was resurfacing.

The bartender came over and set our new round in front of us before smiling up at Hardin through the fan of her lashes. He shot her a wink that made her blush before picking up the glass and murmuring, “Thanks, gorgeous.”

“Christ, man.” I let out a grunted laugh and shook my head as the woman behind the bar moved down to take care of the line of customers, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds. “Anyone ever told you not to shit where you eat?”

My buddy had kind of gone off the rails after his divorce and started whoring around town.

“Nothin’ wrong with a little harmless flirting.”

“I agree, but is that really all you’re doin’ right now? Look, brother, I’m not sayin’ you should become a monk or anything, maybe just practice a little more discretion. Have your fun over in Hidalgo Grapevine where it’s less likely to blow back on you. You’re the only vet in town, Hard. You really want to walk into work one day and see a waiting room full of one-night stands?”

He let out a scoffing laugh. “Nothing bad’s happened so far.”

I shook my head. “I can guarantee that woman right there”—I pointed at the bartender still making eyes at him—“is less than six degrees separated. Your stepmom owns the most popular coffee shop in town. You really think she doesn’t know that chick? It’s a small town, and people talk. You want to run the risk of your girls hearing somethin’ they shouldn’t?”

I knew I had him when I mentioned his daughters. I wasn’t sure there was a better father on the planet than Hardin Drake. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for his girls. That included sitting through an hour-long torture session where they slathered his face with makeup and glitter, painted his nails bright pink, and stuck tiny little flower clips all through his hair. He wore that shit with pride because it made them happy.

“All right, I see your point. I’ll be more careful.”

I clapped him on the shoulder and took a pull of my beer.

“Speakin’ of gossip,” he started, turning the tables around on me, “you know the whole town’s talkin’, right?”

I looked in his direction, my brow furrowed. “About what?”

He let out a sigh and reached around to rub the back of his neck, discomfort spreading across his face. “Word got out that Blythe’s husband turned out to be a piece of shit before he died.” My mouth pulled in a hard line, the muscle in my jaw ticking. Hardin lifted his hands in surrender. “Hey, man. I’m just the messenger here. You know discretion doesn’t exist in a place like this. You can try to keep things under wraps, but word’s gonna get out, no matter what.”

I spun back to face the line of taps on the back wall, bracing my forearms on the bar top. “I get that. I just don’t want people talkin’ shit behind her back. She’s been through enough.”

He turned to face me head-on, his expression clean of the earlier humor. “They aren’t talking shit, brother. They’re talking about the two of you.”

It felt like someone had shoved their fist into my chest and was squeezing my heart. “What are they saying?”

The prick slowly lifted his glass to his lips and sipped on his bourbon neat like he had all the time in the goddamn world. “Well, the general consensus is that people want the two of you back together.”

I’d barely had time to wrap my mind around that statement when a voice spoke up from behind me. “Hey, Rhodes. I thought that was you over here.”

Fucking hell.

I schooled my expression and twisted my stool around. “Grace,” I greeted with a tilt of my lips so miniscule it could barely be considered a smile.

She was dressed in painted-on jeans and a shirt that showed more than a decent amount of cleavage. She batted her eyes much like the way the bartender had done to Hardin a few minutes ago and cocked out her hip. “It’s really good to see you,” she said brightly.

“Yeah, you too,” I said, mainly because I didn’t have a clue what else to say, but I knew it was a mistake as soon her face lit up.

The song the band was playing came to an end and they moved right into a slower number. “Oh, I love this song!” she declared enthusiastically. “It would be a shame not to dance to it. Feel like taking me around the dance floor?”

My head spun with ways I could shoot her down politely, but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, I caught sight of something that set my blood to a rolling boil in an instant.

“Motherfucker,” I hissed as I shot to my feet. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

The seductive look she’d been shooting me fell off her face at my sudden anger. “Is everything okay?”

“Sorry, Grace. You’ll have to excuse me.” I pushed past her before I finished speaking, barely hearing her muttered, “Uh, y-yeah. Sure. I’ll catch up with you later,” as I started toward the other end of the bar.

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