Page 61 of Spilled Coffee

The bar thrummed with slurred shouts, which rose in drunken waves as the jukebox wheezed out a rendition of “Gimme Shelter,” crackling as if even the machine was exhausted from overuse.

Ethan slouched in his chair, one leg kicked out lazily while his other foot tapped an uneven beat against the floor. His face sagged with fatigue, eyes bloodshot from too many nights like this.

Devon set a battered tray in front of him with a dramatic flourish, as if presenting a feast to a king. On it sat six more tequila shots in squat glasses, their golden liquid shimmering menacingly in the light, lime wedges perched on the rims like tiny green flags of surrender. Beside them stood fresh bottles of Budweiser, beads of condensation running down to their bases.

“Gentlemen…” he declared, as if addressing an assembly. “Your next round awaits.”

Ethan groaned, dragging one hand down his face, trying to wipe away the sight before him. “No, man,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Not for me. I had more than my fill. No way I can do another round of these.”

Brick let out a loud laugh, then slapped his palm flat against the table so hard that one of the empty beer bottles wobbled precariously before settling back into place. “C’mon, man,” he said, grinning wide enough to show the chip in his front tooth as he grabbed one of the tequila shots and knocked it back like it was nothing more than water.

His throat bobbed once as he swallowed, then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smirked at Ethan. “What are you, a SEAL or a mouse? You gotta toughen up bro.”

Devon leaned forward and slid one of the shot glasses closer. “Up to you,” he said, impossible to ignore. “But don’t think we won’t rag you out all night if you pussy out now.”

Ethan eyed the shot warily. The tequila gleamed like a glass of liquid fire. He leaned in and sniffed it. The sharp, acrid scent stung his nose, and his stomach protested before he’d even taken a sip. He glanced at Brick, whose expression was openly challenging, then at Devon. His expression was something else entirely—darker, hungrier, his gaze fixed on Ethan with an intensity that made his chest tighten.

“Fine,” he finally snapped, grabbing a glass and tossing it back before he could second-guess himself.

The tequila hit his tongue like a reaper and clawed its way down his throat with all the subtlety of sandpaper dipped in gasoline. “Gaaahhh!” He grimaced, slamming the empty glass upside down with a loud clink.

His face contorted as though he’d bitten into something rotten, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the burn that lingered long after swallowing.

Brick erupted into a loud, booming laugh and clapped his hands together like a spectator at some gladiatorial contest.

Devon didn’t laugh, he just leaned closer to Ethan under the guise of camaraderie and clapped him on the back. “That’s my boy,” he said softly, though there was something in his tone that felt less congratulatory and more possessive. His hand lingered on Ethan’s shoulder, his fingers pressing firmly into the muscle before sliding down so that his thumb could brush against the back of Ethan’s neck. “You’re a champ.”

To anyone watching, this would look innocent enough—just two bros messing around after too many drinks. But to Ethan? It felt anything but innocent.

He stiffened but didn’t pull away—not outright anyway—though every instinct screamed at him to shrug off that hand before it could linger any longer. His breath hitched as goosebumps prickled along his arms beneath his jacket.

Across the room, Eddie sat alone at the bar except for the tumbler of whiskey he was cradling loosely between his fingers. His eyes drifted and no matter how much he tried to focus elsewhere, his gaze kept snapping back like a compass drawn inexorably north.

He saw Devon’s hand linger for too fucking long on Ethan’s tense frame, and something about it gnawed at him.

Logan slid onto a stool next to him, the wooden seat groaning under his weight. He clapped Eddie on the shoulder with a familiar hand, the kind of gesture that spoke of years of camaraderie and unspoken trust. “Hey, man, what are you watching over here all by your lonesome? Thought we were being social tonight.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, but there was an underlying tension in the way his gaze flicked toward Eddie’s drink.

Eddie barely acknowledged him at first, his fingers idly swirling the amber liquid around in his glass. The ice clinkedsoftly against the sides as his eyes remained focused across the bar. “You know me, I’m just keeping an eye—sniper’s habit,” he muttered, but didn’t elaborate. The faint lines around his mouth deepened as he took a slow sip of the whiskey.

Logan frowned as he followed Eddie’s line of sight. “Keeping an eye on what?” he pressed, his brows knitting together as he scanned around the room, moving from one table to another until they landed on the scene that held Eddie’s focus.

A table in the corner where Brick was entertaining himself in his usual brash manner, tossing a lime wedge into the air, catching it expertly in his mouth with a crooked grin that earned a few chuckles from nearby patrons. Except… it wasn’t Brick who had Eddie’s attention, it was Devon and Ethan.

Whatever Devon had whispered was far too quiet to hear across the bar, but Logan didn’t need to hear it to understand as Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His shoulders tightened as though bracing for something unseen.

“Shit.” Logan straightened on the stool. “What the hell’s he doing here with them?”

“You tell me.” Eddie finally turned, one eyebrow arched high in a gesture that was equal parts incredulous and accusatory. His tone was laced with disapproval, each word deliberately measured. “Don’t act like you didn’t know Devon was sniffing around.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous habit he hadn’t quite shaken since their younger days. “I didn’t think—” he started, but Eddie cut him off with a sharp laugh that held no humor.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Is that where you took Ethan last week? To Devon’s place?”

Logan hesitated as he reached for his glass and swirled the liquor absentmindedly. He took a long sip and the burn steadied him. “Yeah,” he admitted, before setting the glass down. “Ithought the kid could use some loosening up. And Devon’s the best around.”

Eddie snorted loudly, shaking his head as though Logan had just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Plenty of other places you could’ve taken him,” he shot back, disbelief practically dripping from every word. “C’mon, Logan… Ethan’s as mixed up as any kid I’ve seen, and you drop him in front of that animal and tell him to make nice?”

Logan’s face darkened, though there was no immediate rebuttal. Instead, he stared into his glass as if searching for an answer at the bottom. “Christ, Eddie,” he muttered after a beat, “he’s not that bad. Sure, he’s had his issues, but he’s past all that now.”

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