Page 63 of Kiss My Glass
She pauses, breathes some more. I wait.
“I’m afraid Nate and I won’t make it,” she says. “Mom told me she and Dad almost broke up at least once a month when times were hard, but they’d had five years before they started the winery for their love to deepen and strengthen. Nate and I have been together fifteen months. The baby wasn’t planned; I’m sick and can’t do my job properly; the winery still isn’t profitable, and if it wasn’t for you and Danny, we…”
Her voice catches, and she can’t go on. She doesn’t need to.
“Hey,” I say, softly, and shuffle over so I can put my arm around her. She leans her head on my shoulder and lets out a long shuddery breath.
“We’ll make it work,” I tell her. “Me, Danny, you, Nate, Mom, Cam, Ava, Chiara, Jordan, Javi, Doug, even Ted. We’re a team. We’re the Ghostbusters. The Avengers. The Mighty Ducks.”
I hear a small snort of laughter.
“Want to watchThe Mighty Ducks?” I ask. “Only the first one, though, the other two suck.”
“Yes, please,” Shelby replies. “I’ll go make us some more popcorn.”
ChapterThirty-Four
DANNY
“Don’t,” says Nate as soon as we’re in the pick-up.
“Don’t?”
“Don’t tell me it’s all going to be okay.”
Ah, shit. Nate knows me too well.
So instead, I say, “I’m here for you, bro. For as long as you need me.”
“Thanks,” says Nate.
There’s a flatness in his voice I’ve never heard before. Being the oldest Durant, Nate’s always had an overblown sense of responsibility, and he can work himself to the point of exhaustion. He never gives up, though, not even when he’s clinging on by his fingernails. But that’s what I hear now in his voice. Nate sounds defeated.
I revise my plans for this evening. I thought we’d go out, have a couple of beers, shoot the shit, head home mildly buzzed, get a good night’s sleep. Now, I feel like I’m being my worst, most shallow self. Nate doesn’t need brews and banter. He needs … what?
An idea to call Ava pops into my head. She and Cam would be willing to do anything to help out. I reject it because they’re still in the first flush of love, and I don’t feel like Nate needs two starry-eyed love birds giving him advice. He needs someone who’s been through the mill and out the other side. I don’t know anyone like that except for my parents. And that is a hard no from me.
Shit, oh well. We’re parked outside The Silver Saddle now. Guess the best I can do is lend an ear if Nate wants to talk, and drink in companionable silence if he doesn’t.
Every time I push open the door to this bar, I expect a scene from a Western movie, where all the patrons fall silent and stare at the city slickers who’ve had the nerve to enter their joint. The fact this never happens always disappoints me, but then I am a sucker for attention. Though, let’s face it, the only attention I’m really after is my father’s.
Brendan nods at us, which is his equivalent of a hearty welcome. I could feel flattered but his mood tends to change on a dime, so I won’t provoke him by being over-familiar. The place is surprisingly full, so the only seats for us are up at the bar. Nate and I take the stools furthest away from Brendan. No point in being closer. Brendan would take his sweet time serving us if we were literally an inch away from his face.
Amazingly, he comes over right away, takes one look at Nate and fetches the bourbon off the shelf. Pours us a shot each. Walks off without a word.
Nate stares at his for a moment, then downs it in one. I’m driving and his need is greater than mine, so I push my shot glass his way. He cricks his neck, like he knows he’s going to regret it, downs it anyway.
“Might want to wait for those to kick in before you go again,” is my advice.
Nate says nothing. He’s staring at the wall behind the bar. There’s a sign on it that saysLine dancers will be thrown out on their achy-breaky asses.Brendan sure knows how to make people feel welcome.
I checked around as soon we came in to see if anyone we know is here. Chiara and Jordan, in particular. It’s safe. Well, maybe not if Nate’s mood gets any darker. Apart from Ava, us Durants are more lovers than fighters. But I’ve never seen my brother like this. I don’t know whether to try to get him talking or let him drink himself into a stupor. Both those options seem equally risky right now.
“Beer?”
Brendan’s back and talking to me. It’s unnerving.
“Uh, maybe later,” I say.
