Page 63 of Own the Eights
“You know I have to turn in the footage to Hector and Bobby,” he said, not meeting either of their gazes.
She nodded. “I know it’s your job, Barry. I understand.”
“Thanks, Georgie,” the man answered with slumped shoulders. He started off down the street then turned around. “Are you guys going to be all right?”
“Yeah, Georgie and I will be fine,” he answered, pressing his hand to her back and wishing she was still in his arms.
After Barry was out of sight, Georgie took a wobbly step forward. “I think all those Jell-O shots are really kicking in.”
“Seven will do that. Let’s get you some coffee,” he said as his phone rang.
He wrapped an arm around her, then pulled out his phone. “Shit, I need to take this.”
“Go ahead,” she said with a woozy grin.
He pressed his cell to his ear. “Hey, Uncle Rob, what’s up?”
“Did you forget what day it is, Jordy?”
Jordan closed his eyes. Dammit! With all the CityBeat commotion, he’d forgotten.
“He’s here. He’s drunk, and he’s not leaving,” his uncle continued in a weary voice.
“I’m sorry. I’m on my way,” he answered and shoved his phone back into his pocket.
“Is everything all right?” Georgie asked.
He held her gaze. There was no way he was going to leave her alone tonight, not after what she’d gone through.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re going on a little drive. There’s something I need to take care of before I bring you home.”
10
Jordan
Jordan pulled into a parking space next to an old F150 pickup in the potholed lot and cut the ignition. He glanced from Georgie, sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat, to the structure in front of them. Another bar that had the potential to be more explosive than the last one. But this rundown place wasn’t in Denver’s trendy downtown. No, this bar was forty miles due east of this city in the tiny Colorado plains town where he’d grown up. A prickling sensation spider-crawled down his spine. No matter what he did, no matter where he went or how he’d changed, this place would always be a part of him.
He patted her leg. “Georgie, we’re here.”
“Where’s here?” she yawned, opening her eyes.
“My uncle’s bar.”
She cringed. “I don’t think I should drink any more tonight.”
He stared at the familiar brick building. “We’re not here for drinks. We’re here to get my dad.”
She sat up. “Your dad?”
He glanced at the paper cup, resting in the car’s console. “Yeah, you downed all that coffee, and then you were out like a light. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to explain. But my dad’s in there, and he’s not doing very well. I need to get him home.”
“What happened?” she asked, now fully awake.
Jesus! Where should he start? The part where his mother died eighteen years ago, and his father became the worst version of himself? Or should he fast-forward to the part where the man berated him for being skinny and weak and ridiculed his love of books and comics, wishing he’d favor baseball and muscle cars instead?
He decided to go for a more direct answer. “Today would have been my parents’ thirty-second wedding anniversary. Since my mom’s death, he hasn’t handled this day very well.”
She rested her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Jordan.”
