Page 16 of Until You Say Stay
“Good. I’ll check in next week after I talk to Giorgio again.” He hangs up without saying goodbye, which is very Thomas.
I stand there for a second, phone in hand, staring at the dark parking lot. Then I pocket it and head back inside.
Stay in Dark River. Be visible with family. Wholesome hometown boy.
How the fuck do you fake that when everyone already knows who you are? When your reputation precedes you in every room you walk into?
Mike’s still at the pool table when I get back, leaning against it and scrolling through his phone.
“Everything good?” he asks, looking up.
“Fine. Just my manager,” I say, picking up my cue.
I sink the fifteen ball easily, then move around to line up my last stripe, the ten ball. My focus is off now though, Thomas’s words circling in my head. I take the shot anyway and it drops.
Mike shifts his weight, watching. “So what’d your manager want?”
“Just checking in. Contract stuff.”
I’ve got a straight shot on the eight ball now. Should be simple. But my mind is still stuck on Thomas’s call, on the impossible task ahead of me.
The sponsors want stability. They want maturity. They want someone who looks like a safe bet, not a liability. Someone who won’t embarrass Ferrari or make their PR team work overtime putting out fires.
I sink the eight ball. Game over.
“Four straight. Damn.” Mike pulls out his wallet with a sigh. “I’m buying us another round. Maybe alcohol will improve my game.”
“Sounds good,” I say, but I’m barely listening.
Wholesome. Stable. Responsible.
Three words that have never fucking described me in my entire life.
CHAPTER 5
LARK
Later, close to closing time, I’m behind the counter on my laptop putting in next week’s liquor order. The bar’s mostly empty now, just a couple of stragglers nursing their last drinks and chatting quietly. The quiet hum of the refrigerators and soft indie music playing overhead create that peaceful late-night vibe I usually love about closing shifts.
Jack makes his way back to the bar after seeing off the last of his pool buddies. There’s a victorious gleam in his eyes that tells me Mike’s wallet is significantly lighter than it was at the start of the night.
“Calling it a night?” I ask, saving the inventory spreadsheet before I lose any data.
He nods, sliding his credit card across the bar top. “Time to put Mike out of his misery. The man’s been through enough.”
I process his tab, pulling up his total. “So what’s the final damage report? How much did you take him for?”
“Let’s just say Mike’s definitely not buying rounds anytime soon.” That grin says he doesn’t feel even remotely bad aboutit. “Though he’s already talking about a rematch next week. Guy never learns.”
“Glutton for punishment,” I say, running his card.
I hand him the receipt and he signs it with a quick scrawl. “So, how long were you and Brandon married anyway?” he asks, his tone casual.
“Several years. Long enough to know better than to ever make that mistake again.” I shake my head, the old bitterness rising up before I push it back down. “We’ve been divorced about two years now, and I’ve been enjoying every second of freedom away from that particular nightmare.”
He smiles. “Good for you. You were always way too good for him. I mean, I think every human on earth would be too good for him, but still, you were always above the rest.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Wow, Jack Midnight getting sweet and sentimental at a bar.”
